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CHAPTER X THE PRIZE DESIGNS "I hope you don't hate me?" said Maurice, rather annoyed. First—no husband. That's out of the question! I'm not strong-minded enough to crank my own motor-car and study woman's suffrage. I like men, can't help it, and seem to need one for my own..
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"I wish I could kiss you, you old angel," she said, irrelevantly. "Let's lay in our pemmican, and hustle back for a seat in the parquet circle. I'm dying to look them over and see who's who and what's what before I make any more breaks." Patricia accepted the help as silently as it was offered, and when he brought her clay and, still mute, showed her how to block the rough clay into a semblance of a human head, she smiled at him with ready gratitude, not daring more for fear of the omnipotent Miss Green. "Good Lord, Miss Dallas! You here? At this hour!" "As if I'd publish it on the housetops!" she cried in infinite disdain. "It's plain you aren't much up in detective stories.".
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