"Yes."
"Amateurs don't count," was his superb pronouncement.
"Any friend of mine counts," said Pat coldly, and turned her back upon him. He flounced away exactly like a disgruntled schoolgirl.
"Don't mind Leo, Pat," said her hostess, coming over to her with a smile of amusement. "He's a spoiled child; almost as much spoiled as you are."
"I don't mind him," returned the girl equably, but inside she was tingling with the sense of combat and of the man's intense and salient personality. She was sure that he would come back to her.
Late in the evening he did, with a manifest effect of its being against his judgment and intention, which delighted her mischievous soul. Most of the others had left.
"They tell me you sing, Miss Fentriss," he began abruptly.
"A little," replied Pat, who had been devoting what she regarded as hard and grinding work to her music for a six-month.
"Rag-time, I suppose." Contemptuously.
"And others!"