“Middle-aged aunt!” he returned, gallantly; “and belonging to the early middle-ages at that! I told you I should call this morning, and I’d like another egg, please, aunty.”

“You may have all the eggs you want, but I am not at all pleased with your presence here after I expressly forbade it.”

“Oh, it isn’t a crime to call on one’s own aunt, is it?”

“It’s extremely rude. I have a busy day before me, and I don’t want a bothersome nephew around.”

Mrs. Van Reypen was exceedingly fond of Philip, and loved to have him at her house, but it was easy to be seen, now, that she considered him far too much interested in pretty Patty.

And partly because he was interested, and partly to tease his long-suffering aunt, the young man declared his intention of spending the day with them.

“I can’t have you, Philip,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, decidedly. “I want you to go away immediately after breakfast.”

“Just my luck!” grumbled her nephew. “I never can do anything I want to. Well, I’ll go downtown, but I’ll be back here to luncheon.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, shortly; “you’ll do nothing of the sort.”

The rest of the meal was not very enjoyable. Mrs. Van Reypen was clearly displeased at her nephew’s presence; Patty did not think it wise to take any active part in the conversation; and, though Philip was in gay spirits, it was not easy to be merry alone.

Patty couldn’t help smiling at his audacious speeches, but she kept her eyes down on her plate, and endeavoured to ignore the young man’s presence, for she knew this was what Mrs. Reypen wished her to do.

“Now you may go,” said the hostess, as Philip finished his egg. “I’d like to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace.”

“Oh, I’m peaceful!” declared Philip, crossing his hands on his breast and rolling up his eyes with an angelic expression.

“Good-by, Philip,” said his aunt, so icily that the young man rose from the table and stalked out of the room.

“Now,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, “we are rid of him.”

But in a few moments the smiling face again appeared at the door.

“I forgot to say good-by to Miss Fairfield,” he announced, cheerfully. “Mayn’t I do that, aunty?”

Mrs. Van Reypen gave an annoyed “Humph!” and Patty, taking her cue, bowed very coldly, and said “Good-morning, Mr. Van Reypen” in an utterly impersonal tone.

Philip chuckled, and went away, slamming the street door behind him, as a final annoyance to his aunt.

“You mustn’t think him a rude boy, Miss Fairfield,” she said. “But he delights to tease me, and unless I am positively cross to him he never lets up. But he is really devoted to me, and, I assure you, he scarcely noted your presence at all.”

“Of course not,” said Patty, with great difficulty restraining a burst of laughter. “No one could dream of Mr. Philip Van Reypen observing a companion.” Patty did not mean this for sarcasm; she desired only to set Mrs. Van Reypen’s mind at rest, and then the subject of Philip was dropped.

Soon after breakfast Mrs. Van Reypen conducted Patty to a pleasant morning room, and asked her to read the newspaper aloud.

“And do try to read slower,” she added. “I hate rapid gabbling.”

Patty had resolved not to take offence at the brusque remarks, which she knew would be hurled at her, so, somewhat meekly, she took up the paper and began.

It was a trying task. If she read an account of anything unpleasant she was peremptorily stopped; if the news was dry or prosy, that was also cut off short.

“Read me the fashion notes,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, at last.

So Patty read a whole page about the latest modes, and her hearer was greatly interested.

She then told Patty of some new gowns she was having made, and seemed pleased at Patty’s intelligent comments on them.

“Why, you have good taste!” she exclaimed, as if making a surprising discovery. “I will take you with me this afternoon when I go to Madame Leval’s to try on my gowns.”

“Very well,” said Patty. “And now, Mrs. Van Reypen, I’m sure there’s nothing more of interest in the paper; what shall I do next?”

“Heavens! Miss Fairfield, don’t ask such a question as that! You are here to entertain me. I am not to provide amusement for you! Why do you suppose I have you here, if not to make my time pass pleasantly?”

Patty was bewildered at this outburst. Though she knew her duties would be light, she supposed they would be clearly defined, and not left to her own invention.

But she was anxious to please, and she said, pleasantly:

“I think that’s really what I meant, but I didn’t express myself very well. And, you see, I don’t yet quite know your tastes. Do you like fancy work? I know a lovely new crochet stitch I could show you.”

“No; I hate crocheting. The wool gets all snarled up, and the pattern gets wrong every few stitches.”

“Then we’ll dismiss that. Do you like to play cards? I know cribbage, and some other games that two can play.”

“No; I detest cards. I think it is very foolish to sit and fumble with bits of painted pasteboard!”

Poor Patty was at her wits’ end. She had not expected to be a professional entertainer, and she didn’t know what to suggest next.

She felt sure Mrs. Van Reypen wouldn’t care to listen to any more reading just then. She hesitated to propose music, as it had not been very successful the night before. On a sudden impulse, she said:

“Do you like to see dancing? I can do some pretty fancy dances.”

It seemed an absurd thing to say, but Patty had ransacked her brain to think what professional entertainers did, and that was all she could think of, except recitations, and those she hated herself.

“Yes, I do!” cried Mrs. Van Reypen, so emphatically that Patty jumped. “I love to see dancing! If you can do it, which I doubt, I wish you would dance for me. And this evening we’ll go to see that new dancer that the town is wild over. If you really can dance, you’ll appreciate it as I do. To me dancing is a fine art, and should be considered so—but it rarely is. Do you require music?”

“Of course, I prefer it, but I can dance without.”

“We’ll try it without, first; then, if I wish to, I’ll ask Delia, my parlour-maid, to play for you. She plays fairly well. Or, if it suits me, I may play myself.”

Patty made no response to these suggestions, but followed Mrs. Van Reypen to the great drawing-room, at one end of which was a grand piano.

“Try it without music, first,” was the order, and Patty walked to the other end of the long room, while Mrs. Van Reypen seated herself on a sofa. Serenely conscious of her proficiency in the art, Patty felt no embarrassment, and, swaying gently, as if listening to rhythm, she began a pretty little fancy dance that she had learned some years ago.

She danced beautifully, and she loved to dance, so she made a most effective picture, as she pirouetted back and forth, or from side to side of the long room.

“Beautiful!” said Mrs. Van Reypen, as Patty paused in front of her and bowed. “You are a charming dancer. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything so much. Are you tired? Will you dance again?”

“I’m not at all tired,” said Patty. “I like to dance, and I’m very glad it pleases you.”

“Can you do a minuet?” asked the old lady, after Patty had finished another dance, a gay little Spanish fandango.

“Yes; but I like music for that.”

“Good! I will play myself.” With great dignity, Mrs. Van Reypen rose and walked to the piano.

Patty adjusted the music-stool for her, and she ran her delicate old fingers lightly over the keys.

“I’m sadly out of practice,” she said, “but I can play a tinkling minuet and you may dance to it.”

She began a melodious little air, and Patty, after listening a moment, nodded her head, and ran to take her place.

Mrs. Van Reypen was so seated at the piano that she could watch Patty’s dance, and in a moment the two were in harmony, and Patty was gliding and bowing in a charming minuet, while Mrs. Van Reypen played in perfect sympathy.

The dance was nearly over when Patty discovered the smiling face of Mr. Philip Van Reypen in the doorway.

His aunt could not see him, and Patty saw only his reflection in the mirror. He gave her a pleading glance, and put his finger on his lip, entreating her silence.

So she went on, without seeming to see him. But she wondered what his aunt would say after the dance was over.

Indeed, the funny side of the situation struck her so forcibly that she unconsciously smiled broadly at her own thoughts.

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, as the dancing and music both came to an end; “I am glad to see you smile as you dance. I have seen some dancers who look positively agonised as they do difficult steps.”

Patty smiled again, remembering that she had had a reason to smile as she danced, and she wondered why Philip didn’t appear.

But he didn’t, and, except that she had seen him so clearly in the mirror, and he had asked her, silently but unmistakably, not to divulge the fact of his presence, she would have thought she only imagined him there in the doorway.

“You dance wonderfully well,” went on Mrs. Van Reypen. “You have had very good training. I shall be glad to have you dance for me often. But—and please remember this—never when any one else is here. I wish you to dance for me only. If I have guests, or if my nephew is here, you are not to dance.”

This was almost too much for Patty’s gravity. For she well knew the old lady was foolishly alarmed lest her nephew should fall in love with a humble “companion,” and, knowing that the said nephew had gleefully watched the dance, it was difficult not to show her amusement.

But she only said, “I will remember, Mrs. Van Reypen.” She couldn’t tell of the intruder after his frantic appeal to her for silence, so she determined to ignore the episode.

“Now, you may do as you like until luncheon time,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, “for I shall go to my room and lie down for a rest. My maid will attend me, so I will bid you adieu until one o’clock. Wander round the house if you choose. You will find much to interest you.”

“Right you are!” thought Patty to herself. “I don’t believe I’d have to wander far to find a jolly comrade to interest me!” But she well knew if Mr. Philip Van Reypen was still in the house, and if she should encounter him and chat with him, it would greatly enrage the old lady.

“And,” thought Patty, “since I’ve made good with my dancing it’s a shame to spoil my record by talking to Sir Philip. But he is pleasant.”

Determined to do her duty, she went straight to her own room, though tempted to “wander round the house.”

And sure enough, though she didn’t know it, Mr. Van Reypen was watching her from behind the drawing-room draperies. His face fell as he saw her go up the stairs, and, though he waited some time, she did not return.

“Saucy Puss!” he thought. “But I’ll have a chat with her yet.”

Going to the library he scribbled a note, and sent it by a servant to Miss Fairfield’s room. The note said:

“Do come down and talk to a lonely, neglected waif, if only for a few minutes.

“P. V. R.”

Patty laughed as she read it, but she only said to the maid who brought it:

“Please say to Mr. Van Reypen that there is no answer.”

The maid departed, but, in less than ten minutes, returned with another note:

“You’re afraid of Aunty Van! Come on. I will protect you. Just for a few moments’ chat on the stairs.

“P. V. R.”

Again Patty sent the message, “There is no answer.”

Soon came a third note:

“I think you are horrid! And you don’t dance prettily at all!”

“Oho!” thought Patty. “Getting saucy, is he?”

She made no response whatever to the maid this time, but she was not greatly surprised when another note came:

“If you don’t come down, I’m going out to drown myself. P.”

Patty began to be annoyed. The servants must think all this very strange, and yet surely she could not help it.

“Wait a moment, Delia,” she said. “Please say to Mr. Van Reypen that I will see him in the library, at once.”

After a moment she followed the maid downstairs, and went straight to the library, where the young man awaited her. His face lighted up with gladness, as he held out his hand.

“Forgive me if I was impertinent,” he said, with such a charming air of apology that Patty had to smile.

“I forgive the impertinence,” she returned, “but you are making real trouble for me.”

“What do you mean?” he cried, looking dismayed.

“I mean that I am your aunt’s companion, and trying to earn my living thereby. Now if you persist in secretly coming to the house,—pardon me if I am frank,—and if you persist in sending foolish notes to me, your aunt will not let me stay here, and I shall lose a good position through your unkindness.”

Patty was very much in earnest, and her words were sincere, but her innate sense of humour couldn’t fail to see the ridiculous side of it all, and the corners of her mouth dimpled though she kept her eyes resolutely cast down.

“It’s a shame the way she keeps you tied to her apron string,” he blurted out, uncertain whether Patty was coquetting, or really distressed.

“Not at all,” she replied. “I’m here to attend on her pleasure, and my place is by her side whenever she wants me there.”

“How can any one help wanting you there?” broke out Philip, so explosively that Patty, instead of being offended, burst into a ringing laugh.

“Oh, you are too funny!” she exclaimed. “Mrs. Van Reypen said you were given to saying things like that to everybody.”

“I don’t say them to everybody!”

“Yes, you do; your aunt says so. But now that you’ve said it to me, won’t you go away and stay away?”

“How long?”

Patty thought quickly. “Till next Friday—a week from to-day.”

“Oh, you want to get acclimatised, all by yourself!”

“Yes,” said Patty, demurely, “I do. And if you’ll only keep away,—you know your aunt asked you not to come back for a week,—if you’ll keep away till next Friday, I’ll never ask you another favour.”

“Huh! that’s no inducement. I love to have you ask me favours.”

“Well, then, I never shall if you don’t grant this first one.”

“And if I do?”

“If you do I’ll promise you almost anything you ask.”

“That’s a large order! Well, if I stay away from this house until you get solid with Aunty Van–”

“I said a week.”

“Well, to-day’s Friday. If I stay away a week will you persuade aunty to invite me to dinner next Friday night?”

“I will.”

“Can you persuade her to do that?”

“I’m sure I can by that time.”

Patty’s eyes were dancing. She had come to Mrs. Van Reypen’s on Thursday. She would, therefore, leave on Thursday, and she was sure that lady would have no objections to inviting her nephew to dinner after her “companion’s” departure.

“Are you going to stay?” demanded Philip suspiciously.

“I’m here a week on trial,” said Patty, demurely. “Your aunt needn’t keep me longer if I don’t suit her. And I know I won’t suit her if she thinks I receive notes from her nephew.”

“Oh, I see! You’re here a week on trial, and if I am chummy with you Aunty Van won’t keep you! Oh, yes! Why, of course! To be sure! Well, Miss Fairfield, I make this sacrifice for your benefit. I will keep away from here during your trial week. Then, in return, you promise to use your influence to get me an invitation to dine here next Friday.”

“I do,” returned Patty. “But do you need an invitation to a house where you seem to feel so much at home?”

“Only when you’re in it,” declared the young man, frankly. “I think Aunty Van fears I mean to kidnap you. I don’t.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” said Patty, flashing a smile at him. “I think we could be good friends, and I hope we shall be. But not until after next Friday.”

CHAPTER XVI
AN INVITATION DECLINED

Philip Van Reypen went away, and his aunt never knew that he had been to her house on that occasion.

“I’m glad that boy has sense enough to keep away when I tell him to,” she remarked at luncheon, and Patty hastily took a sip of water to hide her uncontrollable smile.

“Yes, he seems to obey you,” she said, by way of being agreeable.

“He does. He’s a good boy, but too impressionable. He’s captivated by every girl he meets, so I warn you again, Miss Fairfield, not to notice his pretended interest in you.”

Patty tossed her head a little haughtily.

“Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Van Reypen,” she said, “I have no interest whatever in your nephew.”

She was a little annoyed at the absurd speeches of the old lady, and determined to put a stop to them.

“I should hope not,” was the reply. “A person in your position should not aspire to association with young gentlemen like my nephew.”

Patty was really angry at this, but her common sense came to her aid. If she elected to play the part of a dependent, she must accept the consequences. But she allowed herself a pointed rejoinder.

“Perhaps not,” she said. “Yet I suppose a companion of Mrs. Van Reypen’s would meet only the best people.”

“That, of course. But you cannot meet them as an equal.”

“No,” agreed Patty, meekly. Then to herself she said: “Only a week of this! Only six days now.”

That afternoon they went to the dressmaker’s.

Patty put on a smart tailored costume, and almost regretted that she had left her white furs at home. But she and Nan had agreed that they were too elaborate for her use as a companion, so she wore a small neckpiece and muff of chinchilla. But it suited well her dark-blue cloth suit and plain but chic black velvet hat.

The dressmaker, an ultra-fashionable modiste, looked at Patty with interest, recognising in her costume the work of adept hands.

Moreover, Patty’s praise and criticism of Mrs. Van Reypen’s new gowns showed her to be a young woman of taste and knowledge in such matters.

Both the modiste and her aristocratic patron were a little puzzled at Patty’s attitude, which, though modest and deferential, was yet sure and true in its judgments and opinions.

At last, when Mrs. Van Reypen was undergoing some tedious fitting, Patty had an inspiration.

“May I be excused long enough to telephone?” she asked.

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, who was in high good humour, because of her new finery. “Take all the time you like.”

Patty had noticed a telephone booth in the hall, and, shutting herself in it, she called up Nan.

By good fortune Nan was at home, and answered at once.

“Oh!” began Patty, giggling, “I’ve so much to tell you, and it’s all so funny, I can’t say a word. We’re at the dressmaker’s now, and I took this chance to call you up, because I won’t be overheard. Oh, Nan, it’s great fun!”

“Tell me the principal facts, Patty. And stop giggling. Is she kind to you? Is she patronising? Have you a pleasant room? Do you want to come home? Are you happy there?”

“Oh, Nan, wait a minute, for goodness’ sake! Yes, she’s patronising—she won’t let me speak to her grand nephew. Oh—I don’t mean her grand nephew! I mean her grand, gorgeous, extraordinary nephew. But I don’t care; I’ve no desire to speak to him.”

“Does he live there?”

“No; and never mind about him, anyway. How are you all? Is father well? Oh, Nan, it seems as if I’d been away from home a year! And what do you think? I have to dance for her to amuse her!”

“Patty! Not really? Well, you can do that all right.”

“Sure I can! Oh, she’s a peach! Don’t reprove my slang, Nan; I have to be so precise when I’m on duty. Well, I must say good-by now. I’ll write you a long letter as soon as I get a chance. To-night we’re going to see Mlle. Thingamajig dance, and to-morrow night, to the opera. So you see I’m not dull.”

“Oh, Patty, I wish you’d drop it all and come home! I don’t like it, and Fred doesn’t either.”

“Tra-la-la! ’Twill all be over soon! Only six days more. Expect me home next Thursday afternoon. Love to all. Good-by. Patty!”

Patty hung up the receiver, for she knew if she talked any longer she’d get homesick. The sound of Nan’s familiar voice made her long for her home and her people. But Patty was plucky, and, also, she was doggedly determined to succeed this time.

So she went back to Mrs. Van Reypen with a placid countenance, and sat for an hour or more complimenting and admiring the costumes in process of construction.

Somehow the afternoon dragged itself away, and the evening, at the theatre, passed pleasantly enough.

But the succeeding days went slowly.

Mrs. Van Reypen was difficult to please. She was fretty, irritable, inconsequent, and unjust.

What suited her one day displeased her highly the next.

So long as Patty praised, complimented, and flattered her all went fairly well.

But if Patty inadvertently disagreed with her, or expressed a contrary opinion, there was a scene.

And again, if Patty seemed especially meek and mild Mrs. Van Reypen would say:

“Don’t sit there and assent to everything I say! Do have some mind of your own! Express an honest opinion, even though it may differ from mine.”

Then, if Patty did this, it would bring down vials of wrath on her inoffensive head. Often she was at her wits’ end to know what to say. But her sense of humour never deserted her, and if she said something, feeling sure she was going to get sorely berated for saying it, she was able to smile inwardly when the scathing retort was uttered.

Sunday was an especially hard day. It was stormy, so they could not go out.

So Mrs. Van Reypen bade Patty read sermons to her.

When Patty did so she either fell asleep and then, waking suddenly, declared that Patty had been skipping, or else she argued contrary to the doctrines expressed in the sermons and expected Patty to combat her arguments.

“I’m tired of hearing you read,” she said, at last. “You do read abominably. First you go along in staccato jerks, then you drone in a monotone. Philip is a fine reader. I love to hear Philip read. I wish he’d come in to-day. I wonder why he doesn’t? Probably because you’re here. He must have taken a violent dislike to you, Miss Fairfield.”

“Do you think so?” said Patty, almost choking with suppressed laughter at this version of Philip’s attitude toward her.

“Yes, I’m sure he did. For usually he likes my companions—especially if they’re pretty. And you’re pretty, Miss Fairfield. Not the type I admire myself,—I prefer brunettes,—but still you are pretty in your own way.”

“Thank you,” said Patty, meekly.

“And you’re especially pretty when you dance. I wish you could dance for me now; but, of course, I wouldn’t let you dance on Sunday. That’s the worst of Sundays. There’s so little one can do.”

“Shall I sing hymns to you?” inquired Patty, gently, for she really felt sorry for the discontented old lady.

“Yes, if you like,” was the not very gracious rejoinder, and, without accompaniment, Patty sang the old, well-known hymns in her true, sweet voice.

The twilight was falling, and, as Patty’s soothing music continued, Mrs. Van Reypen fell asleep in her chair.

Exhausted by a really difficult day Patty also dropped into a doze, and the two slept peacefully in their chairs in front of the dying embers of the wood fire.

It was thus that Philip Van Reypen found them as he came softly in at five o’clock.

“Well, I’ll be excused,” he said, to himself, “if I ever saw anything to beat that!”

His gaze had wandered from his sleeping aunt to Patty, now sound asleep in a big armchair.

The crimson velvet made a perfect background for her golden curls, a bit tumbled by her afternoon exertions at being entertaining.

Her posture was one of graceful relaxation, and pretty Patty had never looked prettier than she did then, asleep in the faint firelight.

“By Jove!” exclaimed the young man, but not aloud, “if that isn’t the prettiest sight ever. I believe there’s a tradition that one may kiss a lady whom one finds asleep in her chair, but I won’t. She’s a dear little girl, and she shan’t be teased.”

Then Mr. Philip Van Reypen deliberately, and noiselessly, lifted another large armchair and, carefully disposing his own goodly proportioned frame within it, proceeded to fall asleep himself—or if not really asleep, he gave an exceedingly good imitation of it.

Patty woke first. As she slowly opened her eyes she saw Philip dimly through the now rapidly gathering dusk.

Quick as a flash she took in the situation, and shut her eyes again, though not until Philip had seen her from beneath his own quivering lids.

After a time she peeped again.

“Why play hide-and-seek?” he whispered.

“What about your promise?” she returned, also under her breath.

“Had to come. Aunty telephoned for me.”

“Oh!”

Then Mrs. Van Reypen awoke.

“Who’s here?” she cried out. “Oh, Philip, you!”

She heartily kissed her nephew, and then rang for lights and tea.

“Miss Fairfield,” she said, not untimidly, but with decision, “you are weary and I’m not surprised at it. Go to your room and rest until dinner time! I will send your tea to you there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Van Reypen,” said Patty, demurely, and, with a slight impersonal bow to Philip, she left the room.

“Oh, I say! Aunty Van!” exclaimed the young man, as Patty disappeared, “don’t send her away.”

“Be quiet, Philip,” said his aunt. “You know you don’t like her, and she needs a rest.”

“Don’t like her!” echoed Philip. “Does a cat like cream? Aunty Van, what’s the matter with you, anyway? Who is she?”

“She’s my companion,” was the stern response, “my hired companion, and I do not wish you to treat her as an equal.”

“Equal! She’s superior to anything I’ve ever seen yet.”

“Oh, you rogue! You say that, or its equivalent, about every girl you meet.”

“Pooh! Nonsense! But I say, aunty, she’ll come down to dinner, won’t she?”

“Yes—I suppose so. But mind now, Philip, you’re not to talk to her as if she were of your own class.”

“No’m; I won’t.”

Reassured by the knowledge that he should see her again, Philip was most affable and agreeable, and chatted with his aunt in a happy frame of mind.

Patty, exiled to her own room, decided to write to Nan.

She filled several sheets with accounts of her doings at Mrs. Van Reypen’s, and gloated over the fact that there were now but four days of her week left.

“I shall win this time,” she wrote, “and, though life here is not a bed of roses, yet it is not so very bad, and when the week is over I shall look back at it with lots of funny thoughts. Oh, Nan, prepare a fatted calf for Thursday night, for I shall come home a veritable Prodigal Son! Of course, I don’t mean this literally; we have lovely things to eat here, but it’s ‘hame, hame, fain wad I be.’ I won’t write again, I’ll probably get no chance, but send Miller for me at four o’clock on Thursday afternoon.”

After writing the letter Patty felt less homesick. It seemed, somehow, to bring Thursday nearer, to write about it. She began to dress for dinner, and, in a spirit of mischief, she took pains to make a most fetching toilette.

Her frock was of white mousseline de soie that twinkled into foolish little ruffles all round the hem.

More tiny frills gambolled around the low-cut circular neck and nestled against Patty’s soft, round arms.

Her curly hair was parted, and massed low at the back of her neck, and behind one ear she tucked a half-blown pink rosebud.

The long, dreamy day had roused in Patty a contrary wilfulness, and she was quite ready for fun if any came her way.

At dinner Mrs. Van Reypen monopolised the conversation. She talked mostly to Philip, but occasionally addressed a remark to Patty. She was exceedingly polite to her, but made her feel that her share of the conversation must be formal and conventional. Then she would chatter to her nephew about matters unknown to Patty, and then perhaps again throw an observation about the weather at her “companion.”

Patty accepted all this willingly enough, but Philip didn’t.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off Patty, who was looking her very prettiest, and whose own eyes, when she raised them, were full of smiles.

But in vain he endeavoured to make her talk to him.

Patty remembered Mrs. Van Reypen’s injunctions, and, though her bewitching personality made such effort useless, she tried to be absolutely and uninterestingly silent.

“Aunty Van,” said Philip, at last, giving up his attempts to make Patty converse, “let’s have a little theatre party to-morrow night. Shall us? I’ll get a box, and if you and Miss Fairfield will go, I’ll be delighted.”

“I’ll go, with pleasure,” replied his aunt, “but Miss Fairfield will be obliged to decline. She has been out late too often since she has been here, and she needs rest. So invite the Delafields instead, and that will make a pleasant quartette.”

For an instant Patty was furiously angry at this summary disposal of herself, but when she saw Philip’s face she almost screamed with laughter.

Crestfallen faintly expressed his appearance. He was crushed, and looked absolutely stunned.

“How he is under his aunt’s thumb!” thought Patty, secretly disgusted at his lack of self-assertion, but she suddenly changed her mind.

“Thank you, Aunty Van,” she heard him saying, in a cool, determined voice, “but I prefer to choose my own guests. I do not care to ask the Delafields—unless you especially desire it. I am sorry Miss Fairfield cannot go, but I trust you will honour me with your presence.” Philip had scored.

Mrs. Van Reypen well knew if she went alone with her nephew, under such conditions, he would be sulky all the evening. Nor could she insist on having the Delafields asked after the way he had put it.

She then nobly endeavoured to undo the mischief she had wrought.

“No, Philip, I don’t care especially about the Delafields. And if Miss Fairfield thinks it will not tire her too much I shall be glad to have her accept your kindness.”

His kindness, indeed! Patty felt like saying, “Do you know I am Patricia Fairfield, and it is I who confer an honour when I accept an invitation?”

It wasn’t exactly pride, but Patty had been brought up in an atmosphere of somewhat old-fashioned chivalry, and it jarred on her sense of the fitness of things to have Philip’s invitation to her referred to as a “kindness.”

So she decided to take a stand herself.

“I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Van Reypen,” she said, with just the slightest emphasis on kindness, “but I cannot accept it. I quite agree with Mrs. Van Reypen that I need rest.”