Then Mona
intercepted his vision, but after the necessary introductions and
greetings, the young artist's eyes kept wandering toward Patty, as
if drawn by a magnet.
Young Cromer was a clever artist, though not, as yet, exceedingly
renowned. He advertised his calling, however, in his costume and
appearance. He wore white flannels, but he affected a low rolling
collar and a soft silk tie. His hair was just a trifle longer than
convention called for, and his well-cut features were marred by a
drooping, faraway expression which, he fondly hoped, denoted
soulfulness.
Patty laughed gaily at him.
"Don't stare at me, Mr. Cromer," she said, saucily. "Baby May
pulled my hair down, but I have the grace to be ashamed of my
untidiness."
"It's exquisite," said Cromer, looking at her admiringly; "a sweet
disorder in the dress."
"Oh, I know that lady you quote! She always had her shoestrings
untied and her hat on crooked!"
Cromer looked amazed, as if a saint had been guilty of heresy, and
Patty laughed afresh at his astonished look.
"If you want to see sweet disorder in dress, here's your chance,"
cried Mona. "Here comes Daisy Dow, and she's one who never has her
hat on straight, by any chance!"
Sure enough, as a big car whizzed up under the porte-cochere, a
girl jumped out, with veils flying, coat flapping, and gloves,
bag, and handkerchief dropping, as she ran up the steps.
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