The two disappeared, and there was a moment's silence, and then Patty said,
"Our cousin is from Arizona, and it's hard for her, at first, to adapt herself to our more formal ways. It must be great out there,—all wide spaces, and big, limitless distances—"
"God's country!" said Farnsworth, who always had a love for his Western wilds.
"Nix!" cried Betty, "I've been there, and it's just one cactus after another!"
"Well, cactuses are all right,—in their place," said Patty, smiling.
"They're as much verdure as maples or redwoods."
"Quite different kind of verdure," said Betty. "Now, Patty, I want to do something for your cousin,—right away, I mean, to help you launch her."
"Oh, no, Betty; you're awfully kind, but—"
"Yes, I shall, too. I'm your nearest neighbour, and it's my right. I suppose you'll give her a luncheon or something, first, and then I'll follow it with a tea, or a dance, or whatever you like. There'll be lots of things for her later on, so I want to get my bid in first. How pretty she is."
"You're a darling, Betty," cried Patty, enthusiastically, touched by her friend's kindness, "but,—well, there's no use mincing matters,—I'm not sure Azalea is quite ready to be presented to society."
"Oh, but your cousin—"