“It is not foolishness, but your talk is. I don’t care to hear any more.”
“Wait, dear, wait a moment. You know I love you, Patty, more than life itself; marry me, and let me teach you to forget this whim of yours——”
“It isn’t a whim. And I don’t want to marry you. This idea of mine is not a whim,—but a career, a splendid opportunity that calls to me—that promises wonderful things,—that——”
“Patty,” and Farnsworth’s face was white, “is that true,—what you said just now, that you—you don’t want to marry me?”
“Yes, it’s true,” and Patty’s angry blue eyes met his own sad ones.
“Then, that’s all, Apple Blossom. You may go now. I’ve no fear that you will do anything further in this other matter, without your father’s knowledge and no fear that he will allow it. So that’s all right. Good-bye—Sweetheart!”
“Good-bye,” and Patty flounced off. Yes, flounced is the word, for angry and chagrined, she let go of the swing she was holding, with a quick push, and whirling about, walked quickly toward the house.
The next morning the whole party left for New York.
“It’s been perfectly lovely,” Adele said to Farnsworth; “and if it were not for my baby girlie, I’d like to stay another week. But I hear her calling me!”