"Like chickwood round a punkin-vine," Patty finished.
"Pshaw, that's not sentimental. You should have said, Like sturdy
oak and clinging vine."
"But I'm not sentimental. Who could be in a crowded ballroom, in a
glare of light, and in a mad dance?"
"What conditions would make you feel sentimental?"
"Why,--let me see. Moonlight,--on a balcony,--with the right man."
"I'm the right man, all right,--and you know it. And if I'm not
greatly mistaken, here's moonlight and a balcony!"
Sure enough, a long French window had been set slightly ajar to cool
the overheated room, and almost before she knew it, Patty was
whisked outside.
"Oh, Philip! Don't! you mustn't! I'll take cold. I ought to have
something around me."
"You have," said Van Reypen, calmly, and as he had not yet released
her from the dance he held his arms lightly round her shoulders.
Patty was angry. She knew Philip loved her,--several times he had
asked her to marry him,--but this was taking an unfair advantage.
The February wind itself was not colder than the manner with which
she drew away from him, and stepped back into the ballroom.
"My dear, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Homer, who chanced to be near,
"how imprudent! You should not go out without a wrap.
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