“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he exclaimed; “or, rather, I ought to. I should know better than to expect a child like you to have any real feelings.”
“I’m not a child!” said Patty, offended in her turn. “I’m over eighteen, and I’ve lots of real feeling, but as you don’t seem to care for it, I won’t waste it on you!”
Peter laughed at the indignant look on Patty’s pretty face, and said, gaily: “You’ve plenty of time, little one. Your sentiments are sprouting, and they’ll grow rapidly enough, once they’re started. Thank Heaven, your sense of humour will keep them from growing too rank. Now, soothe my wounded feelings by telling me you’ve a nice kind sentiment of friendship sprouting in your heart for me.”
“Sprouting! Why, my friendship for you sprouted long ago. Now, it’s grown to a big tree, and on every leaf is written a kindly thought of you.”
“Ah, you have imagination; and that’s closely akin to sentiment. Dear little Patty, I wish I could teach you to see life as I’ve taught you to see Rome.”
Patty looked up quickly, surprised at the note of earnestness in his voice, and found Peter’s dark eyes looking steadily into her own.
“I wish you could,” she said, simply, as her own clear blue eyes frankly returned his gaze.
“Being desirous of making the acquaintance of the pretty girl on the steps, the wayfarer sat down beside her,” declaimed the ridiculous voice of Floyd Austin, as he appeared before them, and dropped down on the step beside Patty.
“Why, Floyd,” she cried, “I didn’t see you coming. Where have you been?”