"Nothing of the sort!" Kit exclaimed. "She's the sweetest, daintiest, refinedest, culturedest little thing you ever saw!"

"How do you know? You haven't seen her."

"No, but I've talked with her. I guess I know." And Kit turned decidedly sulky, for he began to think it WAS rather doubtful about his seeing his girl that evening.

And then the guests began to arrive, and Mr. Kit put on a smiling face and made himself agreeable to his cousin's friends.

Patty came among the latest arrivals. She looked her prettiest in a filmy gown of pale-blue chiffon, with touches of silver embroidery. An ornament in her hair was of silver filigree, with a wisp of pale- blue feather, and her cheeks were a little pinker than usual.

Kit glanced at her as she came in, and, though he noticed that she was an extremely pretty girl, he immediately glanced away again and continued his watch for the black-eyed girl he expected. The room was well filled by this time, and Patty took a seat near the front, where sat a group of her intimate friends. They greeted her gaily, and Kit, on the other side of the room, paid no attention to them.

The programme began with a duet by Kit on his violin, and his Cousin Marie at the piano.

The man was really a virtuoso, and his beautiful playing held the audience spellbound. Patty watched him, enthralled with his music, and admiring, too, his generally worth-while appearance.

"He does look awfully jolly," she thought, to herself, "and it's plain to be seen he has brains. I wonder if he will be terribly disappointed in me, after all. I've a notion to run away."

For the first time in her life Patty felt shy about singing. Usually she had no trace of self-consciousness, but to-night she experienced a feeling of embarrassment she had never known before. She realized this, and scolded herself roundly for it. "You idiot!" she observed, mentally, to her own soul; "if you want to make a good impression, you'd better stop feeling like a simpleton. Now brace up, and do the best you can, and behave yourself!"

Miss Curtiss sang before Patty did. She was a sweet-faced young woman, with a beautiful and well-trained contralto voice. Patty cast a furtive glance at Kit Cameron, and found that he was looking intently at the singer. She knew perfectly well he was wondering whether this might be the girl of the telephone conversations, and she saw, too, that he decided in the negative, for he shook his head slightly, but with conviction.

Suddenly the humour of the whole situation struck Patty. The incident was not serious, but humorous, and as soon as she realised this her shyness disappeared, and the spirit of mischief once again took possession of her. She knew now she would do herself credit when she sang, and when her turn came she rose and walked slowly and gracefully to the platform which had been temporarily placed for the musicians.

Marie was to play her accompaniment, and Patty had expected to sing first a somewhat elaborate aria, using "Beware" as an encore.

But as she reached the platform, and as she noticed Kit Cameron's face, its expression politely interested, but in no wise enthusiastic, she suddenly changed her mind. She put the music of "Beware" on the piano rack, and murmured to Marie, "This one first."

Marie looked puzzled, but of course she couldn't say anything as Patty stood waiting to begin.

For some reason Patty was always at her prettiest when she sang. She thoroughly enjoyed singing, and she enjoyed the evident pleasure it gave to others. She stood gracefully, her hands lightly clasped before her, and the added excitement of this particular occasion gave a flush to her cheek and a sparkle to her blue eyes that made her positively bewitching.

And then she sang the foolish little song, "Beware," just as she had sung it over the telephone, coquettishly, but without artificiality or forced effect.

She scarcely dared look at Kit Cameron. A fleeting glance showed her that he was probably at that moment the most nonplussed young man in existence.

She looked away quickly, lest her voice should falter from amusement.

Luckily, all the audience were regarding Patty attentively, and had no eyes for the astonished face of Kit Cameron. He had taken no special interest in the blonde singer, but when her first notes, rang out he started in surprise. As the voice continued he knew at once it was the same voice he had heard over the telephone, but he couldn't reconcile the facts. He caught the fleeting glance she gave him, he saw the roguish smile in her eyes, and he was forced to believe that this girl was his dark-eyed unknown.

"The little rascal!" he said, to himself. "The scamp! the rogue! How she has tricked me! To think she was Patty Fairfield all the time! No wonder Marie didn't know whom I was talking about! Well!"

As the song finished no one applauded more enthusiastically than Kit Cameron.

But Patty would not look toward him, and proceeded to sing as an encore the aria she had intended to sing first.

She was in her best voice, and she sang this beautifully, and, if the audience was surprised at the unusual order of the selections, they were unstinted in their applause.

Leaving the stage, instead of returning to her seat, Patty stepped back into the next room, which was the library.

Cameron was there to receive her. He had felt sure she would not return to the audience immediately, and he took the chance.

He held out both hands and Patty laid her hands in his.

"Captive Princess," he murmured.

"My Knight!" Patty whispered, and flashed a smile at him.

"Can you EVER forgive the things I said?" he asked, earnestly, as he led her across the room and they sat down on a divan.

"There's nothing to forgive," she said, smiling; "you detest blondes, I know, but I'm thinking seriously of dyeing my hair black."

"Don't! that would be a sacrilege! And you MUST remember that I told you I always adored blondes, until you told me you were brunette."

"But I didn't," said Patty, laughing. "Somehow you got the notion that I was dark, and I didn't correct it. Are you TERRIBLY disappointed in me?"

Naughty Patty raised her heavenly blue eyes and looked so like a fair, sweet flower that Kit exclaimed:

"Disappointed! You are an angel, straight from heaven!"

"Nonsense! If you talk like that, I shall run away."

"Don't run away! I'll talk any way you like, but now that I have found you I shall keep you. But I am still in depths of self- abasement. Didn't I say most unkind things about Miss Fairfield?"

"No unkinder than I did. We both jumped on her, and said she was vain and horrid."

"I never said such dreadful things! I'm sure I didn't. But, if I did, I shall spend the rest of my life making up for it. And I called you Poppycheek!"

Cameron looked at Patty's cheeks in such utter dismay that she laughed outright.

"But you know," she said, "there are pink poppies as well as scarlet. Incidentally there are white and there are saffron yellow."

"So there are," said Cameron, delightedly. "How you DO help a fellow out! Well, yours are just the colour of a soft, dainty pink poppy that is touched by the sunlight and kissed by a summer breeze."

"I knew you were a poet," said Patty, smiling, "but I don't allow even a summer breeze to kiss my cheeks."

"I should hope not! A summer breeze is altogether too promiscuous with its kisses. I hope you don't allow any kisses, except those of your own particular swansdown powder puff."

"Of course I don't!" laughed Patty, and then she blushed furiously as she suddenly remembered how Farnsworth had kissed both her cheeks the night of Christine's wedding.

"I see you're blushing at a memory," said Cameron, coolly; "I suppose the powder puff was too audacious."

"Yes, that's it," said Patty, her liking for this young man increased by the pleasantry of his light banter. "And now we must return to the music-room. I came here a moment to catch my breath after singing; but how did you happen to be here?"

"I knew you'd come here; ostensibly, of course, to catch your breath, but really because you knew I'd be here."

"You wretch!" cried Patty. "How dare you say such things! I never dreamed you'd be here; if I had, I shouldn't have come."

"Of course you wouldn't, you little coquette! It's your nature to be perverse and capricious. But your sweet good-humour won't let you carry those other traits too far. Oh, I know you, My Girl!"

"I object to that phrase from you," Patty said, coldly, "and I must ask you not to use it again."

"But you ARE my girl, by right of discovery. By the way, you're not anybody else's girl, are you?"

"Just what do you mean by that?"

"Well, in other words, then, are you engaged, betrothed, plighted, promised, bespoke——"

Patty burst out laughing. "I'm not any of those things," she said, "but, if ever I am, I shall be bespoke. I think that's the loveliest word! Fancy being anybody's Bespoke!"

"Of course, it's up to me to give you an immediate opportunity," said Cameron, sighing. "But somehow I don't quite dare bespeak you on such short acquaintance."

"Faint heart——"

"Oh, it isn't that! I'm brave enough. But I'm an awfully punctilious man. If I were going to bespeak you, now, I should think it my duty to go first to your father and correctly ask his permission to pay my addresses to his daughter."

"Good gracious! How do you pay addresses? I never had an address paid to me in my life."

"Shall I show you how?" And Cameron jumped up and fell on one knee before Patty, with a comical expression of a make-believe love-sick swain.

Patty dearly loved fooling, and she smiled back at him roguishly, and just at that moment Philip Van Reypen came into the room.

In the dim half-light he descried Patty on the divan and Cameron kneeling before her, and, as Mr. Van Reypen was blessed with a quick temper, he felt a sudden desire to choke the talented Mr. Cameron.

"Patty!" Philip exclaimed, angrily.

"Yes, Philip," said Patty, in a voice of sweet humility.

"Come with me," was the stern command.

"Yes, Philip," and Patty arose and walked away with Van Reypen, leaving Kit Cameron still on his knee.

"Well, I'll be hammered!" that gentleman remarked, as he rose slowly and deliberately dusted off his knee with his handkerchief; "that girl is a wonder! She's full of the dickens, but she's as sweet as a peach. I always did like blondes best, whether she believes it or not. But if I hadn't, I should now. There's only one girl in the world for me. I wonder if she is mixed up with that Van Reypen chap. He had a most proprietary manner, but all the same, that little witch is quite capable of scooting off like that, just to tease me. Oh, I'll play her own game and meet her on her own ground. Little Poppycheek!" With a nonchalant air, Mr. Cameron sauntered back to the music-room, and seated himself beside Miss Curtiss, with whom he struck up an animated conversation, not so much as glancing at Patty.

Patty observed this from the corner of her eye, and she nodded her head in approval.

"He's worth knowing," she thought; "I'll have a lot of fun with him."

The programme was almost over, but Kit was to play once again. With Marie, he played a fine selection, and then, as he was tumultuously encored, he went back to the platform alone. Without accompaniment he played the little song, "Beware," that Patty had sung, and, improvising, he made a fantasia of the air. He was clever as well as skilled, and he turned the simple little melody into thrilling, rollicking music with trills and roulades until the original theme was almost lost sight of, only to crop up again with new intensity.

Patty listened, enthralled. She loved this sort of thing, and she knew he was playing to her and for her. The strains would be now softly romantic, now grandly triumphant, but ever recurring to the main motive, until one seemed fairly to see the fickle maiden of the song.

When it was ended, the room rang with applause. Cameron bowed simply, and laying aside his violin, went straight to Patty and sat down by her, coolly appropriating the chair which his cousin Marie had just left.

"I made that for you," he said, simply. "Did you like it?"

"Like it!" exclaimed Patty, her blue eyes dancing; "I revelled in it! It was wonderful! Was it really impromptu?"

"Of course. It was nothing. Any one can play variations on an old song."

"Variations nothing!" remarked Patty. "It was a work,—a chef d'oeuvre,—an opus!"

"Yes; Opus One of my new cycle." "What are you two talking about?" said Marie, returning. "Have you found your girl, Kit? What do you think, Patty?—Kit's crazy over a black-eyed girl whom he doesn't know!"

"Is he?" said Patty, dropping her eyes demurely.

"I found My Girl, Marie," Cameron announced, calmly; "I find I made a trifling mistake about her colouring, but that's a mere detail. As it turns out, the lady of my quest is Miss Fairfield."

"Good gracious, are you, Patty?" said Marie, impetuously; "are you Kit's girl?"

"Yes; I am," and Patty folded her hands with a ridiculous air of complacency.

"Patty!" growled Van Reypen, who was sitting behind her.

"Yes, Philip," said Patty, sweetly, turning partly round.

"Behave yourself!"

"I am behaving, Philip," and Patty looked very meek.

"Of course you are," said Marie; "you're behaving beautifully. And you look like an angel, and you sang like a lark, and if you're Kit's Girl, I'm glad of it. Now come on, everybody's going to supper."

"You come along with me," said Philip Van Reypen, as he took Patty by the arm.

"Why?" And Patty looked a little defiant at this command.

"Because I want you to. And I want you to stop making up to that Cameron man."

"I'm not, Philip; he's making up to me."

"Well, he'd better stop it! What was he doing on his knees before you in the library?"

"I don't remember," said Patty, innocently. "Oh, yes, he was telling me my cheeks were red, or some foolishness like that."

"And your eyes were blue, I suppose, and your hair was yellow! Didn't you know all those things before?"

"Why, Philip, how cross you are! Yes, I've known those things for nineteen years. It's no surprise to me."

"Patty, I'd like to shake you! Do you know what you are? You're just a little, vain, silly, babbling coquette!"

"I think that's a lovely thing to be! Do you want me to babble to you, Philip, or shall I go and babble to somebody else?"

"Don't babble at all. Here's a chair. You sit right down here, and eat your supper. Here's another chair. You lay your shawl and bonnet on that, to keep it for me, and I'll go and forage for some food."

Patty laid her scarf and fan on the chair to reserve it for Philip, but she was not unduly surprised when Mr. Cameron came along, picked up her belongings, and seated himself in the chair.

"That's Mr. Van Reypen's chair," said Patty; "if he finds you there, he'll gently but firmly kill you."

"I know it," said Kit, placidly; "but a Knight is always willing to brave death for his Lady."

"But I don't want you killed," said Patty, looking sad, "I wouldn't have anybody to telephone to."

"If I run away then, to save my life, will you telephone me to- night?"

"Indeed I won't! that's all over. But please, Mr. Cameron, run away, for here comes Philip, with both hands full of soup, and I know he wouldn't hesitate to scald you with it."

Mr. Cameron arose, as Mr. Van Reypen came in, and with an air of willingly relinquishing his seat to Philip, he said, "My Girl's Orders."

Philip didn't hear it, but Patty did, and she blushed, for Cameron's departure that way showed greater deference to her wishes than if he had stayed with her.

"What did he say?" Philip asked, as he offered Patty a cup of bouillon, and then sat down beside her.

"He said you were such a sweet-tempered man, he didn't wonder I liked you," and Patty beamed pleasantly.

"I would be sweet-tempered, Patty, if you didn't tease the very life out of me!"

"Now, Philip, you wouldn't be much good if you couldn't stand a little teasing."

"Go ahead, then; tease me all you like," and Van Reypen looked the personification of dogged endurance.

"I will!" said Patty, emphatically, and then some others joined them, and the group began to laugh and talk together.

"Your cousin is stunning, Marie," said Mona Galbraith; "why have we never met him before?"

"He's a freak," Marie said, laughingly. "I couldn't persuade him to come to my valentine party, and to-night I couldn't keep him away! All musicians are freaks, you know."

"He's a musician, all right," said Kenneth Harper. "The things he did to that simple little song must have made some of the eminent composers turn in their graves!"

"He's awfully clever at that sort of thing," said Marie; "sometimes when we're here alone, he'll take a simple little air and improvise the most beautiful melodies from it."

"Is he amiable?" asked Mona, casually.

"Not very; or rather, not always. But he's a dear fellow, and we're all fond of him. How did you like him, Patty?"

"I thought he was lovely," said Patty, and Van Reypen glared at her.



CHAPTER VII

SUITORS

After supper the whole party went to the large drawing-room to dance.

Kit Cameron made a bee-line for Patty. "You'll give me the first dance, won't you?" he said, simply, "because I've stayed away from you all supper time."

Patty hesitated. "I'm willing, Mr. Cameron," she said, "but for one thing. I'm awfully exacting in the matter of dancing, and if you're not a good dancer it would go far to spoil our pleasant acquaintance. Suppose we don't risk it."

Cameron considered. "I am a good dancer," he said, "but Marie has told me that you're something phenomenal in that line. So I daresay you will be disappointed in me. All right, suppose we don't risk it."

Cameron half turned away, as if he had relinquished the idea of dancing with Patty, and that young woman was somewhat taken aback. She had assumed her new friend would insist on dancing with her, and she had no mind to let him escape thus. She was just about to say, impulsively, "Oh well, let's try it, anyway," when she caught a gleam from the corner of his eye, and she realised in a flash that he felt sure she would call him back!

This was enough for capricious Patty, and she turned away from him, but not so quickly but that she saw his face suddenly fall, proving that she had been quite right in her diagnosis of the case.

She smiled on Van Reypen, who was hovering near, and he came to her at once.

"Our dance, Patty?" he said, eagerly, holding out his hand.

"Yes, Philip," she answered simply, laying her hand in his. and in a moment they were circling the room.

"Don't be cross to me, will you, Philip?" said Patty with an appealing note in her soft voice.

"No; you little torment, you. I'll never be cross to you, if you won't flirt with other men."

"Philip," and Patty spoke quite seriously, "I'll be cross with you, if you don't stop taking that attitude with me. It isn't for YOU to say whether I shall flirt with other men or not!"

"No, I know it;" and Philip was unexpectedly humble. "I wish it was for me to say, Patty."

"Stop talking nonsense, or I'll stop dancing with you! By the way, Phil, you're an awfully good dancer."

"I'm glad there's something about me that pleases your ladyship."

"Yes; so am I. It certainly isn't your temper!"

And then Philip smiled into Patty's eyes, and peace was restored, as it always was after their little squabbles.

The dance over, they sat for a few moments, and then Kenneth Harper asked to be Patty's next partner.

"All right, Ken," said Patty; "but sit down here just a minute; I want to watch the others."

What Patty really wanted was to see Mr. Cameron dance; and in a few moments he went past them with Elise.

"That man's all round clever," commented Kenneth. "He dances just as he plays the violin, exquisitely. Why, Patty, he's a poem in patent leathers!"

Sure enough, Kit Cameron was an unusually fine dancer, and Patty felt a slow blush rising to her cheeks, as she remembered what she had said to him, and realised he must have thought her vain of her dancing.

For once, Patty felt honestly ashamed of herself. She had implied that she was such a fine dancer she didn't care to dance with any one unskilled in the art.

But after all, this was not quite Patty's attitude. When a stranger was introduced to her, she was quite willing to dance with him, whether he danced well or not. But as to Mr. Cameron, Patty liked him so much and so enjoyed his beautiful music, that she really felt it would be a shock to their friendship if he danced awkwardly.

And, too, she never for a moment supposed he would take her at her word. She had supposed he would insist upon the dance, even after her hesitation.

"What's the matter Patty?" said Kenneth; "you look as though you'd lost your last friend!"

"I'm not sure but I have," said Patty, smiling a little. For certainly Mr. Cameron was the last friend she had made, and it was very likely that she had lost him.

"Well, never mind, you still have me left. I'm gentle and I'm kind, and you'll never, never find a better friend than your old Ken."

"I believe you're right," and Patty smiled at him. "We've been friends a long time, haven't we, Ken?"

"We sure have. When I look at your gray hair and wrinkled cheeks, I realise that we are growing old together."

Patty laughed and dimpled at this nonsense, and then declared she was ready to dance.

All through the evening, Patty was gaily whisked from one partner to another, but Kit Cameron never came near her.

She was decidedly chagrined at this, even though she knew she had only herself to blame for it. She had been really rude, and she was reaping the well-deserved consequences.

Often she passed Cameron in the dance, as he whirled by with another girl. He always smiled pleasantly as they passed, and the fact that he was a magnificent dancer only made Patty feel more angry with herself at having been so silly.

Just before the last dance, Patty stood, gaily chatting with several of her friends, when the music struck up, and both Kenneth and Philip claimed the dance.

"You promised it to me, Patty," said Kenneth, reproachfully.

"Why, Ken Harper, I didn't do any such thing!" and Patty's big blue eyes gazed at him in honest surprise.

"Of course you didn't, you promised it to me," said Van Reypen, equally mendacious.

"Why, I didn't promise it to anybody!" declared Patty; "I haven't promised a dance ahead this whole evening."

As she stood, with the two insistent applicants on either side of her, Cameron walked straight toward her. He said not a word, but held out his arm, and calmly walking away from her two disappointed suitors, Patty was at once whirled away.

"Well, Princess Poppycheek,—Princess Pink Poppycheek,—I had to surrender," Cameron said, as they floated around the room. "After your cruel aspersion on my dancing, I was so enraged I vowed to myself I'd never speak to you again. But I'm awful magnanimous, and I forgive you freely, from the bottom of my heart."

"I haven't asked to be forgiven," and Patty shot him a saucy glance; "but," she added, shyly, "I'm truly glad you do forgive me. I was a pig!"

"So you were. A Poppycheeked piggy-wig! But with me, what is forgiven is forgotten. And, by the way, you dance fairly well."

"So I've been told," returned Patty, demurely. "And I find I can get along with you."

This sounded like faint praise, but each knew that the other appreciated how well their steps suited each other and how skilful they both were.

Van Reypen and Ken Harper stood where Patty had left them, for a moment, as they watched their hoped-for partner dance away.

"There's no use getting mad at that child," said Ken, patiently; "she WILL do as she likes."

"Well, after all, why shouldn't she? She's a reigning belle, and she's a law unto herself. But she has a lot of sense inside that golden curly head."

"Yes," returned Kenneth, "and not only sense, but a sound, sweet nature. Patty is growing up a coquette, but it is only because she is beset by flattery; and, too, she IS full of mischief. She can't help teasing her suitors, as she calls them."

"She can tease me all she likes," said Van Reypen, somewhat seriously, and Kenneth answered simply, "Me, too."

Next morning, Patty told Nan all about Mr. Cameron, and that gay little lady was greatly interested in the story.

"I knew he would be nice," said Nan, "from what you had already told me about him. Is he good-looking, Patty?"

"Yes,—no,—I don't know," returned Patty; "I don't believe I thought about it. He has an awfully nice face, and he's tall and big, and yet he's young-looking. At least, his eyes are. He has dark eyes, and they're just brimming over with mischief and fun, except when he's playing his violin."

"Then I suppose he has the regulation 'far away' look," commented Nan.

"Well, he doesn't look like a dying goat, if that's what you mean! but he looks like a real musician, and he is one."

"And a woman-hater, I believe?"

"Oh, it's rubbish to call him that! He's not crazy over girls, but it's because he thinks most of them are silly. He likes his two cousins,—and, Nan, don't breathe it, but I have a faint inkling of a suspicion of a premonition that he's going to like me!"

"Patty, you're a conceited little goose!"

"Nay, nay, my ducky stepmother, but I'd be a poor stick if I couldn't fascinate that youth after our romantic introduction."

"That's so; and I think you'll not have much trouble bringing him to your feet."

"Oh, I don't want him at my feet. And I don't want him to fall in love with me. I hate that sort of thing! I want him for a nice, chummy, comrade friend, and if I can't have him that way, I don't want him at all. There's Philip and Kenneth now; they've always been so nice. But lately they've taken to making sheep's eyes at me and flinging out bits of foolishness here and there that make me tired! A debutante's life is not a happy one!"

Patty drew such a long, deep sigh, that Nan burst into laughter.

"I would feel sorry for you, Patty," she said, "but I can't help thinking that you're quite able to look out for yourself."

"'Deed I am! When they talk mush, I just giggle at 'em. It brings 'em down pretty quick from their highfalutin nonsense!"

The two were sitting in Patty's boudoir, which was such a bright, sunny room that many a morning hour was pleasantly passed together there by these two friends. Patty was fortunate in having a stepmother so in sympathy with her pursuits and pleasures, and Nan was equally fortunate in having warm-hearted, sunny-natured Patty with her.

Jane came in, bringing an enormous box from a florist.

"My prophetic soul!" cried Patty. "My efforts were not in vain! I feel it in my funnybone that my latest Prince Charming has sent me a posy."

Nor was she wrong. The box contained a bewildering array of spring flowers. Delicate blossoms of jonquils, hyacinths, lilacs, daffodils, and other dainty, fragile flowers that breathed of spring.

"Aren't they lovely!" And Patty buried her face in the fragrant mass of bloom.

"Here's a card," said Nan, picking up a white envelope.

Patty drew out Mr. Cameron's card, and on it was written: "To Princess Poppycheek; that they may tell all that I may not speak."

"Now that's a real nice sentiment," Patty declared; "you see, it doesn't commit him to anything, and yet it sounds pretty. Oh, I shall end by adoring that young man! Bring me some bowls and things, please, Jane; I want to arrange this flower garden myself."

Jane departed with the box and papers, and returned with a tray, on which were several bowls and vases filled with water.

Patty always enjoyed arranging flowers, and she massed them in the bowls, with taste and skill as to color and arrangement.

"There!" she said, as she finished her task; "they do look beautiful, though I say it as shouldn't. Now, I think I shall sit me down and write a sweet gushing note of thanks, while I'm in the notion. For I've a lot on to-day, and I can't devote much time to this particular suitor."

"Suitor is a slang word, Patty; you oughtn't to use it."

"Fiddle-dee-dee! if I didn't use any slang, I couldn't talk at all! And suitor isn't exactly slang; it's the word in current fashion for any pleasant young gentleman who sends flowers, or otherwise favors any pleasant young lady. Everybody in society knows what it means, so don't act old fogy,—Nancy Dancy."

Patty dropped a butterfly kiss on Nan's brow, and then pirouetted across the room to her writing desk.

"Shall I begin, 'My Dear Suitor'?" she said, and then giggled to see the shocked look on Nan's face.

"It wouldn't matter; he would understand," she said, carelessly, "but I think I can do better than that."

"Well, I'll leave you to yourself," said Nan; "not out of special consideration for your comfort, but because it doesn't interest me to watch anybody write letters."

"By-by," and Patty waved her hand, absentmindedly, as Nan left the room.

Then she applied herself to her task.

"Most Courteous Knight," she began; "The flowers are beautiful,—and they are saying lovely things to me. They say they are fresh and young and green. Oh, my goodness! I forgot that you said they were speaking for you! Well, then, they are saying that they are just the sort I like, and they are sure of a welcome. With many, many thanks, I am very sincerely yours, Patricia Poppycheek Fairfield."

And then Patty dismissed her Knight from her mind, and turned her attention to other matters. That afternoon about five o'clock, Mr. Cameron called.

"I scarcely hoped to find you at home," he said, as Patty greeted him in the drawing-room.

"It isn't our day," she returned, "but I chanced to be in, and I'm glad of it. Nan, may I present Mr. Cameron?" And Nan accorded a pleasant welcome to the visitor.

"You see, Mrs. Fairfield," Cameron said, "I rarely go into society and I fear my manners are a bit rusty. So if I have come to call too soon, please forgive me."

His smile was so frank and his manner so easily correct, that Nan approved of him at once. She was punctilious in such matters, and she saw, through Kit's pretence at rustiness, that he was not lacking in etiquette or courtesy.

"Let's have tea in the library," said Patty; "you see, Mr. Cameron, we always invite people we like to have tea in there, rather than in this formal place."

"That suits me; I want to be considered one of the family, and what's the use of wasting a whole lot of time getting up to that point? Let's make believe we've always known each other."

So tea was served in the library, and a very pleasant informal feast it was.

Mr. Fairfield came in, and soon the whole quartette were chatting gaily as if they had always known each other.

Mr. Cameron was especially interested in Patty's club called "Happy Saturdays."

"It's the kindest thing I ever heard of," he said, enthusiastically. "It does good to people who can't be reached by any organised charity. I don't want to intrude, Miss Fairfield, and I don't want to exploit myself, but if you ever give your Saturday friends a little musicale or anything like that, I'd jolly well like to play for you. I'll play popular stuff, or I'll play my best Sunday-go-to- meeting pieces, whichever you prefer."

"That's awfully nice of you," said Patty, smiling at him. "I've often thought I'd get up something of that sort."

"We might have it here," said Nan, "unless you mean to invite more people than we could take care of."

"I'd like to have it here," said Patty; "the drawing-room would easily seat sixty or seventy in an audience,—perhaps more. And I don't believe we could find more than that to invite. Although I know of a girls' club that I'd like to invite as a whole."

"It's a pretty big thing you're getting up, Pattikins," said Mr. Fairfield, smiling kindly at his enthusiastic daughter, "but if you think you can swing it, go ahead. I'll help all I can."

"It would upset the house terribly," said Nan; "but I don't mind that. I'm with you, Patty. Let's do it."

"If you're shy on the programme, I can get one or two fellows to help us out," said Cameron. "A chum of mine warbles a good baritone and I'm dead sure he'd like to help."

"I'm really a perfectly good singer," said Mr. Fairfield, "but my voice is not appreciated nowadays. So I'm going to decline all requests to sing, however insistent. But I'll help you out this way, Patsy-Poppet. I'll set up the supper for the whole crowd."

"Oh, daddy, how good you are!" and Patty leaned over to give her father's hand an affectionate squeeze. "It will be just lovely! We'll give those people a real musical treat, and a lovely supper to wind up with. Really, Mr. Cameron, you are to be thanked for all this, for you first suggested it. Our club has never done such a big thing before. I know the girls will be delighted!"

Unable to wait, Patty flew to the telephone and called up Mona, who was one of the most earnest workers of the club. As she had fore- seen, Mona was greatly pleased, and they immediately planned a meeting for the next morning to perfect the arrangements.

"And incidentally, and aside from giving a musical entertainment to your poor but worthy young friends, won't you go with me next week to enjoy some music yourself?" said Cameron to Patty, as he was about to take leave.

"Where?" she asked.

"I want to have a little opera party. Only half a dozen of us. The Hepworths will be our chaperons, and if you will go, I'll ask my cousin Marie and Mr. Harper."

"Why not Mr. Van Reypen?" said Patty, mischievously.

"Me deadly rival! never! nevaire! how could you cruelly suggest it?"

"I didn't mean it. Forget it," and Patty smiled at him.

"All right, it's forgotten, but don't EVER let such a thing occur again!"

And then Mr. Cameron reluctantly took himself off.



CHAPTER VIII

A HOUSE PARTY

Somehow or other Mr. Cameron immediately became a prominent factor in the Fairfield household. He appeared frequently, and even more frequently he telephoned or he wrote notes or he sent flowers or messages, until Patty declared he was everlastingly under foot!

But he was so gay and good-natured, so full of pranks and foolery, that it was impossible to snub him or to be annoyed with him.

He was a civil engineer, having already built up a good-sized business. But he seemed to be both able and willing to leave his office at any hour of the day or night for any occasion where Patty was concerned.

But he apparently fulfilled her wishes as to being her friend and chum and comrade, without falling in love with her.

"He's a thoroughly nice chap," Mr. Fairfield often said; "good- natured and right-minded, as well as clever and talented."

So, as he was also a favourite with Nan, he dropped in at the Fairfield house very often, and Patty grew to like him very much.

The opera party had duly taken place and had been a pleasant success. The musical entertainment was being planned for some weeks hence, as it was not easy to find a near-by date which suited all concerned.

One morning, as Patty was fluttering around her boudoir and looking over her mail, the telephone rang and the familiar "Hello, Princess," sounded in her ear.

"Hello, most noble Knight," she responded, "what would'st thou of me?"

"A boon so great that I fear to ask it! Won't you promise it in advance?"

"What I promise in advance, I never fulfil."

"Don't do it, then! I'll ask you first. You see, it's this way. My angelic and altogether delightful sister Lora lives in Eastchester with her stalwart husband and a blossom-bud of a kiddy. Now it seems that there's a wonderful country-club ball up there, and she thinks it will be nice if you and I should attend that same."

"And what do YOU think about it?"

"Oh, I don't have any thoughts concerning it, until I know what YOU think. And then, of course, that's precisely what I think."

"When is it?"

"To-morrow night."

"Mercy me! So soon! Well, I haven't anything on for to-morrow night; but the next night Mr. Van Reypen is making a theatre party for me that I wouldn't miss for anything."

"H'm! how LOVELY! Well, Princess, what say you to my humble plea?"

"What are your plans? How do I get there?"

"Why, thusly; my sister will invite you to her home, and incidentally to the ball. She will also ask my cousin Marie and Mr. Harper, who is not at all averse, it seems to me, to playing Marie's little lamb!"

"Have you noticed that? So have I. Well, go on."

"Well, then, I thought it would be nice if we four should motor out to Eastchester to-morrow afternoon, go straight to sister's, do up the ball business and motor back the next day. There's the whole case in a nutshell. Now pronounce my doom!"

"It seems to me just the nicest sort of a racket, and if your sister invites me, I shall most certainly accept."

"Oh, bless you for ever! Princess Poppycheek. I shall telephone Lora at once, and she will write you an invitation on her best stationery, and she will also telephone you, and if you wish it she will come and call on you."

"No, don't bother her to do that. I've met her, you know, and if she either writes or telephones, it will be all right. What time do we start?"

"About three, so as to make it easily by tea-time."

"I'll be ready. Count on me. Good-bye."

Patty hung up the telephone suddenly, as she always did. She often said it was her opinion that more time was wasted in this world by people who didn't know how to say good-bye, than from any other cause. And her minutes were too precious to be spent on a telephone, after the main subject of conversation had been finished.

She danced downstairs to tell Nan all about it.

"Very nice party," Nan approved; "I've met Mrs. Perry, you know, and she's charming. You'll be home Thursday, of course. You know you've a theatre party that night."

"Yes, I know; I'll be home," said Patty, abstractedly. "What would you take for the ball, Nan? My pink chiffon or my yellow satin?"

"They're both so pretty, it's hard to choose. The yellow satin, I think; it's a dream of a frock."

Mrs. Perry wrote a most cordial invitation and also telephoned, saying how glad she would be to welcome Patty to her home.

And so, the next afternoon, the young people started on their motor trip.

It was easily accomplished in two hours, and then Patty found herself a very much honoured guest in Mrs. Perry's pleasant home.

"It's dear of you to come," said the vivacious little hostess, as she took Patty and Marie to their rooms upon their arrival.

"It's dear of you to ask me." returned Patty; "I love to go to parties, and I love to go into new people's houses,—I mean people's new houses,—oh, well, you know what I mean; I mean HERE!"

"The house IS new," said Mrs. Perry, laughing, "but we're getting to be old people, and we want you young folks to liven us up."

"Old people!" and Patty smiled at the pretty young matron.

"Yes, wait till you see my baby. She's almost three years old! Fancy my going to balls, with a big girl like that."

"You're just fishing," said Patty, laughingly, "and I shan't humour you. I know you young mothers! You go to a party, and you're the belles, and leave all us wall-flowers green with envy!"

Mrs. Perry's eyes twinkled, and she looked so roguish that Patty exclaimed, "You're exactly like Mr. Cameron! I can well believe you're his sister."

"Who's he? Oh, you mean Kit! I don't think I ever heard him called Mr. Cameron before, and it does sound so funny! Can't we persuade you to say Kit?"

"I don't mind, if he doesn't," said Patty, carelessly. "What a darling room this is!"

"Yes; this is one of my pet rooms. I always give it to my favourite guests."

"I don't wonder," and Patty looked round admiringly at the dainty draperies and pretty appointments of the chamber.

"Marie always has it when she's here; but, of course, she was glad to give it up to you, and I put her in the blue room just across the hall. Come now, powder your nose, we must run down to tea. Don't change your frock."

Patty had worn a little silk house gown under her motor coat, so after a brief adjustment of her tumbled curls she was ready to go down.

The Perrys' was a modern house of an elaborate type. There were many rooms, on varying levels, so that one was continually going up or down a few broad steps. Often the rooms were separated only by columns or by railings, which made the whole interior diversified and picturesque.

"Such a gem of a house!" exclaimed Patty, as she entered the tea- room. "So many cosy, snuggly places,—and so warm and balmy."

She dropped into a lot of silken cushions that were piled in the corner of an inglenook, and placed her feet daintily on a footstool in front of the blazing fire.

"Awful dinky!" said Kit, as he pushed aside some cushions and sat down beside Patty, "but a jolly good house to visit in."

"Yes, it is," said Marie, who was nestled in an easy-chair the other side of the great fireplace. "And it's so light and pleasant. We never get any sunlight, home."

"Nonsense, Marie," said Kit, "our apartments are unusually light ones."

"Well, it's a different kind of light," protested Marie. "It only comes from across the street, and here the light comes clear from the horizon."

"It does," agreed Mrs. Perry, "but we're getting the very last rays now. Ring for lights, Kit."

"No, sister, let's just have the firelight. It's more becoming, anyway."

So Mrs. Perry merely turned on one pink-shaded light near the tea table and let her guests enjoy the twilight and firelight.

"Country life is 'way ahead of city existence," remarked Kenneth, as he made himself useful in passing the teacups. "The whole atmosphere is different. When I marry and settle down, I shall be a country gentleman."

"How interesting!" cried Patty. "I should love to see you, Ken, superintending your gardener and showing him how to plant cabbages!"

"Dead easy," retorted Kenneth; "I'd have a gardener show me first, and when the next gardener came I could show him."

"Well, I don't want to live in the country," said Kit; "it's great to visit here, that's what sisters' houses are for; but I couldn't live so far away from the busy mart. Back to the stones for mine."

When their host, Dick Perry, arrived he came in with a genial, breezy manner and warmly welcomed the guests.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed, "this IS a treat! To come home at night and find a lot of gay and festive young people gathered around! Lora, why don't we do this oftener? Nothing like a lot of young people to make a home merry. How are you, Marie? Glad to see you again, Miss Fairfield."

Mr. Perry bustled around, flung off his coat, accepted a cup of tea from his wife, and then, coming over toward Patty, he ordered Kit Cameron to vacate, and he took his place.

"You're not to be monopolised by that brother-in-law of mine, Miss Fairfield," he said, as he sat down beside her. "He's a clever young chap, I admit, but he can't always get ahead of me."

Patty responded laughingly to this gay banter, and the tea hour passed all too quickly, and it was time to dress for dinner.

"We'll put on our party frocks before dinner," said Mrs. Perry, as she went upstairs with the girls; "and then we won't have to dress twice. I'll send you a maid, Miss Fairfield."

"Thank you," said Patty, "but I can look after myself fairly well,— until it comes to hooking up. I always do my own hair."

"It can't be much trouble," said Mrs. Perry, looking admiringly at the golden curls, "for it looks lovely whatever way you do it."

Patty slipped on a kimono and brushed out her shining mass of curls. As Mrs. Perry had rightly said, Patty's coiffure was not troublesome, for however she bunched up the gleaming mass it looked exactly right. She twisted it up with care, however, and added a marvellous ornament of a bandeau, which circled halfway round her head, and above which a gilt butterfly was tremblingly poised. It was too early to get into her frock, so Patty flung herself into a big chair before the crackling fire, and gave herself up to daydreams. She dearly loved to idle this way and she fell to thinking, naturally, of the home she was visiting and the people who lived there.

Patty still sat dreaming these idle fancies, when there was a tap at the door and, in response to her permission, a maid entered.

"I'm Babette," she said, "and I have come to help you with your gown."

"Thank you," said Patty, jumping up; "it's later than I thought. We must make haste."

With experienced deftness, the French maid arrayed Patty in the beautiful evening gown of yellow satin, veiled with a shimmering yellow gauze.

Although unusual for a blonde, yellow was exceedingly becoming to Patty, and she looked like an exquisite spring blossom in the soft, sheath-like jonquil-coloured gown.

Her dainty satin slippers and silk stockings were of the same pale yellow, as was also the filmy scarf, which she knew how to wear so gracefully.

Her only ornament was a string of pearls, which had been her mother's.

When she was all ready she went slowly down the winding staircase, looking about her at the interesting house. A broad landing halfway down showed an attractive window-seat, and Patty sat down there for a moment.

There seemed to be no one in the hall below, and Patty concluded that she was early after all, though she had feared she would be late.

In a moment Kit came down and spied her.

"Hello, Princess!" he cried. "You're a yellow poppy to-night,—and a gay little blossom, too."

"Not yellow poppyCHEEK!" cried Patty, rubbing her pink cheeks in mock dismay.

"Well, no; only one who is colour-blind could call those pink cheeks yellow. May I pose beside you, here, and make a beautiful tableau?"

He sat beside Patty on the window-seat, and they wondered why the rest were so late.

"Prinking, I suppose," said Kit. "How did you manage to get ready so soon?"

"Why, just because I thought I was late, and so I hurried."

"Didn't know a girl COULD hurry,—accept my compliments." And Kit rose and made an exaggerated bow.

"What's going on?" said Dick Perry, gaily, as he came downstairs and paused on the landing.

"Only homage at the shrine of Beauty," returned Kit.

"Let me homage, too," said Mr. Perry, and they both bowed and scraped, until Patty went off in a gale of laughter and said: "You ridiculous boys, you look like popinjays! But here comes Marie; now more homage is due."

Marie came down the steps slowly and gracefully, looking very pretty in pale green, with tiny pink rosebuds for trimming.

"Good for you, Marie!" exclaimed her cousin. "Your dress gees with Miss Fairfield's first-rate. You'll do!"

And then the others came, and the merry group went out to dinner.

After dinner they started at once for the country-club ball. It was to be a very large affair, and, as Patty knew no one except their own house party, she declared that she knew she'd be a wall-flower.

"Wall-flower, indeed!" said Kit. "Poppies don't grow on walls. They grow right in the middle of the field, and sway and dance in the breeze."

"I always said you were a poet," returned Patty, "and you do have the prettiest fancies."

"I fancy YOU, if that's what you mean," Kit replied, and Patty gave him a haughty glance for his impertinence.

Then Babette put on Patty's coat, which was a really gorgeous affair. It was what is known as a Mandarin coat, of white silk, heavily embroidered with gold, and very quaint she looked in it.

"That thing must weigh a ton," commented Kit. "Why do you girls want to wear Chinese togs?"

"It's a beautiful coat," said Mrs. Perry, admiringly. "Have you been to China, Miss Fairfield?"

"No; I never have. This was a Christmas present, and I'm awfully fond of it. I'm afraid I'm barbaric in my love of bright, glittering things."

"A very civilised little barbarian," said Mr. Perry, and then they all went off to the ball.

"How many may I have?" said Kit, as he took Patty's programme from her hand after they were in the ballroom.

"As I don't know any one else, I shall have to dance them all with you and Ken," returned Patty, demurely.

"Never mind Harper; give them all to me."

Patty looked at him calmly. "I'll tell you what," she said: "you put down your initials for every dance; then, if I do find any partners I like better, I'll give them dances; and, if not, you see I'll have you to depend on."

Cameron stared at her, but Patty looked at him with an innocent smile, as if she were not asking anything extraordinary.

"Well, you've got a nerve!" the young man exclaimed.

"Why, it was your own proposition that you have all the dances;" and Patty looked almost offended.

"Poppycheek, you shall have it your own way! You shall have anything you want, that I can give you." And Cameron scribbled his initials against every one of the twenty dances on the programme.

"You might have put K. C. to the first and then ditto after that," said Patty, as she watched him.

"Nay, nay, Pauline!" and Kit gave her a shrewd glance. "Think what would happen then. You'd give a dance to some other man, maybe, and he'd set down his initials, and all the rest of the dittos would refer to him!"

"Poor man! I never thought of that! But it isn't likely there'll be any others except Ken."

"Oh, don't you worry! Everybody will want an introduction to you, after they see you dance."

"I don't think much of that for a compliment! I'd rather be loved for my sweet self alone."

"Have you never been?"

"Many, many times!" and Patty sighed in mock despair. "But my love affairs always end tragically."

"Your suitors drown themselves, I suppose?"

"Do you mean if I encourage them?"

"Do you know what a silly you are?"

"Do you know what a goose YOU are?"

"Children, stop quarrelling," and Mrs. Perry smiled at the chattering pair. "Miss Fairfield, several amiable young men of my acquaintance desire to be presented to you. May I?"

Patty smilingly acquiesced, and in a moment half a dozen would-be partners were asking for dances.

They looked rather taken aback at sight of Patty's card, but she calmly explained to them the true condition of things, and they accepted the situation with smiles of admiration for a girl who could command such an arrangement. Patty would not give more than one dance to each, as she wanted to find out which ones she liked best.

Mr. Perry brought up some of his acquaintances, too, and shortly Patty's programme showed an astonishing lot of hieroglyphics scribbled over Kit's initials.

"Here are twelve dances you may have for your other friends," said Patty, to Mr. Cameron. "Take the numbers as I call them off: one, two, three——"

"Oh, wait a minute! Have you given them all away?"

"No; only the first twelve, so far. But cheer up! I may be able to dispose of the others."

"You're a naughty, bad, mean little princess; and I don't love you any more."

Kit looked reproachfully at Patty, with his eyes so full of disappointment that she relented.

"I didn't give away the first one, really," she said, softly. "I saved that for you."

"You blessed, dear, sweet little Princess you! Now, don't give away any more, will you? I know you'll have thousands of requests."

"I'll see about it," was all Patty would promise, and then the music began and they stepped out on to the dancing floor.



CHAPTER IX

EDDIE BELL

Which do you like best of all the boys you've met?" asked Kit, as they danced.

"What a question! How can I possibly tell, when a dozen well-behaved and serious-looking young men stand up like a class in school and say, one after another, 'May I have the honour of a dance, Miss Fairfield?' They all looked exactly alike to me. Except one. There was one boy, who looks so much like me he might be my brother. I never had a brother, and I've a good notion to adopt him as one."

"Don't! There's nothing so dangerous as adopting a young man for a brother! But I know who you mean,—Eddie Bell. He doesn't look a bit like you, but he HAS yellow curls and blue eyes."

"And pink cheeks," supplemented Patty.

"Yes, but not poppy cheeks; they're more the pink of a—of a— horsechestnut!"

"I think pink horsechestnut blooms are beautiful."

"Oh, you do, do you? And I suppose you think Eddie Bell is beautiful!"

"Well, there's no occasion for you to get mad about it if I do. Do you know, Mr. Cameron, you flare up very easily."

"If you'll call me Kit, I'll promise never to flare up again."

"Certainly, I'll call you Kit. I'd just as lieve as not; anything to oblige."

"And may I call you Patty?"

"Why, yes, if you like."

"Look here, you're altogether too indifferent about it."

"Oh, what a boy!" And Patty rolled her eyes up in despair. "If I don't want him to call me Patty, he doesn't like it; and if I do let him call me Patty, he isn't satisfied! What to do,—what to do!"

"You're a little tease,—THAT'S what you are!"

"And you're a big tease, that's what YOU are! I've heard you're even fond of practical jokes! Now, I detest practical jokes."

"That's an awful pity, for I mean to play one on you the very first chance I get."

"You can't do it?"

"Why can't I?"

"Because I'd discover it, and foil you."

"There's no such word as foil in my bright lexicon. I'll lay you a wager, if you like, that I play a practical joke on you, that you, yourself, will admit is clever and not unkind. That's the test of a right kind of a joke,—to be clever and not unkind."

Patty's eyes danced. "You have the right idea about it," she said, nodding her head approvingly. "I don't so much mind a practical joke, if it is really a good one, and doesn't make the victim feel hurt or chagrined. But all the same, Mr. Kit, you can't get one off on me! I'm a little too wide-awake, as you'll find out."

"Would you take a wager?"

"I'm not in the habit of betting, but I'm willing for once. It's hardly fair, though, for I'm betting on a dead certainty."

"You mean you THINK you are! And I think I am, so the chances are even. What are the stakes?"

"I don't care: candy or books or flowers or anything."

"Nonsense, they're too prosaic. If I win, you're to give me a photograph of yourself."

"Oh, I almost never give my picture to my suitors. It isn't good form."

"But, if you're so sure that you will win, you needn't be afraid to promise it."

"All right, I promise; and, if I win, you may give me a perfectly beautiful picture frame, in which I shall put some other man's picture."

"How cruel you can be! But, as I'm sure of winning, I'm not afraid to take that up. A frame against a picture, then. But there must be a time limit."

"I'll give you a month; if you can't do it in that time, you can't do it at all. And, also, I must be the judge,—if you do fool me,— whether your practical joke is clever and not unkind."

"I'm quite contented that you should be the judge, for I know your sincere and honest nature will not let you swerve a hair's breadth from a true and fair judgment."

"That's clever," returned Patty; "for now I shall have to be honest."

The first dance over, Patty went on with a long succession of dances with her various partners. They were all polite and courteous young men, some attractive and agreeable, others shy, and some dull and uninteresting. Patty complacently accorded another dance to any one she liked, and calmly refused it to less desirable partners,— pleading an engagement with Cameron as her excuse.

The one she liked best was Eddie Bell. As she had said, this young man did look a little like Patty herself, though this was mostly due to their similarity of colouring.

"If I may say anything so impossible, it seems to me that I look like a comic valentine of you," said Mr. Bell, as they began to dance.

Patty laughed outright at this apt expression of their resemblance, and said: "I have already told some one that you looked exactly like me. So, in that case, I'm a comic valentine, too. But, truly, you're enough like me to be my brother."

"May I be? Not that I want to, in the least, but of course that is the obvious thing to say. I'd rather be most any relation to you than a brother."

"Why?"

"Oh, it's such a prosaic relationship. I have three sisters,—and they're the dearest girls in the world,—but I don't really feel the need of any more."

"What would you like to be?" And Patty flashed him a dangerous glance of her pansy-blue eyes.

But Mr. Bell kept his equanimity. "How about second cousin, once removed?"

"I suppose you'll be removed at the end of this dance."

"Then, may this dance last for ever!"

"Oh, what a pretty speech! Of course, you wouldn't make that to a sister! I think a second cousinship is very pleasant."

"Then, that's settled. And I may call you Cousin Patty, I suppose?"

"It would seem absurd to say Cousin Miss Fairfield, wouldn't it? And yet our acquaintance is entirely too short for first names."

"But it's growing longer every minute; and, if you would grant me another dance after I'm removed from this one, I'm sure we could reach the stage of first names."

"I will give you one more," said Patty, for she liked Mr. Bell very much.

So at the end of their dance they agreed upon a number later on the programme, and Mr. Bell wrote down "Cousin Ed" on Patty's card.

It was just after this that Kit came back for his second dance.

"Naughty girl," he said; "you've kept me waiting three-quarters of the evening."

"I thought I saw you dancing with several visions of beauty."

"Only killing time till I could get back to you. Come on, don't waste a minute."

It was a joy to Patty to dance with Cameron, for he was by all odds the best dancer she had ever met. And many admiring glances followed them as they circled the great room.

"How did you like your little brother?" Kit enquired.

"He's a ducky-daddles!" declared Patty, enthusiastically. "Just a nice all-round boy, frank and jolly and good-natured."

"That's what I am."

"Not a bit of it! You're a musician; freakish, temperamental, touchy, and—a woman-hater."

"Gracious! what a character to live up to,—or down to. But I hate YOU awfully, don't I?"

"I don't know. I never can feel sure of these temperamental natures."

"Well, don't you worry about feeling sure of me. The longer you live, the surer you'll feel."

"That sounds like 'the longer she lives the shorter she grows,'" said Patty, flippantly.

"Yes, the old nursery rhyme. Well, you are my candle,—a beacon, lighting my pathway with your golden beams——"

"Oh, do stop! That's beautiful talk, but it's such rubbish."

"Haven't you ever noticed that much beautiful talk IS rubbish?"

"Yes, I have. And I'm glad that you think that way, too. Beautiful thoughts are best expressed by plain, sincere words, and have little connection with 'beautiful talk.'"

"Patty Fairfield, you're a brick! And, when I've said that, I can't say anything more."

"A gold brick?"

"Not in the usual acceptance of that term; but you're pure gold, and I'm jolly well glad I've found a girl like you."

There was such a ring of sincerity in Cameron's tone that Patty looked up at him suddenly. And the honest look in his eyes made it impossible for her to return any flippant response.

"And I'm glad, too, that we are friends, Kit," she said, simply.

The next dance was Mr. Bell's, and that rosy-cheeked youth came up blithely to claim it.

"Come along, Cousin Patty," he said, and Cameron stared at him in amazement.

"Are you two cousins?" he said.

"Once removed," returned Eddie Bell, gaily; "and this is the removal." He took Patty's hand and laid it lightly within his own arm as he led her away.

"Don't let's dance right off," he begged. "Let's rest a minute in this bosky dell."

The dell was an alcove off the ballroom, which contained several palms and floral baskets and a deep, cushioned window-seat.

"Let's sit here and watch the moon rise;" and he led Patty toward the window-seat, where he deftly arranged some cushions for her.

"I believe the moon rises to-morrow afternoon," said Patty.

"Well, I don't mind waiting. Sit here, won't you? These stupid cushions ought to be of a golden yellow or a pale green. However, this old rose does fairly well for our blond beauty. Isn't it nice we're of the same type and harmonise with the same furnishings? When we're married we won't have to differ about our house decorations." "When we are WHAT?"

"Married, I said. You know, you're not really my second cousin and there's absolutely no bar to our union."

This was quite the most audacious young man Patty had ever met. But she was quite equal to the situation.

"Of course there isn't," she said, lightly. "And, when I think of the economy of our being able to use the same colour scheme, it IS an inducement."

"And meantime we must get better acquainted, as you said when we were dancing. May I come to see you in the city? Where do you live?"

"In Seventy-second Street," said Patty, "but I feel it my duty to tell you that there's already a long line awaiting admission."

"Oh, yes, I've seen that line when I've been passing. It goes clear round the corner of the block. Do I have to take my place at the end, or can I have a special favour shown me?"

"I'm sure your sense of justice wouldn't permit that. You take your place at the end of the line, and when your turn comes I'll be glad to welcome you."

"Then that's all right," said Mr. Bell, cheerfully, "and you'll be surprised to see how soon I appear! Now, lady fair, would you rather go and dance or sit here and listen to me converse?"

"It's pleasant to rest a little," and Patty nestled into her cushions, "and you really ARE amusing, you know. Let's stay here a little while."

"Now, isn't that nice of you! Do you want to talk, too, or shall I do it all and give you a complete rest?"

"You do it all," said Patty, indolently. "It will be like going to a monologue entertainment."

"At your orders. What subject would you like?"

"Yourself."

"Oh, wise beyond your years! You know the subject that most interests a man."

"That isn't pretty!" And Patty frowned at him. "There ought to be another subject more interesting to you than that!"

"There is; but I don't dare trust myself with HER!"

Mr. Bell's manner and voice were so exactly the right mixture of deferential homage and burlesque that Patty laughed in delight.

"You are the DEAREST man!" she cried.

He looked at her reproachfully. "You said I might do all the talking, and now you're doing it yourself."

"I'll be still now. Avoid that subject you consider dangerous and tell me all about yourself."

"Well, once upon a time, there was a beautiful young man who rejoiced in the poetic and musical name of Eddie Bell. I know he was a beautiful young man, because he was said to resemble the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Well, one evening he had the supreme good fortune to meet this girl, and he realised at once that he had met his Fate,—his Fate with a VERY large F. Incidentally, the F stood for Fairfield, which made his Fate all the more certain. And so——"

"Patty, are you here?" and Ken Harper came through the palms toward them. "This is our dance."

"Good gracious, Ken, is this dance the next dance? I mean is this dance over, or is this dance our dance."

"You seem a little mixed, Patty, but this is our dance and I claim it. Are you RESTED enough?"

Patty rose and, with a simple word of excuse to Mr. Bell, went away with Kenneth.

"That's the first time, Ken, in all our friendship that I ever knew you to say anything horrid," and Patty looked at him with a really hurt expression.

"I didn't say anything horrid," and Kenneth's fine face wore a sulky expression.

"You did, too. You asked me if I were RESTED in a horrid, sarcastic tone; and you meant it for a reproof, because I sat out that dance with Mr. Bell."

"You had no business to go and hide behind those palms with him."

"We didn't hide! That's only a bay-window alcove,—a part of the ballroom. I have a perfect right to sit out a dance if I choose."

"That young chap was too familiar, anyway. I heard him calling you 'Cousin Patty.'"

"Oh, fiddlestrings, Ken! Don't be an idiot! We were only joking. And I'm not so old, yet, but what I can let a boy call me by my first name if I choose. When I'm twenty I'm going to be Miss Fairfield; but while I'm nineteen anybody can call me Patty,—if I give him permission."

"You're a flirt, Patty."

"All right, Ken. Flirt with me, won't you?" Patty's roguish blue eyes looked at Kenneth with such a frank and friendly glance that he couldn't scold her any more.

"I can't flirt with you, Patty. I'm not that sort. You know very well I've only a plain, plodding sort of a mind, and I can't keep up with this repartee and persiflage that you carry on with these other chaps."

"I don't carry on," said Patty, laughing.

"I didn't say you carried on," returned Kenneth, who took everything seriously. "I meant you carried on conversations that are full of wit and repartee, of a sort that I can't get off."

"Nobody wants you to, you dear old Ken! You wouldn't be half as nice if you were as foolish and frivolous as these society chatterboxes! You've got more sterling worth and real intellect in your make-up than they ever dreamed of. Now, stop your nonsense and come on and dance. But—don't undertake to lecture Patty Fairfield,—she won't stand for it!"

"I didn't mean to lecture you, Patty," and Kenneth spoke very humbly. "But when I saw you tucked away behind those palms, flirting with that yellow-headed rattle-pate, I felt that I ought to speak to you."

"You SPOKE, all right!" and Patty looked at him severely. "But you know perfectly well, Kenneth Harper, that I wasn't doing anything I oughtn't to. You know perfectly well that, though I like what you call 'flirting,' I'm never the least bit unconventional and I never forget the strictest law of etiquette and propriety. I'd scorn to do such a thing!"

Patty's blue eyes were blazing now with righteous indignation, for Kenneth had been unjust, and Patty would not stand injustice. She was punctilious in matters of etiquette, and she had not overstepped any bounds by sitting out a dance in that alcove, which was a part of the ballroom and a refuge for any one weary of dancing.

"And you know perfectly well, Kenneth," she went on, "that you DIDN'T think I was unconventional, or anything of the sort. You were only——"

Patty paused, for she didn't quite want to say what was in her mind.

"You're right, Little Patty," and Kenneth looked her straight in the eyes; "you're right. I WAS jealous. Yes, and envious. It always hurts me to see you laughing and talking in that darling little way of yours, and to know that I can't make you talk like that. I wish I weren't such a stupid-head! I wish I could say things that would make you play your pretty fooleries with ME."

Patty looked at him in amazement. She had never suspected that serious-minded, hard-working Kenneth had anything but scorn for men of less mental calibre and quicker wit.

"Why, Kenneth," she said, gently, "don't talk like that. My friendship for you is worth a dozen of these silly foolery flirtations with men that I don't care two cents for."

"I don't want your friendship, Patty," and Kenneth's deep voice trembled a little; "I mean I don't want ONLY your friendship. And yet I know I can't hope for anything more. I'm too dull and commonplace to attract a beautiful butterfly like you."

"Kenneth," and Patty gave him a glance, gentle, but a little bewildered, "you're out of your head. You have a splendid head, Kenneth, full of wonderful brains, but you're out of it. You get yourself back into it as quick as you can! And don't let's dance this dance, please; I am tired. I wish you'd take me to Mrs. Perry."

In silence, Kenneth complied with Patty's wish, and took her to where Lora Perry was sitting.

Then he went away, leaving Patty much more disturbed by what he had said than by all the gay fooleries of Eddie Bell or Kit Cameron.



CHAPTER X

QUARANTINED

"Tired?" asked Mrs. Perry, as she welcomed Patty to her side.

"A little; I love to dance, but a long program does weary me. Are we going home soon?"

"Whenever you like, dear."

"Oh, not until the others are ready. There goes Marie. She's having a lovely time to-night. Isn't she a pretty thing?—and so popular."

Patty's admiration was sincere and honest, and Marie's dark, glowing beauty was well worthy of commendation.

But seeing Patty sitting by Mrs. Perry, Marie came to them, when the dance ended, and declared that she was quite ready to go home, although the program wasn't finished.

"What's all this about?" inquired Kit Cameron, coming up to them. "Go home? Not a bit of it! There are a lot of dances yet."

"Well, you stay for them if you like, Kit," said his sister, rising. "I'm going to take these girls away. They've danced quite enough, and it's time they went home."

"Whither thou all goest, I will go also," said Cameron. "Where's Harper?"

Kenneth and Dick Perry came along then, and both men expressed their willingness to go home.

Patty was rather silent during the homeward way, and indeed, as all were more or less weary, there was little gay conversation.

As they entered the house, Nora, the parlour-maid, appeared to take their wraps.

"Where is Babette?" asked Mrs. Perry, surprised to see Nora in place of her French maid.

"Sure she's sick, Mrs. Perry; she do be feelin' that bad, she had to go to bed. So she bid me do the best I can for the young ladies."

"I'm sorry to hear Babette is ill; I must go and see her at once." And Mrs. Perry went away toward the servants' quarters.

She returned shortly, saying Babette had a bad cold and a slight fever, but that her symptoms were not alarming.

"But I'm sorry you girls can't have her services to-night," Mrs. Perry went on.

"It doesn't matter a bit," said Patty; "I'd be sorry for myself, if I couldn't get in and out of my own clothes! Don't think of it, Mrs. Perry."

They all went up to their rooms, and though Nora did her best to assist Patty, her unskilful help bothered more than it aided. So she kindly dismissed the girl, and catching up a kimono went across to Marie's room.

"You get me out of this frock, won't you, Marie?" she said. "It fidgets me to have Nora fumbling with the hooks. It's a complicated arrangement and I know she'd tear the lace."

Marie willingly acquiesced, and then Patty slipped off the pretty yellow gown, and got into her blue silk kimono.

"Stay here and brush out your hair, Patty," said Marie, "and we can have a 'kimono chat,' all by ourselves."

So Patty sat down at Marie's toilet table, and began to brush out her golden curls.

"Did you like the ball, Patty?" asked Marie, as she braided her own dark hair.

"Lovely! Everybody was so nice to me. And you had a good time yourself, I know. I saw you breaking hearts, one after another, you little siren."

"Siren, yourself! How did you like that Bell boy?"

"Gracious! That sounds like a hotel attendant! In fact I think 'bellhop,' as I believe they call them, wouldn't be a bad name for Eddie Bell. I liked him ever so much, but he was a little,—well,— fresh is the only word that expresses it."

"He is cheeky; but he doesn't mean anything. He's a nice boy; I've known him for years. He's an awful flirt,—but he admired you like everything. Though as to that, who doesn't?"

"Oh, I don't think so much of this general admiration. I think if a young girl isn't admired, it's her own fault. She only has to be gay and pleasant and good-natured, and people are bound to like her."

"Yes," agreed Marie; "but there are degrees. I'll tell you who likes you an awful lot,—and that's Mr. Harper."

"Oh, Kenneth;" Patty spoke carelessly, but she couldn't prevent a rising blush. "Why, Marie, we've been chums for years. I used to know Ken Harper when I was a little girl and lived in Vernondale. He's a dear boy, but we're just good friends."

"I like him," and Marie said this so ingenuously, that Patty gave her a quick look. "Don't you like anybody ESPECIALLY, Patty?"

"No, I don't. All boys look alike to me. I like to have them to dance with, and to send me flowers and candy; and I don't mind make- believe flirting with them; but the minute they get serious, I want to run away."

"Aren't you ever going to be engaged, Patty?"

"Nonsense! Marie, we're too young to think about such things. After a few years I shall begin to consider the matter; and if I find anybody that I simply can't live without, I shall proceed to marry him. Now, curiosity-box, is there anything else you want to know?"

"I didn't mean to be curious," and Marie's pretty face looked troubled; "but, Patty, I will ask you one more question: Couldn't you,—couldn't you like,—specially, I mean,—my cousin Kit?"

"Marie, I've a notion to shake you! You little match-maker,—or mischief-maker,—stop getting notions into your head! In the first place, I've known your paragon of a cousin only a few weeks; and in the second place, there's no use going any further than the first place! Now, you go to sleep, and dream about birds and flowers and sunshine, and don't fill your pretty head with grown-up notions."

"You're a funny girl, Patty," and Marie looked at her with big, serious eyes.

"If it's funny to be a common-sense, rational human being, then I AM funny! Now, good-night, chickabiddy. Mrs. Perry says she'll send up our breakfast about nine to-morrow morning. Hop into my room and have it with me, won't you?"

Marie agreed to this arrangement, and gathering up her belongings, Patty slipped across the hall to her own room.

The wood fire had burnt down to red embers, and lowering the lights, Patty sat down for a few moments in a big fireside chair to think.

She had told the truth, that she did not want to think seriously of what Marie called "an especial liking" for anybody; but what Kenneth had said that evening troubled her.

Her friendship for Kenneth was so firm and strong, her real regard for him so deep and sincere, that she hated to have it intruded upon by a question of a more serious feeling. And she had never suspected that any such question would arise. But she could not mistake the meaning of Kenneth's spoken wish that he might be capable of the gay conversation in which Patty delighted.

"Dear old Ken," she said to herself, "he's so nice just as he is, but when he tries to be funny, he—well, he CAN'T, that's all. It isn't his fault. All the boys can't be alike. And I s'pose Ken IS the nicest of them, after all. He's so true and reliable. But I hope to gracious he isn't going to fall in love with me. That would spoil everything I Oh, well, I won't cross that bridge until I come to it. And if I have come to it,—well, I won't cross it, even then. I'll just stand stock-still, and wait. I believe there's a poem somewhere, that says:

"'Standing with reluctant feet Where the brook and river meet,— Womanhood and childhood sweet.'

"I s'pose I HAVE left childhood behind, but I feel a long way off from womanhood. And yet, in a couple of months I'll be twenty. That does begin to sound aged! But I know one thing, sure and certain: I'll wait till I AM twenty, before I think about a serious love affair. Suitors are all very well, but I wouldn't be engaged to a man for anything! Why, I don't suppose he'd let me dance with anybody else, or have any fun at all! No, sir-ee, Patricia Fairfield, you're going to have two or three years of your present satisfactory existence, before you wear anybody's diamond ring. And now, my Lady Gay, you'd better skip to bed, for to-morrow night you have a theatre party in prospect, and you want to look fairly decent for that."

The fire was burnt out now, and Patty was so sleepy that her head had scarcely touched the pillow before she fell asleep.

A light tap at her door awakened her the next morning, and Marie appeared, followed by Nora, with a breakfast tray.

"Wake up, curly-head-sleepy-head," and Marie playfully tweaked Patty's curls. "Here, I'll be your maid. Here's your nightingale, and here's your breakfast cap."

Marie deftly arrayed Patty in the pretty trifles, and poked pillows behind her back until she was comfortable.

"Goodness gracious sakes! Marie," said Patty, rubbing her eyes, "you waked me out of the soundest sleep I have ever known! WHY bother me with breakfast?"

"Had to do it," returned Marie, calmly, drawing up a big chair for herself. "Now keep your eyes open and behave like a lady. Your chocolate is getting cool and your toast is spoiling."

The two girls were still discussing their breakfast, when Mrs. Perry came in.

"How are you getting on?" she asked, cheerily; "Babette is still ill, so I had to send Nora to you."

"Everything is lovely," said Patty, smiling at her hostess. "We're delightfully looked after. Nora is a jewel. But I hope your maid isn't seriously ill."

"I'm afraid she is," and Mrs. Perry looked troubled. "She has a bad sore throat and she's quite feverish. Now you girlies dawdle around as much as you like. Although I'm commissioned to tell you that there are two young men downstairs just pining for you, and they asked me to coax you to come down at once."

"Let them wait," said Patty; "we'll be down after a while. Mayn't we see the baby?"

"Yes, indeed, if you like. I'll send her in."

Soon a dainty little morsel of fragrant humanity appeared, accompanied by her nurse.

The tot was a trifle shy, but Patty's merry smile soon put her at her ease.

"Tell the lady your name, dear," said Marie.

"Pitty Yady!" said the baby, caressing Patty's cheek.

"Yes," said Marie, "now tell the pretty lady your name."

"Baby Boo," said the child.

"Baby Boo! What a dear name!" said Patty.

"Her name is Beulah," Marie explained, "but she always calls herself Baby Boo, so every one else does."

"It's just the name for her," said Patty, catching up the midget in her arms and cuddling her.

"Pitty Yady," repeated the baby, gazing at Patty.

"She's struck with your beauty, Patty, like everybody else," said Marie, laughing.

"It's mutual, then," returned Patty, "for I think she's the prettiest baby I ever saw. And she does smell so good! I love a violet baby." And Patty kissed the back of the soft little neck and squeezed the baby up in her arms.

"Now Baby Boo must go away," said Marie, at last, "for the Pitty Yady must get dressed and go downstairs."

Patty had brought a morning frock, of pink linen with a black velvet sash, and she looked very trim and sweet as she at last declared herself ready.

The two girls went downstairs, and found two very impatient young men awaiting them.

"Whatever HAVE you girls been doing all the morning?" exclaimed Cameron; "you CAN'T have been sleeping until this time!"

"Playing with the baby, and exchanging confidences," said Patty, smiling.

"Both of which you might as well have done down here," Cameron declared. "I adore my baby niece, and Mr. Harper and I would have been more than glad to listen to your exchange of confidences."

"Oh, they weren't intended for your ears!" exclaimed Marie, with mock horror. "Kimono confidences are very, VERY sacred. But it may well be that your ears burn."

"Which ear?" asked Kenneth, feeling of both of his.

"Fair exchange," said Marie, gaily. "Tell us what you said about us, and we'll tell you what we said about you."

"We said you were the two prettiest and sweetest girls in the world," said Cameron.

"And we said," declared Patty, "that you were the two handsomest and most delightful men in the world."

"But we said you had some faults," said Kenneth, gravely.

"And we said you had," retorted Marie. "Let's tell each other our faults. That's always an interesting performance, for it always winds up with a quarrel."

"I love a quarrel," said Cameron, enthusiastically. "I dare anybody to tell me my greatest faults!"

"Conceit," said Marie, smiling at her cousin.

"That isn't a fault; it's a virtue," Kit retorted.

"That's so," and Marie nodded her head; "if you didn't have that virtue, you wouldn't have any."

"That's a facer!" said Kit. "Well, Marie, my dear, as you haven't THAT virtue, am I to conclude you haven't any?"

"That's very pretty," and Patty nodded, approvingly; "but I want to stop this game before it's my turn, for I'm too sensitive to have my faults held up to the public eye."

"But we haven't quarrelled yet," said Kit, who looked disappointed. "Why do you like to quarrel so much?" asked Patty.

"Because it's such fun to kiss and make up."

"Is it?" asked Patty; "I'd like to see it done, then. You and Ken quarrel, and then let us see you kiss and make up."

"Harper is too good-natured to quarrel and I'm not good-natured enough to kiss him," said Kit. "I guess I won't quarrel to-day, after all. I can't seem to get the right partner. Let's try some other game. Want to go over to the club and bowl?"

"Yes, indeed," cried Patty; "I'd love to."

So the four young people bundled into fur coats, and motored over to the country club.

They were all good players and enjoyed their game till Kit reminded them that it was nearly luncheon time, and they went back to the house.

"How is Babette?" Patty inquired, as their hostess appeared at luncheon.

"She's worse;" and Mrs. Perry looked very anxious. "I don't want to worry you girls, but I think you would better go home this afternoon, for I don't know what Babette's case may develop into. The doctor was here this morning, and he has sent a trained nurse to take care of the girl. I confess I am worried."

"Oh, we were going this afternoon, anyway," said Patty. "I have to, as I have an engagement this evening. But I'm sorry for you, Mrs. Perry. It is awful to have illness in the house. What is it you are afraid of?"

"I hate to mention it, but the doctor fears diphtheria. Now don't be alarmed, for there is positively no danger, if you go this afternoon. But I can't risk your staying an hour longer than is necessary. Nora will help you pack your things. And I'm going to send you off right after lunch."

After luncheon the doctor came again, and Mrs. Perry went off to confer with him.

"Excuse me," said Kit Cameron, as his sister left the room, "I must stand by Lora, and I want to find out from the doctor if there is really any danger. Perhaps my sister's fears are exaggerated."

It was nearly half an hour before Kit came back, and then he looked extremely serious.

"I have bad news for you," he said; "Babette's illness is diphtheria,—a severe case."

"Oh, the poor girl!" said Patty, with impulsive sympathy.

"Yes, indeed, little Babette is pretty sick. And, too, it's awfully hard on Lora. But that isn't all of it."

"What else?" said Marie, breathless with suspense.

"I hardly know how to tell you," and Cameron's face was very troubled. "But I suppose the best way is to tell you straight out. The truth is, we are all quarantined. We can't go away from here."

"Quarantined!" cried Patty, who knew that this meant several weeks' imprisonment; "oh, NO!"

"Yes," and Kit looked at her with pained eyes; "can you ever forgive me, Miss Fairfield, for bringing you here? But of course I could not foresee this awful climax to our pleasant party."

"Of course you couldn't!" cried Patty;—"don't think for a moment that we blame you, Mr. Cameron. But,—you must excuse me if I feel rather—rather—"

"Flabbergasted," put in Kenneth; "it's an awful thing, Cameron, but we must take it philosophically. Brace up, Patty girl, don't let this thing floor you."

Patty gave one look into Kenneth's eyes, and read there so much sympathy, courage, and strong helpfulness, that she was ashamed of herself.

"Forgive me for being so selfish," she said, as the tears came into her eyes. "Of course we must stay, if the doctor orders; I know how strict they have to be about these things. And we will stay cheerfully, as long as we must. It's dreadful to impose on Mrs. Perry so, but we can't help it, and we must simply make the best of it. We'll help her all we can, and I'm sure Marie and I can do a lot."

"You're a brick!" and Cameron gave her a look of appreciation. "Poor Lora is heart-broken at the trouble it makes for you girls, and for Harper. She quite loses sight of her own anxieties in worrying about you all."

"Tell her to stop it," said Marie; "I rather think that we can bear our part of it, considering what Cousin Lora has to suffer. Can Cousin Dick come home?"

"I hadn't thought of that!" exclaimed Cameron. "Why, no; that is, if he can't go back to his office again. We'll have to telephone him to stay in New York until the siege is raised. There are many things to think of, but as I am responsible for bringing you people up here, naturally that worries me the most. I'm not to blame for the maid's illness or for Dick's enforced absence from home. But I AM to blame for bringing you girls up here at all."

"Don't talk of blame, Mr. Cameron, please," said Patty's soft voice; "you kindly brought us here to give us pleasure and you did so. The fact that this emergency has arisen is of no blame to anybody. The only one to be blamed is the one who cannot meet it bravely!"



CHAPTER XI

MEETING IT BRAVELY

"You're the most wonderful girl in the world!" exclaimed Cameron, in a burst of admiration at Patty's speech.

But Kenneth looked steadily at Patty, with a thoughtful gaze.

"You're keyed up," he said to her, gently; "and if you take it like that, you'll collapse."

"Like what?" Patty snapped out the words, for her nerves were strung to a high tension.

"Doing the hysterical histrionic act," and Kenneth smiled at the excited girl, not reprovingly, but with gentle sympathy. "Now take it standing, Patty,—face it squarely,—and you'll be all right. We're housed up here,—for how long, Cameron?"

"I—I don't know," said Kit, looking desperate.

"That only means you won't tell," declared his cousin. "Own up, Kit, how long did the doctor say?"

"Three or four weeks."

"Oh!" Patty merely breathed the word, but it sounded like a wail of despair. Then she caught Kenneth's eye, and his glance of steadfast courage nerved her anew.

"It's all right," she said, almost succeeding in keeping a quiver out of her voice. "We can have a real good time. People can send us all sorts of things, and,—I suppose we can't write letters,—but we can telephone. Oh, that reminds me; may I telephone Mr. Van Reypen at once, that I can't"—Patty blinked her eyes, and swallowed hard— "that I can't be at my—at his party this evening?"

Mr. Cameron looked a picture of abject grief.

"Miss Fairfield," he began, "if I could only tell you how sorry I am—"

"Please don't," said Patty, kindly; "I've accepted the situation now, and you won't hear a single wail of woe from me. Pooh! what's a theatre party more or less among me! And a few weeks' rest will do us all good. We'll pretend we're at a rest cure or sanitarium, and go to bed early, and get up late, and all that."

"Oh, of course we must all telephone to our homes," said Marie; "and I must say, I think girls are selfish creatures! We've never given a thought to Mr. Harper's business!"

"Don't give it a thought," said Kenneth, lightly. "I've given it one or two already, and I may give it another. That's enough for any old business."

"That sounds well, Ken," said Patty, "but I know it's going to make you a terrific lot of trouble. And Mr. Cameron, too! A civil engineer—"

"Can't be uncivil, even in a case like this," put in Kit; "or I'd say what I really feel about the whole business! It would be worse, of course, if one of our own people were ill; but to be tied up like this because of a servant is, to say the least, exasperating."

"Babette's a nice little thing, and I'm awfully sorry for her," said Patty.

"So am I," said Marie; "but I'm like Kit. I think it's awful for half a dozen of us to be held here, like this, because a maid is ill!"

"But, Marie, what's the use of even thinking about it?" said Patty; "we can't help ourselves, we're obliged to stay here, so for goodness' sake, let's make the best of it. I shall send home for my pink chiffon,—that's always a great comfort to me in time of trouble."

"Send for one for me," said Cameron, "if they're so comforting in trouble."

"I've only one," returned Patty, "but you can share the benefit of its comforting qualities. Now we'll have to take turns at the telephone. Suppose I take it first, and break the news to Mr. Van Reypen, for he'll have to invite somebody in my place."

"You're sure it's positive?" said Kenneth to Cameron; "you're sure there's no hope of a reprieve or a mistaken diagnosis?"

"No," said Kit, positively; "I made sure, before I told you at all."

"Of course you did," said Patty, trying to be cheerful. "I know you wouldn't have told us, until you were sure you had to. Now I'll telephone to Phil, and then to my home, and then, Marie, you can tell your people, and after that we'll let the men fix up their business affairs. What a comfort it is that we can telephone, for I don't suppose we'll be allowed to write letters, unless we fumigate them, and I won't inflict my friends with those horrid odours."

The telephone was in the library, and as Patty crossed the hall, she met Mrs. Perry coming toward her.

Mrs. Perry had her handkerchief to her eyes, and Patty went straight to her and put her arms around her.

"Dear Mrs. Perry," she said, "I am SO sorry for you! To have Babette's illness, and then to have the burden of four guests at the same time! But, truly, we'll make just as little trouble as we can, and I hope you'll let us help in any way possible."

"Oh, Patty," Lora Perry said, in a choked voice, "I feel dreadful about making you stay here in these circumstances! Just think of all your engagements,—and all the fun you'll miss. It's perfectly awful!"

"Now don't think of those things at all. Just remember that your four guests are not complaining a bit. We know you're sorry for us and you know we're sorry for you, and we're all sorry for poor Babette. Now that part's settled, and we're all going to make the best of it. You don't go into Babette's room, do you?"

"Oh, no; I couldn't go near the baby, if I did. And the patient has a trained nurse, you know. Honestly, Patty,—you don't mind my calling you Patty, do you?"

"No, indeed, I like to have you."

"Well, I was going to say, I don't really think there's a bit of danger of infection for any of us. But, of course, you know what a doctor's orders are, and how they must be obeyed."

"Of course I know; now don't you think for a moment of any petty little disappointments we girls may have. Why, they're nothing compared to your trouble and Mr. Perry's, and the boys'."

Patty telephoned Philip Van Reypen, and that young man was simply aghast.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that you people are to be held up there for weeks? It's preposterous! It's criminal!"

"Don't talk like that, Philip. We can't help it. The Perrys can't help it. And it isn't a national catastrophe. Honestly, a few weeks' rest will do me good."

"Yes! With that Cameron man dangling at your heels!"

"Well, Philip, if I have to stay here, you ought to be glad I have some one here to amuse me."

"I'm not! I'd rather you were there alone! Patty, I won't stand it! I'm coming up myself, to dig you out!"

"Don't talk foolishness! If you come up here, you'll have to stay! They don't let any one leave the house."

"All right, then, I'll stay! That wouldn't be half bad."

"Philip, behave yourself! Mrs. Perry has all the company she can take care of."

"I'll help her take care of her company. One of 'em, anyway!"

"I won't talk to you, if you're so silly. Now listen. You go ahead with your party to-night, and ask some other pretty girl to take my place."

"Take your place!" Philip's growl of disgust nearly broke the telephone.

"Yes," went on Patty, severely, "to take my place. And then, when we get let out, you could have another party for me. Don't you see, it will be a sort of celebration of my release from captivity."

"I tell you I won't stand it! I'll have the confounded party to- night,—because I'll HAVE to, but to-morrow I'm coming straight, bang, up to Eastchester!"

"Come if you like, but you won't be admitted to this house. And I think you're acting horrid, Philip. Instead of being sorry for me, you just scold."

"I'm not scolding YOU, Patty, but I won't have you shut up there with that Cameron!"

"And Kenneth."

"Harper's all right, but that Cameron boy is too fresh,—and I don't want you to encourage him."

"All right, Philip, I won't encourage him. Good-bye." Patty spoke in her sweetest tones, and hung up the receiver suddenly, leaving Mr. Van Reypen in a state of mind bordering on frenzy.

Then Patty called up Nan, and explained the whole situation to her.

"How awful!" said Nan, in deepest sympathy, "both for Mrs. Perry and for you."

"Yes, it is; but of course there's nothing to do but make the best of it. Ken is splendid. If it weren't for his strength and courage I don't know how I'd bear it. But he won't let me give way. So I'm going to be a heroine and all that sort of thing, a real little Casablanca. Honestly, Nan, I feel ashamed of myself to think of my little bothers,—when the boys have their business matters to consider, and Mrs. Perry is in such deep trouble. So I'm going to do my best to be cheerful and pleasant. They say we may be here two or three weeks or more."

"Good gracious, Patty!"

"Yes, I know,—it's all of that! Now, Nan, I mustn't keep this telephone, for they all want to use it. But I'll call you up to- night or to-morrow, for a longer talk. I wish you'd send me up some clothes. Pack a suitcase or a steamer trunk with some little house- dresses and tea-gowns and lingerie, and send it along to-morrow. Then I'll tell you later what else I want. Tell father all about it, and ask him to call me up this evening. Good-bye for now."

Patty hung up the receiver, and Marie took her turn next.

"How did your people take it?" asked Cameron, as Patty came slowly back to the hall fireside, where they had all been sitting when the dreadful news was told.

"I told my mother," said Patty, "but I didn't give her a chance to say much. She was appalled, of course, at the whole business, but she's going to send me some clothes, and get along without me for a few weeks,—although I can't help feeling 'they will miss me at home, they will miss me.'"

Patty sang the line in a high falsetto that made them all laugh.

"Mother's about crazy!" announced Marie, as she came back from telephoning. "Not that she minds my staying here, but she's sure I'll have the diphtheria!"

"No, you won't, Marie," said Kit, earnestly. "I asked the doctor particularly, and he said there wasn't the least danger that any of us would develop the disease."

"Then why do we have to stay here?" asked Marie.

"Because the house is quarantined. By order of the Board of Health. You may as well make up your mind to it, cousin, and take it philosophically, as Miss Fairfield does."

Kenneth telephoned to his office, and then Kit shut himself up in the library and telephoned for a long time.

When he returned, he said, with an evident effort at cheerfulness, "Now let's pretend that we're not kept here against our will, but that this is a jolly house party. If we were here for a month, on invitation, we'd expect to have a bang-up time."

"But this is so different," said Patty, dolefully. "A house party would mean all kinds of gaiety and fun. But it doesn't seem right to be gay, when Babette is dangerously ill."

"But she isn't dangerously ill," said Kit, earnestly. "It may prove a very light case. But you see the quarantine laws are just as strict for a very light case as for a desperate one. Now, I propose that we try to forget Babette for the present, and go in for a good time."

"But we can't do anything," said Marie; "we can't go to places or have any company, or see anybody or write any letters—"

"There, there, little girl," said her cousin, "don't make matters worse by complaining. Here are four most attractive young people, in a perfectly lovely house, with all the comforts of home; and if we don't have a good time, it's our own fault. What shall we do this afternoon?"

"Let's play bridge," said Patty; "that's quiet, and I don't feel like anything rackety-packety."

"Bridge is good enough for me," said Kenneth, manfully striving to shake off the gloom he felt. He was really very much concerned about some important business matters, but he said nothing of this to any one.

They sat down at the bridge table, but the game dragged. No one seemed interested, and they dealt the cards in silence.

Cameron tried to keep up a lively flow of conversation, and the others tried to respond to his efforts. But though they succeeded fairly well, after the third rubber, Patty declared she could not play any longer, and she was going to her room for a nap.

"Come on," said Marie, jumping up, "I'll go with you."

"Yes, do, girlies," said Cameron, kindly. "A little nap will do you good. Come down for tea, won't you?"

"I don't know," said Patty, doubtfully; "I think we'll have tea in our rooms, and not come down till dinner time."

"As you like," returned Kit; "if we four have to live together for weeks, it won't do to see TOO much of each other!"

"Then perhaps we won't come down to dinner, either," said Patty, with a momentary flash of her roguish nature.

"Oh, you MUST!" exclaimed Kenneth, who couldn't help taking things seriously. "You two girls are the only bright spots in this whole business!"