"I apologize." Warrington sat down.
Thereupon Miss Patty, who was a good sailor, laid her course close to the wind, and with few tacks made her goal; which was the complete subjugation of this brilliant man. She was gay, sad, witty and wise; and there were moments when her mother looked at her in puzzled surprise. As for Warrington, he went from one laugh into another.
Oh, dazzling twenty; blissful, ignorant, confident twenty! Who among you would not be twenty, when trouble passes like cloud-shadows in April; when the door of the world first opens? Ay, who would not trade the meager pittance, wrested from the grinding years, for one fleet, smiling dream of twenty?
"It is all over town, the reply you made to Mrs. Winthrop and that little, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers."
"Patty!"
"Well, she is sawed-off and witty."
"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten the incident.
"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and you replied that Heaven had already done that."
"By the way," said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "I understand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. I hope he doesn't bother you."
"Bother, indeed! I just love him," cried Patty. "He's such a lovable animal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had trouble last week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tired that he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten the white dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right of way. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade, the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to make an apology for his dog's ill manners."