"Don't run away," said Mr. Hepworth, still looking at her with that grave kindliness that seemed to have about it a touch of sadness. "I will call you Patty as long as you will stay with me."
Then Patty smiled again, quite her own merry little self, and gave him her card, saying:
"Put your name down a lot of times, please; you are a beautiful dancer, and I like best to dance with the people I know best."
"I wish I had a rubber stamp," said Mr. Hepworth; "it's very fatiguing to write one's name on every line."
"Oh, good gracious!" cried Patty, "don't take them all. I want to save a lot for Frank and Ken—"
"And your father," said Mr. Hepworth.
"Papa? He doesn't dance—at least, I never saw him."
"But he did dance that last waltz, with Miss Allen."
"With Nan? Well, then, I rather think he can dance with his own daughter. Don't take any more; I want all the rest for him, and please take me to him."
"Here he comes now. Mr. Fairfield, your daughter wishes a word with you."