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The waiter, a broad-faced Belgian, rushed forward with a smile of genuine welcome and a flourish of the spotless towel which he wore upon his left shoulder, and, with a few murmured words in French, motioned them to a table by the front window. "Oh, Bruce, the sycamore you painted is gone!" called Patricia, not turning. "Come and see!" "I tell 'ee I found it, I did," growled Battersea, becoming restive under the constant questioning. "Found it near the gate of Missus Dallas' place.".
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"I know you are, and I admire your taste." "That's why I call him Frad," said Patricia, with a twinkle. "Combines the whole and is entirely original, and so suited to his situation. I don't think he ought to drop all the Carson name, particularly while we're all living comfortably on the Carson money. It seems sort of ungrateful to me." Patricia, abashed by being thus publicly admonished, murmured something about its being only the first dance, and not knowing many people, but Miss Jinny cut her short. The gay little song persisted, much to the dissatisfaction of the severe monitor, Miss Green, whose fat and lugubrious countenance took on a deeper shade of gloom at every hushed note that trembled in Patricia's rounded throat..
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