“A fine trait,” observed her father. “I’m like that, myself.”
“Yes, you are, Daddy,” said Patty, with an affectionate glance. “But even you don’t know the books full of wise stuff that he does. And he’s so kind and funny.”
“He does seem to possess all the virtues,” said Nan; “and I’m glad he’s here, Patty. You seem to have several pleasant friends.”
“Yes, the Van Winkles are all right. Our sort, you know. I’m glad to see some Americans once more. This afternoon Flo will come, and she’s far from American, I can tell you.”
A few hours later, Patty was lying down in her own room, resting after her morning’s excursion, when she was roused by a tap at the door.
She jumped up and opened it, and there was the smiling face of Flo Carrington.
“You dear thing,” she cried, bouncing into the room, and flinging both arms round Patty, “I’m here.”
“So you are,” said Patty, “and I’m awfully glad to see you. Come in, and sit down.”
“I’m jolly well glad to get here,” said Flo, as she threw herself into an armchair. “The journey was horrible. Snippy almost turned back several times.”
“Well, you’re here now, and it’s all right,” said Patty, soothingly. “I’m so glad your mother let you come.”