The Patsys of this world are not given to trading on their charm or powers of attraction to win men to them—it is against their creed of true womanhood. Moreover, a man counts no more than a woman in their sum total of daily pleasure, and when they choose a comrade it is for human qualities, not sexualities. And because of this, this particular Patsy felt the more intensely the humiliation and challenge of the moment. She hated herself; she hated the man, whoever he might be; she hated the tinker for his share in it all.
Anger loosened her tongue at last. “Who, in the name of Saint Bridget, are ye?” she demanded.
And the man in white flannels threw back his head and laughed.
VIII
WHEN TWO WERE NOT COMPANY
The laughter would have proved contagious to any except one in Patsy’s humor; and, as laughing alone is sorry business, the man soon sobered and looked over at Patsy with the merriment lingering only in his eyes.
“By Willie Shakespeare, it’s the duke’s daughter in truth!”