"My work."
"Oh! Are you an artist?"
"Of a sort. I make fashion drawings."
"How diverting!" Pat was recovering herself. "Can't you go on working while we talk?"
"Are we going to talk?" The corners of the firm mouth crinkled up, a dimple affirmed its existence, the brown eyes twinkled, and Pat incontinently and most improperly fell in love with her hostess.
"I think you're too delightful!"
"I can be quite otherwise, on occasion—to impertinent people."
"Don't scare me again," begged Pat. "I won't be impertinent. Though I want to be, terribly."
"As that is what you came for, perhaps you'd better be. Why did you ask for Mrs. Fentriss?"