A moment Patty thought. Then she said, “No thank you, Billie, I don’t.”
“Dreaming?” said Farnsworth, in a curious voice; “is that all, Patty?”
“All? What do you mean?”
“Is that all the communication you had with Van Reypen last night? In dreams?”
Patty looked up, startled. Did Bill know of the telephone message? Would he care? Patty felt a certain sense of guilt, though, as she told herself, she had done nothing wrong. Moreover, the only reason she had for not telling Farnsworth frankly of Phil’s message, was merely to spare him annoyance. She knew he would be annoyed to learn that Phil had called her at midnight on the long distance, and if he didn’t already know it, she would rather he shouldn’t. But did he, or not?
“Pray, how else could I talk to him?” she said, laughingly. “Do you suppose I am a medium and had spirit rappings?”
“I suppose nothing. And I know only what you choose to tell me.”
“Which is nothing, also. Why, Little Billee, you’re in a mood this morning, aren’t you?”
She glanced up into the face of the man who strode beside her. It was a fine face. Strong, well-cut features made it interesting rather than handsome. It was also a determined face, and full of earnestness of purpose. But in the blue eyes usually lurked a glint of humour. For the moment, however, this was not noticeable, and Farnsworth’s lips were closed rather tightly,—a sure sign with him, of seriousness.