It was not unbeautiful, but it seemed to Patty more appropriate for upholstery purposes than for a dress.
The lady recited what may have been poems, and were, according to Blaney's whispered information, but as they were in some queer foreign language, they were utterly unintelligible.
"What was it all about ?" Patty asked, as the recitations were at last over.
"My dear child, couldn't you gather it all,--all, from the marvellous attitudinising,--the wonderful intoning----" "'Deed I couldn't! I've no idea what she was getting at, and I don't believe you have, either." "Oh, yes, it was the glory of a soul on fire,--an immolation of genius on the altar of victory----" "That sounds to me like rubbish," and Patty smiled frankly into the eyes of the man addressing her.
"Not rubbish, Miss Fairfield.

Oh, what a pleasure it will be to enlighten your ignorance! To teach the eyes of your soul to see, the heart of your soul to beat----" Again, it was the voice of the man that commanded her attention.

The tones of Sam Blaney's speaking voice were of such a luring, persuasive quality that Patty felt herself agreeing and assenting to what she knew was nonsense.
But now Van Reypen was striding toward them.

Patty saw at a glance that Phil was at the end of his rope.

No more of this nonsense for him.
She was right.