The wedding-breakfast would have provoked envy in the heart of Lucullus; for Warrington was a man of the world, thoroughly polished; there was nothing Stoic about him (though, in the early days he had been a disciple of this cult perforce); he was a thoroughgoing epicure.
Patty was delighted. Warrington guided her about the rooms on a tour of inspection. He pointed out all the curios and told the history of each. But the desk was the article which interested her most.
"And this is where you write? Upon this desk plays have grown up? Won't you give me a single sheet of manuscript to take home with me?"
"I certainly shall."
He pulled out a drawer and found some old manuscript. He selected a sheet, signed it, and gave it to her.
"I am rich!" the girl exclaimed. "Signed manuscript from a real live author! I suppose that you receive tons of letters, some praising, some arguing, some from mere autograph fiends."
"It's a part of the day's work." His face brightened. He searched his pockets. "Here is one out of the ordinary. It is unsigned, so I feel no qualms of conscience in letting you read it."
Patty took the envelope with suppressed eagerness. She drew out the letter and read it slowly.
"Do you receive many like that?" she asked, folding the letter and returning it.
"Very few; that's why I treasure it. I should like to meet the writer; but that's impossible. I have read and re-read it fifty times."