Herron jumped up and quickly led her from the room, with some hasty words about fresh air.
Van Reypen looked angry and a bit puzzled, but Patty was deeply concerned for the old lady’s comfort.
“Let me go, too,” she exclaimed, rising, “she needs me,—not Mr. Herron.”
“Sit down, Patty,” Philip ordered, somewhat gruffly. “Stay where you are. There are plenty of women servants to look after her.”
“But she’s so nice, Phil! Too nice to have only servants’ care.”
“Sit down, I tell you. You can’t go to her. Remember, Patty, you’re not a member of this Club.”
“Oh, that’s so,” and Patty sat down.
“All right,” said Herron, returning; “she just choked a little, that’s all. And she has chronic throat trouble, so it rather strangled her. She sends you her adieux, and begs to be excused from further appearance.”
“Why, of course,” said Patty, “she mustn’t think of returning. And we’re going now, anyhow. Stop your nonsense, Helen, and come, let’s get our coats.”
“Don’t wanna!”