Nan only patted her gently, and crooned comforting little sounds, that soothed the tortured nerves by their loving tone.
At last, Patty stopped crying for the simple reason, apparently, that her tears had at last become exhausted.
Helen had brought a fresh relay of handkerchiefs, and as Patty half-unconsciously accepted one after another, the bed was strewn with the moistened squares of linen.
“Hold on,” warned Bumble, “if you’re going to begin again, go easy on this; it’s the last one of mine.”
“I’ve plenty,” assured Nan, “cry away, Patty, if you like.”
Nan’s intuition told her that Patty must have her cry out, before any explanation could be forthcoming. And it was so. Every time the tears ceased and Patty undertook to talk, just so often the floods burst forth again. Helen grew a bit impatient, and wanted to know what it was all about, but Nan gave her a warning glance, that curbed her curiosity.
For Nan knew Patty’s temperament, and knew, too, that only some really great matter lay at the bottom of this outbreak.
At last, a point was reached, where it seemed that the tears were really exhausted, and, weak and white, Patty looked with loving gratitude into Nan’s comforting eyes.
“Bless you, dear,” Nan said, kissing the flushed cheek,—“here’s a dry pillow, now, rest. I’m going to get you a glass of milk and a biscuit.”
When Nan returned, Patty was quiet, and very sad-looking. Helen was trying to cheer her up by talking nonsense, but Patty paid little heed to her chatter.
Mechanically she took the milk that Nan brought, and nibbled at a biscuit.
“It’s this, people,” she said, at length, “you might as well know, first as last. Billee has thrown me over.”
“Oh, Patty!” she cried, “all that fuss for a simple little lovers’ quarrel! Well I suppose you are a simple little lover, and I daresay Bill has no notion of it all. _What’s_ your fancied grievance? And, I must admit I’m relieved! I feared it was something serious.”
“And it is!” flashed Patty; “I guess you’ll think so when you know. I sent him a val—valentine——”
“And that upset the apple-cart? Why, why; was it a ‘comic’?”
“Don’t tease, Nan, it’s fearful. You saw the valentine, didn’t you, Bumble?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember anything about it. What was it?”