"Business! On Sunday?"
"He's looking at a car he's thinking of buying. The man could only see him today."
"Oh, well, all right. But I'll dress up anyway, for my own self-respect. I like myself better in a pretty gown, and I'm not going to take naps all day today, I can tell you."
Patty flew around, making her toilette, and humming little snatches of song. Adele thought she had never seen her look so pretty. The white frock was soft and filmy; the round neck a trifle low, the frilled sleeves showing her dimpled arms, and a soft sash made of a breadth of palest pink silk, round the waist.
"You're a dream!" declared Adele. "It's a shame to waste such a vision of beauty on me. I believe I'll telephone for Bob Peyton to come over to lunch."
"No, don't. I'd rather not have him. I like to be alone with you much better. Ask him over for dinner, if you like."
So the two lunched alone, and then came the difficult crisis.
Patty flatly rebelled against Adele's suggestion that she take an afternoon nap to be fresh for the evening.
"What's the matter with you, Adele?" she laughed. "Do you think I'm a dormouse? Or a bear who wants to hibernate? I'm as wide-awake as you are!"
"It isn't that, Patty," and poor Adele was at her wits' end, "but you're really run down—er—nerve exhaustion, you know——"