"Call me Bill, oh, DO call me Bill!"
"Why should I?"
"Because I want you to; and because I think you might make that much concession to my Western primitiveness and unceremoniousness."
"But I don't like the name of Bill. It's so,—so—"
"So uncouth? Yes, it is. But I'm not the sort to be called William.
Well, DO call me something pleasant and amiable."
"I'll call you Little Billee. That's Thackeray's, and therefore, it's all right. Now, can you slip me back into my own apartments as quietly as you took me away?"
"Of course I can, as it's nearly dark now. Here we go!"
He aided her up the stairs, and along the balcony to her own windows. Patty sprang lightly over the low sill, and waved her hand gaily as she pulled down her blinds and flashed on the electric lights. Then she rang for Janet, and found that a hurried toilette was necessary if she would be prompt at dinner.
One of Patty's prettiest evening frocks was a dainty French thing of white chiffon, decked with pale green ribbons and exquisite artificial apple blossoms made of satin. With a smile at the memory of Farnsworth's allusion to apple blossoms, she put it on, and twisted a wreath of the same lovely flowers in her golden crown of curls.
Then she danced downstairs to find the Western man awaiting her. He looked very handsome in evening clothes, and the easy unconsciousness of his pose and manner made him seem to Patty the most attractive man she had ever seen.