Phil's eyes were radiant, and his voice trembled as he whispered, "And will you, dear? Will you, my little Patty? You promised, you know, to tell me tonight. So, tell me,—and tell me,—yes."
Patty sat up very straight and looked at him. "Philip," she said, and her voice was serious; "if I have to decide now, it will be No. I did say I'd tell you tonight, and I meant to, but I'm all tired and bothered, and if I'm not careful, I shall cry! So, if you hold me to my promise, I'll answer you now, but it will be No. I can't say Yes,—tonight."
"Then don't say anything. I'll wait, dearest. Oh, Patty, of course, I'll wait. You are exhausted and nervous and you want to rest. Don't answer me now, dear, for I don't want that answer you spoke of! Let's wait a week or so longer, and then make up our mind. Shall us?"
"Yes, Phil, and thank you for being so good to me."
CHAPTER XI
THE CITY STUDIO
"I'm quite anxious to see this paragon of a poet," said Nan, as she sat in Patty's room one evening.
Patty was dressing for the party at the Blaneys', and Sam was coming to take her.
"You'll like him, Nan, you can't help it. He is most interesting,—not a bit like other men. And they have such delightful people at their parties. They do big things, you know,—really big."
"Such as what?"