But the girl held her back. “No, you don’t. We are not going to lose you like that. We’ll kidnap you, as Dempsy suggested, till after lunch; then we’ll motor you back to Arden. You’ll get there just about as soon.”
Patsy had not the slightest intention of yielding; her mind and her feet were braced against any divergence from the straight road now; but the man Janet Payne had called Gregory Jessup said something that scattered her resolutions like so much chaff.
“You’ve simply got to come, Miss O’Connell.” And he leaned over the side of the car in boyish enthusiasm. “Last summer Billy Burgeman used to read to me the parts of Marjorie’s letters that told about you, and they were great! We were making up our minds to go to Ireland and see if you were real when your company came to America. After that Marjorie would never introduce us after the plays, just to be contrary. You wouldn’t have the heart to grudge us a little acquaintanceship now, would you?”
“Billy Burgeman,” repeated Patsy. “Do you know him?”
Dempsy Carter interposed. “They’re chums, Miss O’Connell. I’ll wager there isn’t a soul on earth that knows Billy as well as Greg does.”
“That’s hard on Marjorie, isn’t it?” asked Janet Payne.
“Oh, hang Marjorie!” The sincerity of Gregory Jessup’s emotion somewhat excused his outburst.
“Why, I thought they were betrothed!” Patsy looked innocent.
“They were. What they are now—Heaven only knows! Marjorie Schuyler has gone to China, and Billy has dropped off the face of the earth.”