“Yes, indeed. Not as pretty as you are, of course, but still a beauty. But Homer has the noble brow and lantern jaws that go to make up the ideal of facial elegance. Isn’t his hair stunning?”
Mr. Homer’s hair was black and abundant. It was somewhat bushy and of coarse texture, and was tossed over back, as if by the incessant pushings of an impatient hand.
“You’ll like him,” Austin went on, “but you won’t understand or appreciate him; you’re too young and ignorant.”
“Thank you,” said Patty.
“Not at all. Don’t mention it, no trouble, I assure you. But Homer’s a puzzle.”
“I’m specially good at puzzles.”
“Ah, but he isn’t of the ‘transposed, I am a fish,’ variety. You never can solve Peter Homer, little girl.”
“I’ve no desire to,” said Patty, a little chagrined at his superior tone. “He isn’t a prize puzzle, is he?”
“With the native quickness of the young American, she gracefully took the wind out of the sails of the conversation,” piped Austin, as he looked at her admiringly. Just then a footman brought a telegram to Patty.