“Oh, Helen, hush!” cried Patty laughing at the foolish chatter as Bumble danced about the room, waving her arms as she sang.
“But, truly, Patsy, you won’t have more’n time to get your gewgaws fixed up and your monogramming done, before Bill will be back again, and it will be June. Oh, soon! It will be June! and to this tune,—Tum, tum, te-tum!”
Helen sang the first strains of the wedding march, and Patty ran out of the room laughing, as Rose called her to the telephone.
It was Farnsworth speaking.
“Angel child,” he said, “can you leave whatever you’re doing and do a little errand for your own true Loved One?”
“Can I!” returned Patty. “Your word is my law!”
“Goody girl! Well, then, go with all possible secrecy,—with bated breath and muffled tread, and all that, to my rooms at Mrs. Richards’——”
“What!”
“Even so. Don’t faint, but remember you’re a soldier’s bride,—or will be some day,—and defying conventions go to said rooms on an errand for me. Will you, Patty?”
Bill’s tone changed to a serious note, and Patty knew at once it was one of those important matters with which she was sometimes entrusted.