“Now, it’s up to you, Patty,” said Farnsworth, cheerily. “You and Mona get into the tonneau of this Galbraith car, and I’ll drive you home. You chirk her up, Patty, and tell her there’s no harm done, and that all her friends love her just the same. And tell her if she’ll stop her crying and calm herself before she gets home, nobody need ever know a thing about this whole affair.”
Mona looked up at this, and said, eagerly, “Not father?”
“No, Mona dear,” said Patty. “Sit here by me and I’ll tell you all about it. How we read the note and kept it, and everything. And, Mona, we won’t even let Roger know anything about all this, because it would hurt him very much.”
“But Anne,” said Mona, doubtfully. “You say she told you where I went.”
“I’ll attend to Anne,” said Farnsworth, decidedly. “Can’t you go home to dinner with Patty, Mona? I think that would do you good.”
“Yes, do,” said Patty. “And stay over night with me. We’ll telephone your father where you are, and then, to-morrow, you can go home as if nothing had ever happened.”
“It’s a justifiable deception, Mona,” said Bill, “for I know how it would grieve the poor man if he knew about your foolish little escapade,—which is all over now. It’s past history, and the incident is closed forever. Don’t you be afraid Lansing will ever appear against you. He’s too thoroughly frightened ever to be seen in these parts again.”
“You come to dinner, too, Bill,” said Patty, as they took their places; “though I fear we’ll all be rather late.”
Farnsworth hesitated a moment, then he said, decidedly, “No, Patty, I can’t do it. I was to take the seven o’clock train to-night, but though I’ll miss that, I can take the nine o’clock, and I must go.”
“But, Little Billee, I want to thank you for helping me as you did. I want to thank you, not only for Mona’s sake, but my own.”