“The girls will wait,” said Mr. Hepworth, easily, and then during the rest of the ride he entertained Patty with light, merry conversation.
He watched her closely, however, and came to the conclusion that the girl was very nervous, and excitable to a degree that made him fear she was on the verge of a mental illness.
“When is this play of yours to come off?” he enquired.
“Next Thursday night,” said Patty, “if we can get ready for it, and we must; but oh, there is so much to do, and now I’ve wasted this whole morning and haven’t accomplished a thing, and I don’t know where Miss Sinclair is, and I didn’t see about the costumes, after all, and now I’ll be late for rehearsal. Oh, what shall I do?”
Mr. Hepworth had sufficient intuition to know that if he sympathised with Patty in her troubles she was ready to break down in a fit of nervous crying.
So he said, as if the matter were of no moment, “Oh, pshaw, those costumes will get themselves attended to some way or another. Why, I’ll go down there this afternoon and hunt them up, if you like. Just tell me what ones you want.”
This was help, indeed. Patty well knew that Mr. Hepworth’s artistic taste could select the costumes even better than her own, and she eagerly told him the necessary details.
Mr. Hepworth also promised to look after some other errands that were troubling Patty’s mind, so that when she finally reached home she was calm and self-possessed once more.
Mr. Hepworth quickly settled matters with the cabman, and then escorted Patty up the steps to her own front door, where, with a bow and a few last kindly words, he left her and walked rapidly away.
The girls who had gathered for rehearsal greeted her with a chorus of reproaches for being so late, but when Patty began to tell her exciting experiences, the rehearsal was forgotten in listening to the thrilling tale.