“Why not?” returned Patty; “he’s pleasant and kind. He doesn’t talk like a grain-thresher, and he can’t help his dancing. Or rather, his lack of it, for you can’t call those gymnastics of his dancing. Oh, Roger, there’s Mr. Hepworth!”
Sure enough, Mr. Hepworth had just come in, and as Patty spoke, he caught her eye and smiled.
She smiled back, and when the dance was over asked Roger to take her to him.
“Old Hepworth?” said Roger, in surprise. “You can’t waste time on him, Patty; your dance card is full, you know.”
“I don’t care, I must just speak to him. I haven’t seen him since I came home. Whoever belongs to my next dance can wait a few minutes.”
“All right; come on, then.” Roger led her across the room, and with a smiling face, and in tones of glad welcome, she said:
“Oh, Mr. Hepworth, how do you do?”
“Patty!” he exclaimed, taking her hands in his. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
There was a thrill in his voice that startled her, but she only said, “And so am I glad to see you. Why haven’t you been to call on me?”
“I’ve just returned from a Southern trip. Only reached New York to-night,—and here I am.”