"No kimono parties to-night, girls," said Patty, firmly. "I'm
going straight to bed."
"All right," agreed Mona and Daisy, "we'll save our gossip till
morning."
But Patty didn't go straight to bed. She flashed on the lights in
her rose-coloured boudoir, drew the curtains of the bay window,
and then threw herself into a big easy-chair. She was thinking of
Mr. William Farnsworth. She wished he hadn't said what he had. It
worried her, somehow. And when he said good-night just now, he had
a look in his eyes that meant,--well, perhaps it didn't mean
anything after all. Perhaps he was only flirting,--as Patty
herself was. But was she? She had just asked herself this
question, really seriously, when a rose came flying in at the
window and fell at her feet. She looked up quickly,--she was SURE
she had drawn the curtains. Yes, she had done so, but there was
just a little space between them, where they didn't quite join.
Well, it must have been a good marksman who could throw so
accurately! Westerners were accounted good marksmen,--it MIGHT
be--
And then a second rose followed the first, and others, at
intervals, until a good-sized heap lay at Patty's feet.
Laughing in spite of herself, she went to the window, and peeped
out between the curtains.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212