Patty threw a big, fat sofa pillow at her friend’s feet, and settled herself cosily upon it.
“Well, girlie,” said Lady Hamilton, “come to the story at once. What happened to you as a grown-up?”
“What usually happens to grown-ups, I suppose,” said Patty, demurely; “the Earl of Ruthven proposed to me.”
“What!” cried Lady Hamilton, starting up, and quite upsetting Patty from her cushion.
“Yes, he did,” went on Patty, placidly; “shall I accept him?”
“Patty, you naughty child, tell me all about it at once! Oh, what shall I say to your father and mother?”
Patty grinned. “Yes, it was all your fault, Kitty. If I hadn’t worn your gown, he would never have dreamed of such a thing.”
“But, Patty, it can’t be true. You must have misunderstood him.”
“Not I. It’s my first proposal, to be sure; but I know what a man means when he says he loves me and begs me to call him by his first name. And I did—twice.”
Patty went off in shrieks of laughter at the remembrance of it, and she rocked back and forth on her cushion in paroxysms of mirth.