"How you DO help a fellow
out! Well, yours are just the colour of a soft, dainty pink poppy
that is touched by the sunlight and kissed by a summer breeze."
"I knew you were a poet," said Patty, smiling, "but I don't allow
even a summer breeze to kiss my cheeks."
"I should hope not! A summer breeze is altogether too promiscuous
with its kisses. I hope you don't allow any kisses, except those of
your own particular swansdown powder puff."
"Of course I don't!" laughed Patty, and then she blushed furiously
as she suddenly remembered how Farnsworth had kissed both her cheeks
the night of Christine's wedding.
"I see you're blushing at a memory," said Cameron, coolly; "I
suppose the powder puff was too audacious."
"Yes, that's it," said Patty, her liking for this young man
increased by the pleasantry of his light banter. "And now we must
return to the music-room. I came here a moment to catch my breath
after singing; but how did you happen to be here?"
"I knew you'd come here; ostensibly, of course, to catch your
breath, but really because you knew I'd be here."
"You wretch!" cried Patty. "How dare you say such things! I never
dreamed you'd be here; if I had, I shouldn't have come.
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