“Pooh,” said Patty, who, in kimono and bedroom slippers, nestled in a big easy-chair in front of the wood-fire in Elise’s dressing-room. “I’ve known Ken for years, and we do think a lot of each other. But you needn’t take that tone, Elise. It’s a boy and girl chumminess, and you know it. Why, Ken doesn’t think any more of me than Roger does.”

“Oh, Roger! Why, he’s perfectly gone on you. He worships the ground you walk on. Surely, Patty, you’ve noticed Roger’s devotion.”

“What’s the matter with you, Elise? Where’d you get these crazy notions about devotion and worship? If you’ll excuse my French,—you make me tired!”

“Don’t you like to have the boys devoted to you, Patty?”

“No, I don’t! I like their jolly friendship, of course. I like to talk to Ken and Roger, or to Clifford Morse, or any of the boys of our set; but as for devotion, I don’t see any.”

“None so blind as those who won’t see,” said Elise, who had finished brushing her hair, and now sank down on an ottoman by Patty’s side.

“Well, then, I’ll stay blind, for I don’t want to see devoted swains worshipping the Persian rugs I walk on! Though if you mean these beautiful rugs that are on all the floors of your house, Elise, I don’t know that I blame the swains so much. By the way, I suppose some of them are ‘prayer rugs’ anyway, so that makes it all the more appropriate.”

“Oh, Patty, you’re such a silly! You’re not like other girls.”

“You surprise me, Elise! Also you flatter me! I had an idea I belonged to the common herd.”

“Patty, will you be serious? Roger is terribly in love with you.”

“Really, Elise? How interesting! Now, what would you do in a case like that?”

“I’d consider it seriously, at any rate.”

Patty put one finger to her forehead, frowned deeply, and gazed into the fire for fully half a minute. Then she said:

“I’ve considered, Elise, and all I can think of is the ‘Cow who considered very well and gave the piper a penny.’ Do you suppose Roger would care for a penny?”

“He would, if you gave it to him,” returned Elise, who was almost petulant at Patty’s continued raillery.

“Then he shall have it! Rich as the Farringtons are, if the son of the house wants a penny of my fortune, it shall not be denied him!”

Patty had risen, and was stalking up and down the room with jerky strides, and dramatic waving of her arms. Her golden hair hung in a curly cloud over her blue silk kimono, and her voice thrilled with a tragic intensity, though, of course, exaggerated to a ludicrous degree.

Having finished her speech, Patty retained her dramatic pose, and glared at Elise like a very young and pretty Lady Macbeth.

“Oh, Patty,” cried Elise, forgetting the subject in hand, “you ought to be an actress! Do you know, you were quite stunning when you flung yourself round so. And, Patty, with your voice,—your singing voice, I mean,—you ought to go on the stage! Do, will you, Patty? I’d love to see you an opera singer!”

“Elise, you’re crazy to-night! Suppose I should go on the stage, what would become of all these devoted swains who are worshipping my feetsteps?”

“Bother the swains! Patty, my heart is set upon it. You must be an actress. I mean a really nice, gentle, refined one, like Maude Adams, or Eleanor Robson. Oh, they are so sweet! and such noble, grand women.”

“Elise, you have lovely ambitions for your friends. What about yourself? Won’t you be a circus-rider, dear? I want you to be as ambitious for you as you are for me.”

“Patty, stop your fooling. I was quite in earnest.”

“Then you’d better begin fooling. It’s more sensible than your earnestness. Now, I’m going to run away to bed and leave you to dream that you’re a circus-rider, whizzing round a ring on a snow-white Arab steed. Good-night, girlie.”

Alone in her room, Patty smiled to herself at Elise’s foolishness. And yet, though she had no desire to be an actress, Patty had sometimes dreamed of herself as a concert singer, enchanting her audiences with her clear, sweet voice, which was fine and true, if not great. She was ambitious, though as yet not definitely so, and Elise’s words had roused a dormant desire to be or to do something worth while, and not, as she thought to herself, be a mere social butterfly.

Then she smiled again as she thought of Elise’s talk about Ken and Roger.

But here no answering chord was touched. As chums, she thoroughly liked both boys, but the thought of any more serious liking only roused a feeling of amusement in her mind.

“Perhaps I may be glad to have somebody in love with me some day,” she thought; “but it will be many years from now, and meantime I want to do a whole lot of things that are really worth doing.”

Then, with a whimsical thought that to sleep was the thing most worth doing at the present moment, Patty tumbled into the soft, white nest prepared for her and was soon sound asleep.

Christmas Day was one of the finest. No snow, but a clear, cold, bracing air, that was exhilarating to breathe.

“Skating this afternoon?” said Roger, after the Merry Christmas greetings had been exchanged.

“Yes, indeed,” cried Patty and Elise in one breath.

“Let’s get up a party, shall us?” went on Roger, “and skate till dusk, and then all come back here and have tea under the Christmas tree?”

“Lovely!” cried Elise, but Patty hesitated.

“You know we have the dance on for to-night,” she said.

Patty was not robust, and continuous exertions often tired her. Nan had cautioned her not to attempt too much gaiety during this visit, and she wanted to rest before the evening’s dance.

“Oh, pshaw!” said Elise, “there’ll be lots of time. The dance won’t begin till nine, anyway.”

So Patty agreed, and Roger went off to invite his skating party by telephone.

He secured Kenneth, and the two Morses, and then he hung up the receiver.

“That’s enough,” he declared. “I don’t like a big skating party. Slip away, girls, and get your bonnets and shawls; the car’ll be here in half an hour.”

The girls went off to dress, and Patty viewed her new skating costume with decided approval.

It was all of white. A white cloth frock, with short skirt; white broadcloth coat and a Russian turban of white cloth and fur; long white leather leggings, and her Christmas furs, which added a charming touch to the costume.

As being more comfortable for skating, she had returned to her former mode of hair-dressing, and so two big white ribbon bows bloomed at the back of her head. These, and the short skirt, quite took away Patty’s grown-up air, and made her seem a little girl again.

“Hello, Baby,” said Roger, as he saw her come downstairs, with rosy cheeks and eyes sparkling with pleasurable anticipation, for Patty loved to skate.

“Mam-ma!” said Patty, putting her finger in her mouth, and assuming a vacant, babyish stare.

Roger laughed at her foolishness, and then Elise came along and they all went out to the car.

Elise’s suit was of crimson cloth, bordered with dark fur, and as a consequence the two girls together made a pretty picture.

“You’re such a comfort, Patty,” Elise said, as they climbed into the big car. “You always dress just right to harmonise with my clothes.”

“Sure you do!” said Roger, looking at the two girls admiringly. “No fellow on the ice will escort such beautiful ladies as I have in my charge. Now, we’ll pick up Ken and the Morses, and then make a dash for the Pole.”

They reached the Park by three o’clock, so had nearly two hours of skating before the dusk fell.

Patty was a superior skater, and so were most of the others, for Roger had chosen his party with care.

“Skate with me, Patty, will you?” said Roger, just at the same moment that Kenneth said, “Of course you’ll skate with me, Patty.”

Patty looked at both boys with a comical smile. “Thank you,” she said; “but I always like to pick out my own escort.” Then, turning to Clifford Morse, she said:

“Skate with me, won’t you, Cliff? We’re a good team.”

“We are that!” he replied, greatly pleased, if a little surprised at Patty’s invitation.

Kenneth and Roger grinned at each other, and then turned quickly to the other girls, who had not heard the little parley.

Of course Roger skated with Clementine Morse, and Kenneth with Elise, which arrangement quite satisfied the dark-eyed beauty.

“You look like Little Red Riding-hood,” said Kenneth, as they started off, with long, gliding strokes.

“Don’t be a wolf, and eat me up,” laughed Elise, for Kenneth had fur on his cap and overcoat, and with his big fur gloves, seemed almost like some big, good-natured animal.

“You skate beautifully, Elise,” said Kenneth, “and all you girls do. Look at Clementine; isn’t she graceful?”

“Yes,” agreed Elise, “and so is Patty.”

“Patty,” echoed Kenneth. “She is a poem on ice!”

She was, and Elise knew it, but a naughty little jealousy burned in her heart at Ken’s words.

She bravely tried to down it, however, and said: “Yes, she is. She’s a poem in every way.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. In some ways she’s more of a jolly, merry jingle.”

“A nonsense rhyme,” suggested Elise, falling in with his metaphor.

“Yes; how quick you are to see what I mean. Now, Clementine is a lyric,—she glides so gracefully along.”

“And I?” asked Elise, laughing at his witty characterisation.

“You? Well, I can’t judge unless I see you. Skate off by yourself.”

Elise did so, and Kenneth watched the scarlet-clad figure gracefully pirouetting and skilfully executing difficult steps.

“Well?” she said, as she returned to him, and again they joined hands and glided along in unison.

“Well, you’re delightful on ice. You’re a will o’ the wisp.”

“But I want to be a poem of some sort. The other girls are.”

Kenneth smiled at the pretty, anxious face.

“You are a poem. You’re one of those little French forms. A virelay or a triolet.”

Elise was a little uncertain as to what these were, exactly, but she resolved to look them up as soon as she reached home. At any rate, she knew Kenneth meant to be complimentary, and she smiled with pleasure.

Then the others joined them and they all skated together for a time, and then the sun set, and Roger said they must go home.

He was a most reliable boy, and always took charge of their little expeditions or outings. Elise never thought of questioning his authority, so again they all bundled into the car, and started homeward.

“I ought to go right home,” said Clementine.

“Oh, come round for a cup of Christmas tea,” said Roger, “and I’ll take you home in half an hour.”

So the Morses consented, and the six merry young people had tea under the Christmas tree, and told stories by the firelight, and laughed and chatted until Clementine declared she must go, or she’d never get back in time for the dance.

“What are you going to wear, Patsy?” asked Elise, as they went upstairs, arm in arm.

“I’ve a new frock, of course. Did you think I’d come to your dance in one I’d worn before? Nay, I hold Miss Farrington in too high esteem for that!”

“Well, scurry into it, for I’m crazy to see it. If it’s prettier than mine, I won’t let you go down to the ballroom!”

“It won’t be,” returned Patty; “don’t worry about that!”

But when the two girls were dressed, Patty’s frock, though not so expensive, was quite as attractive as Elise’s.

Patty’s was of apricot-coloured satin, veiled all over with a delicate thin material of the same shade. A pearl trimming encircled the slightly low-cut throat and the short sleeves. It was very becoming to pretty Patty, and she knew herself that she had never looked better.

Elise’s gown was of white silk, draped with silvered lace. It was lovely, and suited Elise’s dark hair and eyes, and really both girls were pictures. But Patty’s face was sunny and happy, while Elise’s red mouth drooped in a little curve of discontent.

The girl was discontented by nature, and though she had everything that heart could wish, she was never brimming over with content and happiness, as Patty always was.

The dance was in the tennis court, where a smooth crash had replaced the snowy floor of the Christmas Eve celebration. The Christmas tree still stood there, as it formed a beautiful decoration for that end of the ballroom.

It was not a large party, for Mrs. Farrington would not allow Elise to act like a young lady out in society. About thirty young people were asked, and the hours were from nine till twelve.

But the music was of the finest, and as Patty’s favourite amusement was dancing, she had a most enjoyable time.

An exquisite dancer, she was, of course, besieged by partners, but in her merry, wholehearted way, she treated them all alike, showing favouritism to none, and dancing with less desirable partners as pleasantly and happily as with those she liked better.

Roger grumbled at this.

“You’re wasted on a fellow like Harry Barr,” he said, as he and Patty started for a turn. “He dances like a grain-thresher, and yet you bob along with him as smilingly as if you were dancing with a decent tripper.”

“Why not?” returned Patty; “he’s pleasant and kind. He doesn’t talk like a grain-thresher, and he can’t help his dancing. Or rather, his lack of it, for you can’t call those gymnastics of his dancing. Oh, Roger, there’s Mr. Hepworth!”

Sure enough, Mr. Hepworth had just come in, and as Patty spoke, he caught her eye and smiled.

She smiled back, and when the dance was over asked Roger to take her to him.

“Old Hepworth?” said Roger, in surprise. “You can’t waste time on him, Patty; your dance card is full, you know.”

“I don’t care, I must just speak to him. I haven’t seen him since I came home. Whoever belongs to my next dance can wait a few minutes.”

“All right; come on, then.” Roger led her across the room, and with a smiling face, and in tones of glad welcome, she said:

“Oh, Mr. Hepworth, how do you do?”

“Patty!” he exclaimed, taking her hands in his. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

There was a thrill in his voice that startled her, but she only said, “And so am I glad to see you. Why haven’t you been to call on me?”

“I’ve just returned from a Southern trip. Only reached New York to-night,—and here I am.”

“Here I am, too, but I can’t talk to you now. My programme is full, and I make it a point always to keep my engagements.”

“Not one dance left?” said Mr. Hepworth, looking over the scribbled card.

“Not one! I’m so sorry,—but, of course, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Of course not. Run along now, and enjoy yourself, and I’ll call on you, if I may, some time when you are at home.”

“Yes, do,” said Patty, realising that Mr. Hepworth was the same kind, thoughtful friend he had always been.

“I wonder why I’m so glad to see him,” she thought to herself, as she walked away with her new partner; “but I am, all the same.”

CHAPTER VI
A FAIR PROPOSITION

It was on the afternoon of New Year’s Day that Mr. Hepworth came to call on Patty. She was at home again, having returned from her visit to Elise a few days after Christmas.

“You know I am old-fashioned,” he said, as he greeted the Fairfield family, and joined their circle round the library fire. “But I don’t suppose you thought I was quite so old-fashioned as to make calls on New Year’s Day. However, I’m not quite doing that, as this is the only call I shall make to-day.”

“We’re glad to see you any day in the year,” said Nan, cordially, and Patty added:

“Indeed we are. I’ve been wondering why you didn’t come round.”

“Busy,” said Mr. Hepworth, smiling at her. “An artist’s life is not a leisure one.”

“Is anybody’s now-a-days?” asked Mr. Fairfield. “The tendency of the age is to rush and hurry all the time. What a contrast to a hundred years ago!”

“And a good contrast, too,” declared Nan. “If the world still jogged along at a hundred years ago rate, we would have no motor-cars, no aëroplanes, no–”

“No North Pole,” suggested her husband. “True enough, Nan, to accomplish things we must be busy.”

“I want to get busy,” said Patty. “No, I don’t mean that for slang,”—as her father looked at her reprovingly,—“but I want to do something that is really worth while.”

“The usual ambition of extreme youth,” said Mr. Hepworth, looking at her kindly, if quizzically. “Do you want to reform the world, and in what way?”

“Not exactly reform it,” said Patty, smiling back at him; “reform has such a serious sound. But I do want to make it brighter and better.”

“That’s a good phrase, too,” observed Mr. Hepworth, still teasingly. “But, Patty, you do make the world brighter and better, just by being in it.”

“That’s too easy; and, anyway, I expect to remain in it for some several years yet; and I want to do something beside just be.”

“Ah, well, you can doubtless find some outlet for your enthusiasms.”

“What she really wants,” said her father, “is to be an operatic star.”

“And sing into phonographs,” added Nan, mischievously.

“Yes,” smiled Patty, “and have my picture in the backs of magazines!”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Hepworth, “aim high, while you’re about it.”

“I can aim high enough,” returned Patty, “but I’m not sure I can sing high enough.”

“Oh, you only need to come high enough, to be an operatic star,” said Mr. Hepworth, who was in merry mood to-day.

“But, seriously,” said Patty, who was in earnest mood, “I do want to do good. I don’t mean in a public way, but in a charity way.”

“Oh, soup-kitchens and bread-lines?”

“No; not exactly. I mean to help people who have no sweetness and light in their lives.”

“Oh, Patty,” groaned Nan, “if you’re on that tack, you’re hopeless. What have you been reading? ‘The Young Maiden’s Own Ruskin,’ or ‘Look Up and Not Down’?”

“And lend a ten,” supplemented Mr. Fairfield.

“You needn’t laugh,” began Patty, pouting a little. Then she laughed herself, and went on: “Yes, you may laugh if you want to,—I know I sound ridiculous. But I tell you, people, I’m going to make good!”

“You may make good,” said her father, “but you’ll never be good until you stop using slang. How often, my daughter, have I told you–”

“Oh, cut it out, daddy,” said Patty, dimpling with laughter, for she knew her occasional slang phrases amused her father, even though they annoyed him. “If you’ll help me ‘do noble things, not dream them all day long,’ I’ll promise to talk only in purest English undefiled.”

“Goodness, Patty!” said Nan, “you’re a walking cyclopædia of poetical quotations to-day.”

“And you’re a running commentary on them,” returned Patty, promptly, which remark sent Mr. Hepworth off in peals of laughter.

“Oh, Patty!” he exclaimed, “I’m afraid you’re going to grow up clever! That would be fatal to your ambition! Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever. Nobody can be both.”

“I can,” declared Patty; “I’ll show you Missouri people yet!”

Mr. Fairfield groaned at this new burst of slang, but Mr. Hepworth only laughed.

“She’ll get over it,” he said. “A few years of these ‘noble aims’ of hers will make her so serious-minded that she won’t even see the meaning of a slang phrase. Though, I must admit, I think some of them very apt, myself.”

“They sure are!” said irrepressible Patty, giggling at her father’s frown.

“But I’ll tell you one thing,” went on Mr. Hepworth: “Whatever line you decide upon, let it be something that needs no training. I mean, if you choose to go in for organised charity or settlement work, well and good. But don’t attempt Red Cross nursing or kindergarten teaching, or anything that requires technical knowledge. For in these days, only trained labour succeeds, and only expert, at that.”

“Oh, pshaw,” said Patty; “I don’t mean to earn money. Though if I wanted to, I’m sure I could. Why, if I had to earn my own living, I could do it as easy as anything!”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Mr. Hepworth, gravely. “It isn’t so easy for a young woman to earn her living without a technical education in some line.”

“Well, Patty, you’ll never have to earn your own living,” said her father, smiling; “so don’t worry about that. But I agree with our friend, that you couldn’t do it, if you did have to.”

“That sounds so Irish, daddy, that I think it’s as bad as slang. However, I see you are all of unsympathetic nature, so I won’t confide in you further as to my aims or ambitions.”

“I haven’t noticed any confidences yet,” murmured Nan; “only appeals for help.”

Patty gave her a withering glance.

“The subject is dropped,” she said; “let us now talk about the weather.”

“No,” said Hepworth; “let me tell you a story. Let me tell you of a girl I met down South, who, if she only had Patty’s determination and force of character, might achieve success, and even renown.”

“Do tell us about her,” said Nan, for Mr. Hepworth was always an interesting talker.

“She lives in Virginia, and her name is Christine Farley. A friend of mine, down there, asked me to look at some of her drawings, and I saw at once that the girl has real talent, if not genius.”

“Of course you would know,” said Nan, for Mr. Hepworth himself was a portrait painter of high repute.

“Yes, she really has done some remarkable work. But she is poor and lives in a small country town. She has already learned all the local teachers can give her, and needs the technical training of a good art school. With a year of such training she could easily become, I am sure, a successful illustrator. At least, after a year’s study, I know she could get good work to do, and then she would rapidly become known.”

“Can’t she manage to do this, in some way?” asked Mr. Fairfield.

“No; she is ambitious in her work, but in no other way. She is shy and timid; a country girl, inexperienced in the ways of the world, ignorant of city life, and desperately afraid of New York, which to her is a name for all unknown terrors.”

“Goose!” said Patty. “Oh, I’m sorry for her, of course; but as an American girl, she ought to have more spunk.”

“Southern girls don’t have spunk, Patty,” said her father, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t they! Well, I guess I ought to know! I’m a Southern girl, myself. At least, I was until I was fourteen.”

“Perhaps you’ve achieved your spunk since you came North, then,” said Hepworth; “for I agree with your father, Southern girls do not have much energy of character. At least, Miss Farley hasn’t. She’s about nineteen or twenty, but she’s as childish as a girl of fourteen,—except in her work; there she excels any one of her age I’ve ever known.”

“Can nothing be done in the matter?” asked Nan.

“I don’t know. I’m told they’re very proud people, and would not accept charity. Of course she never can earn anything by her work if she stays at home; and as she can’t get away, it seems to be a deadlock.”

“I’d like to help her,” said Patty, slowly. “I do think she ought to have ingenuity enough to help herself, but if she hasn’t, I’d like to help her.”

“How can you?” asked Nan.

“I don’t know. But the way to find out how to do things is to do them.”

“Oh, dear,” moaned Mr. Hepworth, in mock despair. “I said I feared you were clever. Don’t say those things, Patty, you’ll ruin your reputation as a beauty.”

“Pooh!” said Patty, who sometimes didn’t know whether Mr. Hepworth was teasing her or not, “that isn’t a clever thing to say.”

“Well, if you don’t mean it for an epigram, I’ll forgive you,—but don’t let it happen again. Now, as to Christine Farley. I’ll let you be clever for once, if you’ll turn your cleverness to devising some way to aid her to an art education. Can you think of any way?”

“I can think of dozens,” returned Patty, “but the only thing to do is for her to come to New York, get a scholarship at the Art School, and then board in a hall bedroom,—art students always do that,—and they have jolly good times with chafing dishes and palette knives, and such things. I’ve read about ’em.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “but how is she to pay the board for the hall bedroom? They are really quite poor, I’m told.”

“Well!” said Patty, scornfully, “anybody,—the merest infant,—could earn enough money outside class hours to pay a small sum like that, I should hope! Why, how much would such board cost?”

“Patty, child,” said her father, “you don’t know much of social economics, do you? I fancy the young woman could board properly for about twelve or fifteen dollars a week; eh, Hepworth?”

“Yes; I daresay fifteen dollars a week would cover her expenses, including her art materials. Of course this would mean literally the ‘hall bedroom’ in a very modest boarding-house.”

“Well!” went on Patty, “and do you mean to say that this girl couldn’t earn fifteen dollars a week, and attend her classes, too?”

“I mean to say just that,” said Mr. Hepworth, seriously.

“I agree with you,” said Nan. “Why, I couldn’t earn fifteen dollars a week, and stay at home from the classes.”

“Oh, Nan!” cried Patty, “you could! I’m sure you could! Why, I’ll bet I could earn fifteen dollars a week, and have plenty of time left for my practising, my club meetings, motoring, skating, and all the things I want to do beside. Fifteen dollars a week is nothing!”

“Gently, gently, my girl,” said her father, for Patty’s cheeks were pink with the earnestness of her argument. “Fifteen dollars a week seems nothing to you, because you have all the money you want. But where is your sense of proportion? Your idea of relative values? The value of fifteen dollars handed out to you willingly by a loving father, or the value of fifteen dollars earned from a grudging employer, are totally different matters.”

“I don’t care,” said Patty. “I know I could earn that much a week, and I believe this other girl could do so, if she had somebody to make her think she could.”

“There’s a good deal in that,” said Hepworth, thoughtfully. “Miss Farley does need somebody to make her think she can do things. But the life of an art student is a busy one, and I’m sure she couldn’t earn much money while she’s studying.”

“But fifteen dollars a week isn’t much,” persisted Patty. “Anybody could earn that.”

“Look here, Puss,” said her father: “sometimes you show a bravery of assertion that ought to be put to the test. Now I’ll make a proposition to you in the presence of these two witnesses. If you’ll earn fifteen dollars in one week,—any week,—I’ll agree to pay the board of this Miss Farley in New York, for a year, while she pursues her art studies.”

“Oh, father, will you?” cried Patty. “What a duck you are! Of course I can earn the money, easily.”

“Wait a moment; there are conditions, or rather stipulations. You must not do anything unbecoming a quiet, refined girl,—but I know you wouldn’t do that, anyway. You must not engage in any pursuit that keeps you away from your home after five o’clock in the afternoon–”

“Oh,” interrupted Patty, “I don’t propose to go out washing! I shall do light work of some sort at home. But never you mind what I do,—of course it will be nothing you could possibly object to,—I’ll earn fifteen dollars in less than a week.”

“A week, though, is the proposition. When you bring me fifteen dollars, earned by yourself, unassisted, in the space of seven days, I’ll carry out my part of the bargain.”

“But the girl won’t accept it,” said Patty, regretfully.

“I’m trusting to your tact, and Nan’s, to offer the opportunity to her in such a way that she will accept it. Couldn’t that be done, Hepworth?”

“Why, yes; I daresay it could be managed. And you are very generous, Mr. Fairfield, but I can’t say I have much hope of Patty’s success.”

“‘Patty’s success’ is always a foregone conclusion,” said that young woman, saucily; “and now, at last, I have an aim in life! I shall begin to-morrow,—and we’ll see!”

The others laughed, for no one could take pretty Patty very seriously, except herself.

“But don’t tell anybody,” she added, as the doorbell rang.

They all promised they wouldn’t, and then Elise and Roger came in to bring New Year’s greetings, and the conversation took a lighter and merrier turn.