“Yes, you’re a fine old Dowager Duchess,” said Patty, smiling at pretty Nan. “With your roseleaf skin and your turn-up nose. You look more like a débutante.”
“How foolish you are,” said Nan, blushing and dimpling as she always did at Patty’s chaffing compliments, which were, nevertheless, sincere.
Patty was getting into her frock, a soft Liberty silk of a lovely pale green, when an impatient knock came at her door, and before she could open it, Flo flung it open and fairly rushed in.
“Patty Fairfield,” she cried, “what do you think! That outrageous Snippy says I can’t go to your tea, because I haven’t done my practising! She says I can go later, but I must practise for an hour first. And I won’t do it!”
“I should say not,” cried Patty, in a burst of righteous indignation. “I never heard of anything so horrid. Of course you’ll coax her around somehow.”
“Coax Snippy! You don’t know her! You see I went wondering with you all this morning, and since luncheon I’ve been napping, and now I want to get ready for the party.”
“And you must. Come, I’ll go with you and try to persuade old Snippy.”
“No, that won’t do any good. But here’s my plan. Once in a great while, when I feel very dreadfully put out, I turn on her and scare the wits out of her. Not often, or it would lose all effect,—but I’m going to do it now. Do, if you like, come with me and see the fun.”
Patty felt a little ashamed at such strenuous measures, but she followed Flo through the halls.
By the piano in Flo’s sitting-room stood Snippy, a majestic figure of towering wrath and immovable determination.