I leaped to my feet and seized her hands. For a second she looked at me, startled. Then she tore them away and ran behind the dipping chair in the corner.
"Richard, Richard!" she exclaimed. "Did Dorothy but know!"
"Dorothy is occupied with titles," I said.
Patty's lip quivered. And I knew, blundering fool that I was, that I had hurt her.
"Oh, you wrong her!" she cried; "believe me when I say that she loves you, and you only, Richard."
"Loves me!" I retorted bitterly,—brutally, I fear. "No. She may have once, long ago. But now her head is turned."
"She loves you now," answered Patty, earnestly; "and I think ever will, if you but deserve her."
And with that she went away, leaving me to stare after her in perplexity and consternation.