“I think,” said Mr. Fairfield, as he at last folded up his own paper, “I think I can leave you two girls for half an hour while I go to the smoking car. That kind-faced, motherly lady will do for chaperon, even if you can’t talk much to each other.”
“Of course,” said Patty, “go ahead. There’s nothing to chaperon us about, but I just adore that old lady’s looks. She has the air of mothering the whole world.”
“That’s true,” said Mr. Fairfield, looking at the lady, whose eyes were closed for the moment. “She’s one of the best types of Italian matron. Well, then I’ll run away for a bit. The guard has punched our tickets, so you won’t be bothered, and if any luggage official speaks to you, refer him to me. They can always understand English.”
He went away, and Patty hoped her father would find some one in the smoker with whom he could talk, and so while away the time.
The Italian lady looked up as Mr. Fairfield left the compartment, and at his smiling gestures of adieu, and his nod toward the girls, she quite understood that she was to lend them her chaperonage, and nodded assent with a beaming face.
“Amerika,” she said, smiling kindly at Patty.
“Si, Signora,” said Patty, in her pretty, polite way. “Amerique?” she asked, pointing to Flo.
“Non, non,” said the dame; “Engleesh signorina.”
“Si,” agreed Patty, and there the conversation stopped, much to Patty’s regret, for she wanted to talk to her new-found friend.