Patty whirled through the various dances, and at the last one before supper she found herself again with Philip Van Reypen.
“Why, I didn’t know this was yours!” she cried, looking at her card, where, sure enough, she saw the initials B. S.
“It sure is mine,” returned Bobby Shafto; “but we’re not going to dance it.”
“Why not, and what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to wander away into the conservatory.”
“There isn’t any conservatory. This is a club-house, you know.”
“Well, they’ve fixed up the gymnasium, so it’s almost a conservatory. It’s full of palms and flowers and things, and it makes a perfectly good imitation.”
“But why do we go there?” asked Patty, as Philip led her away from the dancing-room.
“Oh, to settle affairs of state.” He led her to the gymnasium, and sure enough, tall palms and flowering plants had been arranged to form little nooks and bowers, which were evidently intended for tête-à-tête conversations.
“You know,” Philip began, as they found a pleasant seat, under some palms, “you know, Patty, you promised me something.”