"As I've told you, you don't count. Why, you won't really count until the day when some nice young man comes to ask you for the hand of Mademoiselle Fleurette."
"Heaven forbid the day! I'll send him packing!"
"Indeed you won't! I want my daughter to marry and live happy ever after,—as I'm doing."
"Are you, Patty? Are you happy?"
As Billee asked this question a dozen times a day for the sheer joy of watching Patty's lovely face smile an affirmative, she didn't think it necessary to enlarge on the subject.
"I do be," she said, succinctly, and Farnsworth believed her.
"Now, I propose," she went on, "that we have a week-end house-party.
That's the nicest way to show off the place—"
"Patty! Are you growing proud and ostentatious?"
"I'm proud—very much so, of my home and my family,—but nobody ever called me ostentatious! What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I spoke thoughtlessly. But you are puffed up with pride and vanity,—I think."