Patty’s mind worked quickly. She had no intention of giving Roger three dances, but she saw that he and Mona were not yet on speaking terms. So she nodded assent, as he scribbled his initials in three places, thinking to herself that before the evening was over, two of them should be transferred to Mona’s card.
Patty was looking lovely in pale blue chiffon with tiny French rosebuds of pink satin adorning it here and there. Her golden hair was clustered in becoming puffs and curls, tucked into a little net of gold mesh, with coquettish bunches of rosebuds above each ear.
But, though Patty was pretty and wore lovely clothes, her chief charm was her happy, smiling face and her gay, good-natured friendliness. She smiled on everybody, not with a set smile of society, but in a frank, happy enjoyment of the good time she was having, and appreciation of the good time that everybody else helped her to have.
“You are all so kind to me,” she was saying to Robert Kenton, who had just come in; “and I want to thank you, Mr. Kenton, for the beautiful flowers you sent. I do love valley lilies, they’re so—so——”
“They’re so sentimental,” suggested Rob Kenton, smiling.
“Well, yes,—if you mean them to be,” said Patty, dimpling at him. “Any flower is sentimental, if the sender means it so.”
“Or if the receiver wants it to be. Did you?” and Kenton smiled back at her.
“Oh, yes, of course I do!” And Patty put on an exaggeratedly soulful look. “I’m that sentimental you wouldn’t believe! But I forget the language of flowers. What do lilies of the valley mean,—especially with orchids in the middle of the bunch?”
“Undying affection,” responded Kenton, promptly. “Do you accept it?”
“I’d be glad to, but I suppose that means it lasts for ever and ever,—so you needn’t ever send me any more flowers!”