“I hope so. But I’m having a beautiful time convalescing. Everybody is so good to me, and I’m showered with presents, as if I were—engaged!”
“And I hear that you are.” Bill looked at her steadily. “I’m told that you’re betrothed to Van Reypen, and I want to be among the first to wish you all the joy there is in the world.”
“Who told you?” and Patty looked startled.
“A little bird,” Farnsworth smiled at her gently. “I am very glad for you, dear. Philip is a big, strong-hearted chap, and he can give you all you want and deserve.”
“’Most anybody could do that,” said Patty, a little shortly, for it seemed to her that Farnsworth took the news of her engagement rather easily.
“No. I couldn’t. There are not many men like Van Reypen; rich, well-born, intellectual, and kind. Moreover, he has prestige and an acknowledged place in the best society; all of which goes to make up the atmosphere of life that best suits you,—you petted butterfly.”
Bill’s smile robbed the words of any effect of satire or reproof.
“Am I a feather-headed rattlepate?” and Patty treated the young man to her best and prettiest pout.
“Not entirely. But you like to have all about you in harmony and good taste. Nor are you to blame. You are born to the purple,—and all that that signifies.”
“Aren’t you?”