At Amsterdam there arrived Miss Pattie Field, 24, of Denver—and her mother—and many trunks. Titled Amsterdamers, the local consular corps, a scurrying squad of pressmen, welcomed her, found her good to look upon, looked. Miss Field looked back, with both a twinkle and a glitter in her bold dark eye.

With gracious feminine evasiveness she parried all efforts of the correspondents to draw her out into some statement that could be revamped as "copy." With incisive, feminine neatness she ordered her trunks unpacked, and though no prying reporter saw, her U. S. friends...

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