“Of course you will,” said Herron. “Also, I’d not be surprised if Miss Fairfield knows more herself than she tells! These letters from Washington to personal friends are not to be read aloud in the market-place,—for more reasons than one.”
Patty looked conscious, but said nothing. Indeed, it was true that Farnsworth often wrote bits of comment on subjects that Patty knew must not be talked over nor his information divulged. And so, she preserved a scrupulous secrecy regarding any war news her letters might hold.
Also, once in a while, Farnsworth sent Patty a little letter, sealed and enclosed in another. This he sometimes asked her not to open until a certain time, or he asked her to mail it in New York, for secret reasons.
All of these matters Patty attended to with punctilious care and she loved to think that she was helping her Little Billee and also her country.
“One doesn’t read one’s love letters aloud,—naturally!” and Patty looked down and blushed.
“Of course not!” cried Helen; “I should say _not_! And especially yours! Oh, I know! You’ve read bits to me now and then, and if what you _omit_ is any more—ahem—well, turtle-dovish than what you _do_ read, and I’ve no doubt it _is_——”
“It is,” Patty returned, with unmoved equanimity. “What’s the use of being engaged if one may not be what you call turtle-dovey! I’m not a bit embarrassed about it. But for my part, I think Mrs. Doremus was decidedly over-curious and forward about me and my affairs.”
“How you harp on that word!” exclaimed Patty. “I don’t think it was so much that, as a lack of good breeding——”
“Oh, come now, Patty, didn’t you catch on?”
“Why, that Mrs. Doremus was no lady,—because,—she was a man.”
“She sure was! And I’d like an explanation, Herron. I thought I’d let the matter pass until I could see you alone, but I think it’s better to have it out here and now. You brought that person to us, you fixed up the matter, now tell us about it.”
“I own up!” he confessed, “I did it! Alone I did it! Oh, it _was_ a joke!”
Patty looked puzzled. “A man?” she said; “masquerading?”
“Just that, dear lady,” and Herron laughed afresh. “I couldn’t help it! There was no woman on the premises save the housekeeper’s daughter, who was only a girl of fifteen or so. There was no way to keep you girls there for luncheon except by providing a chaperon. So,—I did my best. Don’t look so shocked. It was only a harmless jest. Surely, the quondam chaperon was in no way objectionable; and, as Miss Fairfield admits, she—or he—filled a long-felt want!”