But Mrs. Upjohn did not heed. She got down from the table, clumsily enough, and went to the door. Patty had just passed it.
"Patty!" Mrs. Upjohn called softly. "Is there anything the matter?"
Patty turned a miserable, tear-stained face. "It—it's all o-over," she said dully.
"Your father?" asked Mrs. Upjohn. She spoke in an awe-struck whisper in spite of herself. Did not Death deserve such an attitude?
Patty nodded silently. "I'm so sorry, Patty," Mrs. Upjohn's sympathy was genuine. "I am so sorry."
"Oh, Alicia," Patty cried in a burst of grief, "my father's d-dead."
Mrs. Upjohn folded ample arms about her and patted her on the shoulder as if she had been a child. "There, there, Patty! I'm just as sorry as I can be; and so will everybody be as soon as they hear of it. But you just cry as much as you want to. It'll do you good."
So they stood, Mrs. Upjohn unmindful of the fact that she had no skirt and Patty crying into a lavender silk shoulder.
"Land!" The voice was the voice of Miss Lambkin and it proceeded from the doorway. "I'm awfully sorry to hear your father's dead, Patty. How did—"
Patty lifted her head majestically from the lavender silk shoulder. "My grief is sacred," she murmured; and fled to her room.