"Do you, though, really," he said, a glow of delight spreading over his honest features. "I—I'm glad of it."
"Come into the other room," Patty said, leading the way: "it's cooler there.—Bathalina, don't let those puffs burn."
The windows of the sitting-room were open, and the blinds unclosed; but so thickly was the piazza overhung with honeysuckle and woodbine, that a cool shade filled the apartment. It was unoccupied, save by Pettitoes, the cat, who had curled himself up luxuriously in Mrs. Sanford's work-basket. Mr. Blood stumbled over a chair or two before he found his way safely into a seat, and then sat, flushed and uncomfortable, trying to make up his mind to do the errand upon which he had come. Patty, who knew perfectly well the state of her guest's mind, played carelessly with Pettitoes, making casual remarks, to which Burleigh replied in monosyllables.
"I hope it will be as good weather as this for the picnic," she said at length. "Of course, you are going?"
"Yes, I thought I should; that is, I may."
"Oh, you must! We are sure to have a splendid time. Everybody is going. I wouldn't miss it for any thing."
"Then you are going?" he asked.
"Of course. I am always ready for a lark," she answered. "And I know you'll go."
"It depends," said he, "whether I can get any one to go with me."