Van Reypen was by no means averse to this, and he adopted an attitude of ownership, which, as it became definite, was quickly resented by Patty.
“Look here, Phil,” she said one day; “you needn’t act as if I belonged to you. Don’t decide things for me without my consent.”
“Forgive me, Patty. I’ve no wish to offend. But you will belong to me some day, and I suppose I’m too impatient for the day to come.”
“How do you know I will?”
“It’s written in the stars. We were made for each other. You’ll wake up to the fact some day, perhaps soon.”
“I ha’e me doots,” said Patty, in roguish mood, and her light laughter checked the more serious words that rose to Philip’s lips. He was content to bide his time.
One day he telephoned to Patty that Mrs. Van Reypen was not well and begged she would come over.
“Is she ill?” asked Patty in surprise, for the hale old lady was a valetudinarian.
“Not quite that, but she has a cold, and she wants cheering up.”
So Patty ordered the car and went right over. She found that Mrs. Van Reypen did, indeed, have a cold, and a severe one. Patty was alarmed and insisted on calling the doctor, who pronounced it a case of grip, and ordered the patient to bed.