Patsy threw an arm around her. “Never mind, grannie dear. What’s it matter, rubbers or not, when one’s ten, and owns a velocipede! Nothing happens then, somehow, does it?” She was peering through the twilight at a sturdy figure trudging up the drive. A very tall figure followed it—rather slowly. “It’s Warren with him,” said Patsy, stiffening; “no it isn’t—why it’s Kent! He’s come to say hello—but how odd of him, when all the men are at the Club—and Kent’s such a very clubman, isn’t he? I think that’s rather sweet of Kent, Claire—I’ll run down right away; he must have wanted to see me especially!”
“Yes,” said the stepmother, smoothing Patsy’s lovely hair, “he must. I—I’ll just wait up here for Junior, dear. His feet, you know——”
Patsy laughed. “Of course. I’ll send him straight to you. I shan’t be long down myself, probably; Kent will want to get on to the Club, you know. It’s his business, Farleigh says—the Club!”
“Well, Patsy?”
“Well, Kent?”
“You’re home?”
“Yes, I’m home. Oh, yes!”—Patsy’s eyes were following two absurd autumn leaves, chasing each other across the wind-swept lawn. “I’m home,” she said again—very quietly; as her eyes came back to the comfort of the fire-lit sitting-room.
“Aren’t you glad, then?” asked Chalmers gently. He had sat down opposite her, by the fire. Patsy admitted again that he was almost as handsome as Warren. Too bad he never did anything, she reflected; he was too good for just the Club. In fact, Patsy decided suddenly, he was good enough to help her.
“Am I glad?” she repeated slowly, while her eyes still measured him. “Well, Kent—you know all about it, of course—would you be? Oh, I suppose I’m a little cad to answer you like that,” she went on swiftly, “even though you are Timothy’s friend—my brother’s friend, and—my husband’s. Because you are, perhaps I should say. But Kent”—she faced him squarely, with that little boyish movement of the shoulders that Patsy would never lose, no matter how many tens of years went by—“you’re my friend too—have been ever since I came to Washington; and that’s a very long time. You know how I’ve worked for Warren, how I’ve hated the work I had to do for him—because of the wires to be pulled and the finesse to be made use of, all the sort of thing a Congressman’s wife has to do, you know, and that was like driving nails into the frankness Timothy and I had always been used to. But you know I did do that work, Kent—for Warren’s sake; nothing else in the world! And (Patsy turned her head away abruptly) my reward was always, that I was everything to Warren.”
“Yes——?” Chalmers’ voice came to her like the strong grip of an understanding hand.