“Why, Helen Barlow!” she exclaimed; “if you’re not an apple-pie pink of perfection! Not a bow coming off, and your hair positively looks as if it would stay put!”
“Don’t tease me, Patty. Truly, I’m trying to do better,——”
“You dear old thing! I was a wretch to seem to tease you. Wait till this ball is over and you get off that very bewitching frock, and I’ll give you a kiss of forgiveness!”
Helen looked very pretty in her evening dress of soft, thin pink, with touches of silver lace, and silver slippers.
“You’re a fairy,” said Patty. “How that frock becomes you. Now, be gay and festive, won’t you, Helen, honey, for I feel as if I should burst into a flood of tears every minute!”
“Go on down, Patty,” said Helen, drawing back, “I hear Billee’s voice, and he’ll want you alone.”
“No; I can’t. If I do, I’ll cry. Come along.”
So both girls ran down stairs, and shrieked with delight at the sight of Farnsworth in uniform.
“I knew you’d be stunning,” said Helen, “but I didn’t know you’d look like a Herculean statue!”
“He doesn’t,” cried Patty, “he looks like a—a General! He ought to be—oh, what do you call it when you have your statue taken?”