“I hope I shall,” exclaimed Patty. “I want the glamour. I want to see the Coliseum by moonlight. I don’t care how hackneyed it is!”
“You oughtn’t to see it by moonlight. You ought to see it at midday, in the strong, clear sunlight; and all alone, listen to its vibrant silence that tells you of itself.”
“Oh,” said Patty, thrilled by the intense note in his voice. “I didn’t know you had so much imagination.”
“That isn’t imagination, it’s reality. The real past speaks to you; not a foolish emotional reproduction that you have conjured up yourself.”
“The curfew tolls the knell of our next dance,” chanted Floyd Austin, coming toward them. “I thought I never should find you, Miss Fairfield. May I have you, please?”
“Mr. Homer is telling me about the Coliseum,” said Patty, making no move to go.
“Quite right, quite right. If any one has anything to say, he may as well say it about the Coliseum. But that is liable to stand for some time yet, and this witching hour is fleeting. So, cub, oh, cub with be,—the bood is beabig.”
Patty rose, laughing.
“I suppose I must go,” she said, as Mr. Homer bowed courteously, and murmured a few words of regret at her departure.
“Another victim?” said Austin, quizzically. “Now, how can a will o’ the wisp like you attract a wise and solemn old owl like Homer?”