"You! Oh, you will understand what I feel, and you will be sorry."
"Then spin away, Amarilly. You'll have my sympathy and help in everything that makes you feel bad, whether it's right or wrong."
"Oh, Mr. Derry, we are all going away—way off to the country—to live on a farm!"
"Amarilly, you little city brat! You'd be a misfit on a farm. Tell me what has sent the Jenkins family into the open."
Faithfully Amarilly enumerated the pros and cons of the agricultural venture. When she had concluded her narrative, Derry, to her surprise and sorrow, looked positively jubilant.
"And you don't want to live in the country, eh, Amarilly?"
"No, Mr. Derry," she protested. "I don't. I have never been there, but I know the woods and the fields and—all that—must be beautiful—in patches—but I couldn't bear it all the time—not to see all the bright and white lights at night and the hurry, and the people, and the theatres. No! I'd rather be the poorest little speck here than to own and live on the biggest farm in the world."
He laughed delightedly.
"Oh, Amarilly, you little gamin! You have the right idea, though. We don't want anything, however perfect it may be, all the time. We want it just 'in patches'—as you say. You'll love the country with your whole heart and soul when you come to see it if you know that you can leave it. But this is a big change in your affairs, and we must talk it over. We'll go to Carter's again for luncheon. Take off your apron and cap. You won't have to fix your hair this time. It's even more beautiful than it was then. Your frock, if it is cheap and plain, is artistic in cut and color."
Amarilly felt cheered in spite of herself at his exuberant manner, but burst into tears when on leaving the studio he casually remarked: