“Well, well, never mind! It’ll jest be a nice, smart trip back after dinner. I’m Mrs. Fay, and this is my sister, Miss Wilhelmina Winthrop. She’s got a longer name than I have, but I’ve got a longer head.”
They were ushered into the old-fashioned sitting-room, with its Brussels carpet showing huge baskets of flowers; its heterogeneous furniture, some chairs haircloth and black walnut, and others cane-seated, with rep cushions tied on; marble tables, of course; and an old sofa, with well-worn pillows and rugs.
But the place had a hospitable air, and the two hostesses were fairly beaming with delight at this opportunity for entertainment. Miss Winthrop carried Patty off to her own bedroom.
“You’re jest all tuckered out, I can see,” she said, hovering around her like a clucking hen; “but a wash-up and a good dish o’ chicken pie will put you all to rights again.”
“But I must telephone before we eat dinner,” said Patty.
“So you shall,—so you shall. Now, don’t you worry the leastest mite about anything.”
“How kind you are!” exclaimed Patty, smiling on the happy little old lady. “I suppose you belong to the real old New England Winthrops?”
“Yes, and we’re mighty proud of our name. I was so much so that I never would change it,”—and she chuckled. “Sister, though, she thought Fay was prettier.”
“Fay is pretty,” said Patty, cordially, “and now, if I may, I’ll telephone, for I know our people will be wondering where we are.”
“All right, Miss Fairfield; come right along.” But in returning to the sitting-room, Patty found Philip was already at the telephone.