Farnsworth sighed. “I feared you’d fly off like that, Patty. You’re so susceptible and impressionistic. But you must know that she is not the sort of girl you’ve been accustomed to know.”
“So much the worse for the sort of girl I know, then. Idle, unoccupied creatures, thinking of nothing but the fleeting pleasures of the hour! Maude Kent is worth a dozen of them, when it comes to nobility of purpose and energy of attainment. What do you know about her, Bill, that isn’t admirable?”
“Only that, Patty. That she has been on the vaudeville stage. I met her personally only two or three times, and I took little interest in her. But I hate to see you grow fond of her. Are you going to see her today?”
“I am. But you need not see her. You can wait for me in the hotel parlour. I’m sorry I brought you.”
“No, you’re not, you’re glad. And I’ll not wait in any parlour. I’m going with you all the way.”
As a matter of fact, Patty felt relieved, for she had no idea of what Maude wanted, and she feared it might be to sing again. This she had no intention of doing. Once was quite enough.
When they reached the hotel, they sent up their names, and Miss Kent came down. She received them in a small reception room, where they could be alone.
“You remember Mr. Farnsworth?” said Patty, after she had greeted Maude.
“Yes, indeed, very well. I’m so glad to see you again.”
Surely no one could criticise the gentle manner and soft voice, and Bill Farnsworth looked at her more kindly than he had intended to.