“Oh, come, now, Little Billee, he may be a scoundrel,—I’m told he is one,—but not because he admired me! A cat may look at a king.”
“But no cat or king or scrubby little lieutenant may look at my Patty Blossom!”
“Oh, he didn’t! The Miss Fairfield he looked at is a very different personage from your Patty Blossom.”
“How, different?”
“Well,” and Patty sprang up, “this is the lady he saw.”
She stood, with a most dignified air, and a coldly courteous expression, looking a little bored, and exceedingly formal.
Then she broke into a happy smile, and holding out her arms in a lovely gesture of welcome came toward Farnsworth, her blue eyes beaming with love and happiness, saying, “and this is your Patty Blossom!”
Farnsworth jumped for her in an ecstasy of gladness, and Herron’s presumptuous intrusion was forgotten.
“And just when do you go to France?” asked Patty, after a time.
“Dunno. I’m awaiting orders.”