This was too much for Patty. Her nerves were strained almost to the breaking point, and when Sir Otho spoke so repellently, she realised how foolish her little plan had been, and how hopeless was her dream of reconciling this dreadful old man and his daughter. Partly, then, because of her overwrought nerves, and partly because of the downfall of her cherished hopes, Patty burst into tears.
She rarely cried, almost never, unless at some injustice or undeserved unkindness. But when she did cry, it was done as she did everything else, with a whole-souled enthusiasm.
Utterly unable to control herself, for a few moments she sobbed, and shook in paroxysms of emotion.
The old gentleman fairly danced around.
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed; “what is the matter? What does this mean? Did you come into my house for the purpose of having a fit of hysterics?”
Now Patty wasn’t a bit hysterical; it was merely a sudden blow of disappointment, and she would have been over it in a moment, but that Sir Otho made matters worse by storming at her.
“Stop it, do you hear? I won’t have such goings on in my house! You are a madwoman!”
As Patty’s sobs grew quieter, and she sat softly weeping into an already soaked handkerchief, her host’s mood seemed to change also.
“When I consented to see Miss Patricia Fairfield,” he said, quoting her name as it appeared on the card she had sent in, “I didn’t know I was to be subjected to this extraordinary treatment.”
“I d-didn’t know it e-either,” said Patty, wiping her eyes, and trying to smile. Then, as she saw Sir Otho’s hard old face beginning to soften a little, she smiled at him through her tears.