“Patty, have you no ambition?”
“Yes; but my ambitions are sensible. If I practised four hours a day, I’d still have only a small parlour voice,—not a concert voice. And there’d be four hours a day wasted. And days are so short, anyway. I’m going to Christine’s this afternoon; do you want the motor?”
“Why, yes; I did expect to make some calls.”
“Oh, well, you can drop me on the way. But, won’t it be fun, Nan, when I get my own little runabout? I’ll be quite independent of Miller and the big car.”
“You can’t use it alone in the city.”
“Oh, yes, I could! Just to fly over to Christine’s in the afternoon, or something like that. Father would kick at first, but he’d soon get used to it.”
“You do wind that poor man around your finger, Patty.”
“Good thing, too. If I didn’t, he’d wind me around his finger. So, as it is, I have the best of it. But I’m not at all sure I’ll catch that runabout, after all. The first of April draweth near, and many of those silly problems refuse to let themselves be solved.”
“I hope you will get it, after you’ve worked so hard.”
“I hope so, too. But hopes don’t solve anagrams and enigmas.”