“No, Mr. Snowden,” said Patty, “I only arrived a few hours ago, and I’ve not been round the place at all.”
“Then let me show it to you, please. I’ll come over to-morrow morning for a stroll. May I?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, hesitatingly, for she was uncertain what she ought to do in the matter. “You see, I’m with Lady Hamilton, and whatever she says——”
“Oh, nonsense! She’ll spare you from her side for an hour or two. There’s really a lot to see.”
Again poor Patty realised her anomalous position. But for her piled-up hair and her trained gown, the man would never have dreamed of asking her to go for a walk unchaperoned. Patty had learned the ethics of London etiquette for girls of eighteen, but she was not versed in the ways of older young women.
“We’ll see about it,” she said, non-committally, and then she almost laughed outright at the sudden thought of Mr. Snowden’s surprise should he see her next day in one of her own simple morning frocks of light muslin. Lady Hamilton’s morning gowns were Paris affairs, with trailing frills and long knotted ribbons.
“It seems to amuse you,” said Mr. Snowden, a trifle piqued at her merriment.
“You’ll be amused, too,” she said, “if you see me to-morrow.”
Then something in the man’s pleasant face seemed to invite confidence, and she said, impulsively:
“I may as well tell you that I’m masquerading. I’m not a grown-up lady at all. I’m not much more than a schoolgirl—not quite eighteen years old. But—but my box didn’t come, and—and I had to wear Lady Hamilton’s gown. It makes me seem a lot older, I know, but I had to do it, or stay away from dinner.”