Patricia gave a low laugh, and read the letter through a second time. How lucky that she would have a new dress! She sat down at once, with her note-paper and pen, biting the end of the pen as she planned the reply.
"Dear Harry," she wrote. "Splendid. Marnier, seven-thirty. Then which ever you like. I've never been to either. Yours ever, Patricia."
She carefully sealed the envelope, and wrote the address in a handwriting as near that of Harry as her natural penmanship allowed. She was still contemplating the letter and re-reading her invitation when Lucy kicked the door open and stamped into the room, kicking the door back again with her heel. Both sides of the door showed signs of Lucy's regular methods. With raw and dirty hands Lucy dumped down the meal.
"Cole," she remarked agreeably. "Young man come for you larce night, tole me to say he's sorry to miss you."
"Yes, thank you."
"Gotcher letter, then," said Lucy.
"Yes, thank you, Lucy." Patricia was trying to be sedate; but the sharp grey eyes of Lucy, which shone from above red cheeks and a snub nose and a grimy neck, were inexorable.
"Thought he'd write," said Lucy. "I ses, 'Can I take any message?'—you know, sweet as sugar. He gimme a card. Wouldn't leave no message. Fine lookin' young man, he was."
"I expect you were very excited," said Patricia, dryly—even, she hoped, quellingly. Lucy stood looking down at her, very sturdy and determined.
"What say?" she asked. Patricia repeated her remark. Lucy turned abruptly. "No," she said, over a raised shoulder. "But I thought you would be."