It wasn't beautiful at all, as she knew, at this time. A mist had come up, and cloaked everything in indistinctness. It wasn't even cool on the terrace; the slight, west breeze that had been stirring, had changed to the south. Nevertheless, she marched him off to the terrace.
Presently, they walked round the terrace extension at the end of the castle, and stood conversing near the open window by which I sat. Fortunately, they did not see me, and I made no move to indicate my near presence. I felt free to listen to their conversation as a matter of protection for Pat. Like my sister, Jane, I watched her out of eyes and listened with ears that saw and heard a great deal more than they pretended.
Pat spoke very fast, so as to leave the reporter little time to interrupt her. "Afraid you wouldn't see me again, you say? Well, I was afraid you'd never want to see me again, after what happened the other night."
"I—I'm glad it happened, now, aren't you?" McGinity ventured.
"Oh, ever so glad," replied Pat. "I'll never forget that night, not as long as I live. Fancy meeting a person for the first time in one's cellar. And, oh! I'm so glad I came home ahead of Prince Matani. We had a terrible spat at the polo game—over you. He detests reporters. Hasn't the slightest sense of humor, and I see fun in everything. And, oh, yes!" she raced on; "there's something I want to ask you. Will you be at Uncle Henry's demonstration in the city, next Tuesday night? Oh, of course, you will! And, please, I'd love to see how a newspaper is made. It must be very thrilling. You want to show me, don't you?"
"I should like to very much," said McGinity. "But I can't understand, with all the interests you have in life, what it is you want of me. I can't understand yet why you take so much interest in me, or trouble yourself with me at all."
She gazed at him, half laughing. "Are you really so stupid as all that?" Then she quickly added: "Perhaps I don't want anything. What then?" And, before he could reply, she flew at him: "At least I want you to stop calling me 'Miss'."
"What am I to call you?"
"Pat."
"Very well—Pat," he smiled, "let me talk to you a little about myself, of what I want of you." But he got no further; he became curiously bereft of speech.