“I brought it at once, ma’am,” he said, “if so there might be an answer. The man will wait a bit.”
“Allow me,” said Austin, slitting the envelope for her; “and I’ll stand in front of you while you read it, lest it may be of dire import, and your emotion be exposed to the gaping crowd.”
Patty smiled at his nonsense, and read the telegram:
“Last call. No more postponements. We will come for you next week, and all start for home September first. Be ready.
“Father.”
“Oh,” cried Patty in surprised dismay, as she grasped the sense of the message.
“Can I help?” said Austin, quite serious now, for he saw Patty was really agitated.
“No. It’s nothing tragic. At least, not really so, but it seems so to me. I have to go home, that’s all.”
“Home? to America?”
“Yes; and of course, I’m glad to go, in some ways, but I wanted to stay over here a little longer. Through the autumn, anyway.”
“It’s a beastly pity. I don’t want you to go. Who says you must?”