"But I don't want to," and Patty's adorable pout proved her words.
"That doesn't matter. Your 'reluctant feet' have to move on whether they wish to or not. Are you bashful?"
"Sorta," and Patty put her finger in her mouth, with a shy simper.
"You're anything but bashful! You're a coquette!"
"Oh, no!" and Patty opened her eyes wide in horror. "Oh, kind sir,
DON'T say THAT!"
But Cromer paid no heed to her words; he was studying her face. "I'm going to paint you," he announced, "and I shall call it 'Reluctant Feet.' Your head, with its aureole of curls; your wide eyes, your baby chin—"
"Oh, Roger!" cried Patty, as young Farrington came toward her. "What DO you think? Mr. Cromer is going to paint a picture of my head and call it 'Reluctant Feet'! He says so."
"Yes," said Cromer, unconscious of any absurdity; "Miss Fairfield is a fine subject."
"That's better than being called an object," said Roger, joining them, "and you DID look an object, Patty, when I arrived! Your wig was all awry,—and—"
"You haven't a soul for art?" said Cromer, looking solemnly at Roger.