“Yes; but we’re not in a novel, and I’m positive nobody will come along so late. What time is it?”
“A little after eleven,” said Philip, looking at his watch. “Patty, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I got you into this scrape, and I must figure some way to get you out! But it hasn’t come to me yet.”
Philip’s face was a picture of despair. He suddenly realised his responsibility in bringing Patty out here at night. It was done on a sudden impulse, a mere frolicsome whim, and, if the car hadn’t broken down, all would have been well.
“Don’t take it too seriously, Philip,” said Patty, in a pleading voice, for, now that she saw how he felt, she was sorry for him. “We’ll get out of this somehow! But, truly, I think the only way is for me to walk home and send father’s big car back for you and Camilla. I sha’n’t mind the walk half as much as I should mind sitting here, and waiting while you go.”
“But, Patty, you can’t walk three miles in those little, high-heeled slippers.”
Patty looked down at her little evening shoes, with their French heels. They were not suitable for a three-mile walk, but that was a secondary consideration. “I must go,” she said; “there is no other way.”
“Then I’m going with you,” declared Philip, stoutly. “And, if anybody steals that car, I’ll give you another one exactly like it! I’ll have it built to order, with the same specifications! This whole affair is my fault, and I’m going to get you out of it the best way I can.”
“It isn’t your fault! I won’t have you say so, just because that stupid old car chose the worst possible moment to break down! But, all the same, I don’t know how I can walk three miles in these high-heeled slippers with you any better than I could without you.”
Philip grinned. “When you get tired, I’ll carry you,” he declared. “I tell you I’m going to get you out of this scrape, if it takes all summer!”
“Well, it will, unless we start pretty soon. Come on, then.”