"You--perfectly--horrid--old--thing!" she gasped, almost crying from sheer surprise and anger. "Yes?" he said, and she detected laughter in his tone, which made her angrier than ever. "I hate you!" she burst forth. "Do you, dear?" and Farnsworth rearranged the rug to protect her more fully. There was such gentleness in his touch, such tenderness in his voice, that Patty's anger melted to plain curiosity. "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "Why did you bring me away in such--such caveman fashion?" Farnsworth smiled. "It was a caveman performance, wasn't it? But you wouldn't come willingly." "Of course I wouldn't! Why should I?" "For three very good reasons." Farnsworth spoke, gravely. "First, you were in a place where you didn't belong. I couldn't let you remain there." "It is not your business to say where I belong!" "I wouldn't want any one I care for to be in that place." "Not even Daisy Dow?" "Certainly not Daisy." "Oh, not Daisy--of _all_ people! Oh, certainly _not_!" "Next, you were doing what you ought not to do." "What!" "Yes, you were. You danced barefoot before those--those unspeakable fools!" Patty felt uncomfortable. She hadn't herself exactly liked the idea of that barefoot dance, and hadn't told any one she was going to do it. She had insisted to Mr. Grantham that she preferred to wear sandals. But he had talked so beautifully of the naturalness of the whole conception, the exquisite appropriateness of unshod feet, and the necessity of her carrying out his design as a whole, that she had yielded. And now that Bill Farnsworth spoke of it in this rude way, it seemed to divest the dance of all its aesthetic beauty, and make of it a horrid, silly performance. She tried to speak, tried to reply in indignant or angry vein, but she couldn't articulate at all. A lump came into her throat, big tears formed in her eyes, and a sob that she tried in vain to suppress shook her whole body. She felt Farnsworth's arm go protectingly round her. Not caressingly, but with an assurance of care and assumption of responsibility. Then, he pulled off the glove from his other hand with his teeth, and after a dive into a pocket, produced and shook out a big, white, comforting square of soft linen, and Patty gratefully buried her face in it. CHAPTER XV THE CHRISTMAS PARTY "Much obliged, Billee," Patty said, at last, as she handed back a somewhat damp handkerchief, and Farnsworth stuffed it in his pocket. "Where are you taking me?" "Where do you want to go?" "Back where you brought me from, please." "Well, you can't go there. Will you go home, or to the Farringtons'?"