So Patty kept on her pretty, picturesque costume, and when dinner time came she made up her mind to ask Adele to seat her next to Farnsworth. But as the company paired off to go to dinner Big Bill was nowhere visible.

"Where's Mr. Farnsworth?" asked Patty, casually, of Jim Kenerley.

"Oh, he's gone. We expected him to stay the week-end, but he said he was due at another country house party, farther on somewhere, and he couldn't even stay for dinner."

Patty was sorry she had acted so rude to Bill, and sorry that he had gone. "But," she said to herself, by way of extenuation, "I didn't want to dance with anybody who asked me to because his hostess commanded him! He never even said he wanted to dance with me himself, but only that Adele said he must. But I do think he was mean to go away without saying good-bye to me!"

However, it was not Patty's nature to let her mind dwell on a disappointment, and she promptly proceeded to forget all about Mr. Farnsworth, and to turn her mind to her present partner. This happened to be Kit Cameron, and as he was in his gayest mood she responded and their conversation was of the merriest sort.

After dinner, Kit persuaded Patty to walk on the veranda for a bit of exercise. There was a large swing-seat, upholstered in red, which he declared was just the place for a tete-a-tete.

"But it's too cold," objected Patty.

"I'll get you a wrap," and Kit flew into the house and procured a long cloak, in which he enveloped Patty, and they sat in the swing together.

"What became of the Colossal Cowboy?" said Kit; "I thought he was here for the weekend."

"I thought so, too," returned Patty, "but it seems he had another engagement."

"I'm glad of it. You're altogether too fond of him."

"Fond of him! What do you mean? I'm nothing of the sort. Why, I scarcely spoke to him."

"I know it. That's what gave you away."

"Don't be a silly! I haven't the slightest interest in Mr. William

Farnsworth, or his comings and goings."

"You'd rather have me here, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, EVER so much rather!" And Patty spoke with such intense enthusiasm that she was very evidently joking.

"But really, Patty, let's be in earnest just for a minute. Wouldn't you rather have me around than anybody?"

"Why, I don't know; I never thought about it."

"Think about it now, then. Honest, I mean it."

"Oh, don't mean things. It's too heavenly a night to talk seriously."

"Isn't it a wonderful night? Do you know a house party like this and moonlight on a veranda, like this, always goes to my head. I think week-ending is apt to go to one's head, anyway. But let it go. Let it go to your head, too."

"I don't think I'd better," and Patty spoke hesitatingly; "I might say something foolish."

"Oh, do, Patty! DO say something foolish! If you don't, I shall."

"Well, go on, then."

"May I, Patty? May I tell you that I've simply lost my heart to you,—you beautiful little May Queen!"

"And is that what you call foolish?" Patty pouted, adorably.

"Yes, it's foolish, because I know there's no hope for me. I know you don't care one least scrap of a speck for me! Now, do you?"

"If you're so positive yourself, why ask me?"

"Oh, I MIGHT be mistaken, you know. Oh, if I only MIGHT! Patty, DEAR little Patty, couldn't you be my princess? My own Princess Poppycheek."

"I've been your Belle," and Patty laughed merrily at the recollection.

"There you go, laughing at me! I knew you would. That shows you don't care anything for me. If you did, you wouldn't laugh at me!"

"Oh, yes, I would! the more I care for people the more I laugh at them,—always."

"You must be simply crazy over me then! If you don't stop laughing I won't swing you any more."

"Oh, yes, do, it's lovely to swing back and forth in the moonlight like this. The May party was pretty, wasn't it?"

"You're just trying to change the subject. But I won't have it changed. Let's go back to it. Patty, couldn't you stop laughing at me long enough to learn to care for me a little?"

"How can I tell? I don't know how long it would take to learn to care for you a little. And, anyway, I do care for you a little,—but only a very, very little."

"Yes, I know that. You don't fool me any. You wouldn't care if you

NEVER saw me again."

"Why, Kit Cameron, I would SO! If I though I'd never see you again—I'd—I'd—I'd drown myself!"

"YES you WOULD! You little witch, how can you trifle with me like that, when my heart is just breaking for you?"

"Oh, come now, Kit, it isn't as bad as that! And let me tell you something. Do you know I think you are one of the very nicest friends I ever had, and I'm not going to have our friendship spoiled by any foolishness! So you might as well stop right where you are now. That is, if you're in earnest. If you're just talking foolishness on account of the moonlight—and all,—I don't mind. But I won't have you serious about it."

"All right, Poppycheek. I'm pretty serious, or I would be if you'd let me, but if you don't want it you shan't have it."

"Well, I don't. I don't want seriousness from anybody. And, anyway,

Kit, I'd be afraid of seriousness from you."

"Why, Patty?"

"'Cause it would probably turn out to be a practical joke."

"Joke nothing! The regard I have for you, Miss Poppycheek Fairfield, is too everlasting real to have any joke about it!"

"And the friendship I have for you, Mr. Kit Cameron, is so nice and real, that I'm going to keep it up."

Patty knew from the undertones of Kit's voice that he was very much in earnest, and as she felt no interest in him beyond that of a good friend, she shrank from wounding his feelings by letting him go on further. And so she determinedly led the conversation further and further away from personal matters, and soon she gaily declared that it was getting too late for moonlight chat and she was going in the house.

Kit followed her in, and though he showed in no way the appearance of a rejected suitor, he was quieter than usual and less inclined to merriment. "He'll get over it," said Patty to herself, after she reached her room that night. "I s'pose all girls have to go through with these scenes, sooner or later. But I didn't mind Kit so much, because he was nice and sensible about it."

Then Daisy came in for a kimono confab, and perched herself on the edge of Patty's bed.

"What's the matter between you and Bill Farnsworth, Patty?" she asked without prelude of any sort.

"Nothing," said Patty, as she took the hairpins from a long shining strand of hair.

"There is, too. He asked me why you were so cool to him."

"He did! Well, I'm sure I don't know what he meant, for I wasn't cool to him,—or anything else. I treated him politely, as I would any casual friend."

"Politely! I saw you refuse to dance with him, myself. If you call THAT polite!"

"If you want to know, Daisy, that was because he didn't want to dance with me. He said he only asked me because Adele insisted upon it."

"Patty, it's none of my business, but I do think you might be nicer to

Bill, for I know he thinks an awful lot of you."

"Why, Daisy Dow! why should he think a lot of me when he's as good as engaged to another girl?"

"Engaged! Bill Farnsworth engaged! nothing of the sort. I know better."

"But he is. Adele told me so. Or, if he isn't engaged, he's very much in love with a girl named Kitty. Do you know her?"

"Kitty who? Where is she?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But he told Adele his whole heart and life were bound up in this Kitty Somebody. So I'm sure I don't see any reason why I should be running after him."

"I can't imagine you running after anybody, Patty. You don't need to, for the boys all run after you. But it's very queer I never heard of this Kitty. I've known Bill for years. Let me see; there was Kate Morton,—but I never thought Bill cared especially for her. And anyway, I can't imagine calling HER Kitty! She's as tall and straight as an Indian!"

"Well, Bill calls her Kitty; Adele said so."

"Oh, is it Kate Morton, then? Did Adele say that?"

"No, Adele said she couldn't remember the girl's last name. And I don't care if it's Kate Morton or Kathleen Mavourneen! It's nothing to me what kind of a girl Bill Farnsworth likes."

"Of course it isn't. I know you never liked Bill."

"I did SO! I DO like him, but just the same as I like all the other boys."

"Then what makes you turn pink every time Bill's name is mentioned, and never when you speak of anybody else?"

"I don't! And if I did, it wouldn't mean anything. I'm not specially interested in anybody, Daisy, but if I were, I wouldn't sit up and blush about it. You like Bill an awful lot, yourself."

"I do like him," said Daisy, frankly; "and I always have. He's a splendid man, Patty, one of the biggest, best natures I know. Why, at school we used to call him Giant Greatheart,—he was so thoroughly noble and kind to everybody."

"Well, I'm sick of hearing his praises sung, so you'll please change the subject."

Daisy was quite willing to do this, for she had no wish to annoy Patty, and the girls chatted of other matters until Adele came along and sent them both to bed.

The next day was Sunday, and Patty didn't come downstairs until time for the midday dinner.

"I think you might have come down earlier," said Van Reypen, reproachfully, as Patty came smilingly down the staircase. "I wanted you to go for a walk this morning; it's simply great out in the sunshine."

"I'll go after dinner," said Patty; "isn't it funny why people have dinner at one o'clock, just because it's Sunday?"

"I'm glad of it. It'll give us the whole afternoon for our walk."

"Good gracious! if I walk the whole afternoon you'll have to bring me home in a wheelbarrow!"

"We won't walk far enough for that. If you get tired, we'll sit on a mossy mound in a bosky dell, or some such romantic spot."

After dinner, Philip held Patty to her promise of going for a walk. She didn't care about it especially, really preferring to stay with the gay group gathered on the veranda, but Philip urged it, and Patty allowed herself to be persuaded.

The country all around Fern Falls was beautiful, and a favourite walk was down to the Falls themselves, which were a series of small cascades tumbling down a rocky ravine.

Philip turned their steps this way, and they sauntered along the winding footpath that followed down the side of the falls.

"It is lovely here," said Patty, as she sat down on a rock for a short rest. "But I wouldn't want to live in the country all the year around, would you, Philip?"

"Not if you didn't like it, dear. Suppose we have two homes, one in the city and one in the country?"

"Homes for lunatics, do you mean?" and Patty favoured the young man with a wide-eyed gaze of inquiry.

"You know very well what I mean," and Philip returned her gaze with one of calm regard. "You know why I brought you out here this afternoon, and you know exactly what I'm going to say to you. Don't you?"

"Not EXACTLY," and Patty drew a roguish frown; "they all word it differently, you know."

"It is a matter of utter indifference to me how the others word it," and Philip leaned up comfortably against a rock as he looked at Patty. "The only thing that engrosses my mind, is whether I myself can word it persuasively enough to make you say yes. Do you think I can?"

"You never can tell till you try," said Patty, in a flippant tone.

"Then I'll try. But, Patty, dearest, you know it all; you know how I love you, you know how long I have loved you. Aren't you ever going to give me the least little encouragement?"

"How can I, Phil, when I don't feel encouraging a bit?"

"But you will, dear, won't you? You remember last winter when we went on that sleighride after the butter and eggs? Why, Patty, you ALMOST said yes, then."

"Why, Philip Van Reypen! I didn't do anything of the sort! I had no idea of saying yes, then,—I haven't now,—and I'm not sure that I ever shall have!"

"I'll wait, Patty," and Van Reypen spoke cheerfully. "I'll wait, Little Girl, because I think a love like mine is bound to win at last. And I know you're too young yet to make up your mind. But, Patty, there isn't anybody else, is there?"

"Anybody else what?"

"Anybody else who likes you as much as I do. Is there?"

"Now, Phil, how could I tell that? When people say they love you heaps and heaps, you never know quite how much to believe, or quite how much is just the influence of the moonlight."

"Well, there's no moonlight here now. So when I tell you how much I love you, it's all true. You believe that, don't you, Little Girl?"

"Yes, I believe it. But, Philip, I wish you wouldn't talk about it to-day. I'm tired of—"

"Of having men tell you how much they love you? Poor little Patty! I'm afraid you'll have to put up with that all your life."

"Oh, horrible!" and Patty made a wry face. "I suppose some girls like it, but I don't."

"I'll tell you a way to avoid it, Patty. Be engaged to me, now,—even if you won't marry me right away, and then, you see, other men can't propose to you."

"Do you mean be engaged to you, Phil, without intending EVER to marry you!"

"Well, don't consider the second question at present. Just be engaged to me, and then we'll see about it."

"No, I don't think that would be fair. You make it seem as if being engaged to a man doesn't mean anything."

"Patty! dearest! DON'T talk like that! It would mean all the world to me. And I'm sure I could make you love me enough to want to marry me, after awhile. If you knew how much I loved you, I'm sure you'd agree that you couldn't resist that love for long."

Van Reypen looked very handsome and very earnest as he gazed into Patty's eyes. And Patty looked very sweet and dear as she gazed back at him with a troubled expression on her lovely face.

Then with a sudden, impulsive gesture she put out both her hands and

Philip took them in his own.

"Don't make me decide now, Phil," she said, and she looked at him with a pathetic smile. "I don't know what I want. I know I DON'T want to marry you,—or anybody else,—for a long time. And I don't think I want to be engaged to anybody just yet, either."

"Of course you don't, you dear little girl," and Van Reypen's tone was hearty and genuinely helpful. "You've only just begun to have your little fling, and enjoy yourself in your own sweet, butterfly way. And I'm not going to tease you or cause you one moment's worry. But, oh, Patty, darling, if ever you have a moment when you want to think about these things, think about me, won't you, dear? and remember that my whole heart is yours and my whole life is devoted to you. You don't understand now, what the whole love of a man means, but some day you will, and then, if your heart can turn to me, let it do so, won't you,—little sweetheart?"

Patty was thrilled, not only by Philip's words, but by the deep and sincere love shining in his eyes, and which she could not mistake.

"You are very dear to me, Philip," she said, with absolute sincerity; "and I do want you to know how much I appreciate what you have said,—and how grateful I am—"

"Hush, Patty," and Philip smiled gently at her; "I don't want that. I don't want your appreciation nor your gratitude for what I feel for you. When you are ready to give me your love, in return for the love I offer you, I want it more than I can tell you. But until then, I want your friendship, the same good comradeship we have always had, but not any gratitude, or foolishness of that sort. Do you understand?"

"I do understand, Phil, and I think you're splendid! I want to keep on being your friend,—but I don't want you to think–"

"No, dear; I promise not to think that you are giving me undue encouragement,—for that is what you're trying to say. And you mustn't let my hopes or desires trouble you. Always treat me just exactly as you feel toward me, with gay comradeship, with true friendliness, or whatever is in your heart. But always remember that I am still loving you and waiting and hoping."

Philip gave Patty one long look deep into her eyes, and then, with an entire change of manner, he said lightly, "Now, my lady fair, if you are rested, suppose we walk back to the house?"

"I am rested," and Patty jumped up, "so you won't have to do what I feared,—take me home in a wheelbarrow."

Van Reypen looked at her quizzically.

"Do you remember," he said, "the classic poem from which that quotation is taken?"

"It's from Mother Goose, isn't it?"

"Yes; but if you recollect, it was a bachelor gentleman who went to

London. And when he returned he brought a WIFE home in a wheelbarrow.

I'm not having quite THAT experience."

"No," said Patty, demurely, "but you haven't any wheelbarrow."

CHAPTER XIX
IN THE RUNABOUT

When they reached the house, Patty went straight up to Mr. Kenerley, and said in a low tone, "Jim, I want to ask a favour of you."

"Anything at all, Patty Pink; anything, to the half of my kingdom!"

"Well, I want the little car, the runabout; and I want to go off for a little while, all by myself."

"Patty! You amaze me! Does this mean a clandestine meeting with a rustic swain? Oh, my child, I thought you were well brought up!"

"Don't tease me, Jim," and Patty looked really serious. "If you must know, though, it's because I want to get away from the rustic swains. I want a little time to myself. And if I stay here, the boys are all around; and if I go to my room, the girls won't give me any peace, and, oh, Jim, DO help me out!"

"Why, of course, you Blessed Infant. Trust all to your Uncle Jim! Come along with me."

The two started down the walk toward the garage, and Adele called out,

"Where are you going?"

"Going to elope," Kenerley returned gaily over his shoulder, and they went on.

He took out the little car, which Patty could easily run herself, and putting her in, he jumped in beside her.

"I'll go with you, past the porch," he said, "and see you outside the gate."

So they dashed by the group on the veranda, not heeding their chaff and once outside the grounds, Jim said, "Are you sure you want to go alone, Patty?"

"Yes, please, Jim. I want to think a little."

"Oh, you GIRL! you needn't tell ME! some chap's been making love to you!"

"Nonsense!" but Patty's blush belied her words.

"I hope it IS nonsense, Patty, dear. You're too young to have a serious affair yet awhile. Take an old friend's advice and say no this time."

"Of course I shall. Don't worry about me, Jim."

"No, indeed. You've good common sense in that curly golden pate of yours. I'll get out here, and you go along, Patty, and have a nice little maiden meditation all to yourself, and come back fancy free, but don't stay out too late."

Kenerley got out of the car and went back to the house, and Patty drove on alone.

It was just what she wanted, an opportunity to think over what Philip had said. And she was fond of motoring alone, and an experienced driver. She went slowly at first, enjoying the beautiful country with its serene air of Sunday afternoon calm.

The trend of her thoughts was not a question of whether or not she should accept Van Reypen; but more a dreamy recollection and living over the scene at the Falls.

She pictured in her mind how really noble and handsome he looked, and she almost wondered at herself why she had only a friendly feeling toward him.

"But I like him better than Kenneth," she assured herself; "that is, I like him MORE than I do Kenneth. Ken is an old dear, but he IS slow; and Philip has all the nice ways and mannerisms that I do like in a man. He's always equal to any occasion, without any effort. He's just born so. He's an aristocrat like his aunt, but he hasn't a bit of her,—well,—it is really a kind of snobbishness. She's intolerant of people not in her own set. But Phil is kind and courteous to everybody. And he has a sense of humour. I suppose that's what's the matter with Ken. The poor boy hasn't a spark of fun in him except what I've banged into his blessed old head. There's Kit Cameron now, he has too much fun in him. He'd make anybody's life a practical joke. I don't believe he half meant what he said to me in the swing last night. I think he would have said the same to any girl, sitting there in the moonlight. Well, I do seem to be growing up. I wish I had Nan here. She's so nice to talk things over with. Not that I want to talk anything over. I believe it isn't considered correct to tell about the proposals you have, but I guess a mother wouldn't count,—even if she is a stepmother. And Nan is such a duck of a stepmother! I'll certainly tell her about these proposals I've had. I don't believe I'll ever have any more. But all the same, I'm not going to get engaged yet! I'd rather be an old maid than to take the first man who asks me. But there's one thing certain, I do like Philip the best of the bunch!"

Patty went on along the highway, stopping now and then to gather a particularly beautiful branch of wild rose, or a few spring beauties.

She had on a simple little frock of pink linen, with a sailor collar of fine white embroidery, and a big black velvet bow at her throat. She wore no hat but her golden hair was partly confined by a band of black velvet. She had a light dust coat of pongee silk, though Jim had told her there was a warmer coat in the car if she should want it.

When Kenerley returned to the group on the veranda a wild shout greeted him, inquiring where Patty was.

"I told you she was going to elope," returned Jim; "I was merely helping her along. I left her just outside the gate on her way to meet her rustic swain."

"Nonsense, Jim," said his wife, "where did she go? Over to the

Crosbys'?"

"She didn't say anything to me about the Crosbys. In fact, Adele, she didn't tell me where she was going, and I wasn't so inquisitive as to ask her. I let my guests do as they like and go where they choose. Patty asked me for the runabout and I gave it to her. If she had wanted the touring car she could have had it,—or the limousine,—or the wheelbarrow."

A smile passed over Van Reypen's face at the chance reference to the last-named vehicle, and his intuitions told him that Patty had gone for a solitary drive to get away from other people for a little while.

"Oh, LOOK who's here!" cried Daisy, suddenly, as a motor car came whizzing up the steps and out jumped Bill Farnsworth.

"I just stopped for a minute," he said to Adele, "to see how you all are after your party."

"All quite well," said Adele, "but sorry you couldn't stay here with us instead of going on."

"Sorry, too," said Farnsworth. "Where's Miss Fairfield?" and he looked about inquiringly.

"Gone for a drive," replied Adele, and Farnsworth made no further reference to Patty. But his call was short and soon he was again starting his car.

"Which way did Miss Fairfield go?" he murmured in a low voice to

Kenerley, as his car moved off.

"East," said Jim, with a teasing smile at Farnsworth, and then Bill was gone.

He swung out on to the broad highway and turned east. There were no bypaths near and he had an intention of following and overtaking Patty. He wanted to see her, and with Bill Farnsworth to want to do anything was to do it.

Now it chanced that Patty had had a detention. Though an expert driver, and a fairly good mechanician for her own car, she was not entirely familiar with the car she was driving, and when it stopped stock-still at the side of the road, she found herself unable to discover the exact difficulty.

She was not overanxious, for it was a frequented road and she felt sure some car would come along, in whose driver she might feel sufficient confidence to ask help. But it so chanced that she sat for some time before any car came. The sun was warm and she threw off her coat, really enjoying basking in the sunshine while she waited.

And it was this sudden apparition of a golden head shining in the sunlight that gave Farnsworth a shock of surprise as he came up behind Patty's car.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "there she is! In trouble, too. Jolly well I came along, bless her heart! But it's funny if she can't manage the car. I believe she's sitting there purposely."

For a few moments Bill sat looking at the yellow head and smiling gently at it. Then he had an inspiration to drive right past her and see if she would speak to him. She had been far from cordial the day before and Farnsworth was uncertain whether she wanted to see him or not.

So, driving slowly, he passed by Patty in her motionless car.

Patty jumped at the sound of some one coming, and intending to ask help, held out her hand and said, "Please—" before she realised who it was.

Farnsworth turned his head, stopped his car, whipped off his cap and jumped out, saying, as he walked toward Patty's car, "An accident, ma'am? Can I help you?"

A spirit of perversity rose in Patty's heart. Without knowing why, she desired to inflict a hurt on the man who was smiling at her.

"I beg your pardon," she said, coldly, "I thought you were a stranger."

"I'll be a stranger, if you like," and Farnsworth bowed profoundly.

"Very well, I wish you would. Pray proceed with your journey," and Patty bowed, and turned her head toward the opposite landscape.

"But you would ask a stranger to help you," said Farnsworth, feeling a strong desire to shake the exasperating little pink figure.

"Not every stranger," said Patty. "I am waiting to select the one I want."

"Oh, DO select me! I'm an awfully nice stranger, and incidentally, I could fix that car of yours in a jiffy."

"Did Adele order you to fix this car?" and Patty's blue eyes gave Bill a look of withering scorn.

"No, she did not."

"Then I can't think of allowing you to do it. I don't want you to do

ANYTHING for me except at Adele's orders!"

"You little goose! I've a notion to kidnap you, wild roses and all, and take you off in my car."

"Did Adele order you to do THAT?"

"Patty, stop this nonsense! Of course I know what you mean, that I asked you to dance in Adele's name, instead of in my own."

"Yes; I admit I prefer to be asked to dance, personally, and not vi-vike—"

"Vicariously is the word you are floundering over," said Farnsworth with utmost gravity; "well, now, I'll fix your car vicariously, or personally, or any old way you like,—if you'll just behave yourself and smile upon me."

"I don't want my car fixed."

"You prefer to stay here?"

"I do."

"Alone?"

"Alone." Patty tried very hard to look like a stone image but only succeeded in looking like a very pretty pink-cheeked girl.

However, at her last word, and when Patty was just about to break into a dimpled smile, Farnsworth achieved a most dignified and conventional bow, replaced his cap, and without another glance at Patty, deliberately got into his car and drove away. He passed Patty, continuing east, and in a few moments was lost to sight, as he flew down the road at a swift pace.

"Well!" remarked Miss Patricia Fairfield, aloud. "Well! Hooray for you,

Little Billee! I didn't know you had it in you to act like that!

But"—and her face clouded a little—"I suppose your head is so full of

Kitty Morton that you don't care what becomes of Patty Fairfield! H'm."

Patty sat still for some time, thinking over this new episode. She had been rude to Farnsworth, and she had done it purposely. But she was accustomed to having young men laugh at her pertness and chuckle over her sauciness.

One or two cars passed her, but as she scrutinised the drivers, they did not seem to be just the type of whom she cared to ask help; but presently a small car came toward her, driven by a frank-looking, pleasant-faced young man.

"Hello," he called out with the camaraderie of the road; "had a breakdown? Want some help?"

"Yes, sir," and Patty spoke in a timid, subdued voice.

"Then I'm your man," he said, as he jumped out and came over to her car. "My name's Peyton," he went on, "Bob Peyton, and very much at your service. What's the matter?"

"I don't know, sir," and Patty surrendered to a mischievous impulse; "I'm Mrs. Hemingway's maid; Mrs. Hemingway, sir, she can run the car, but I can't."

"Where is Mrs. Hemingway?"

"When the car broke down, sir, she said she would go for help. I think she went to that house over there."

"H'm! And so you're her maid. Personal maid, do you mean?"

"Not exactly, sir. I'm her new waitress, she was just taking me home, sir."

Patty didn't know why she was talking this rubbish, but it popped into her head, and the young man's eyes were so twinkly and gay, she felt like playing a joke on him. She thought he would fix her car, and then she would thank him and ride away, without having given her real name.

"Ah, my good girl," Mr. Peyton said, "and so you are a waitress. What is your name?"

"Suzette, sir. I'm French."

"Yes, I can see that by looking at you! Well, Suzerte, are you an experienced waitress?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I've worked in the best families and in,—and in hotels and—and—"

"And on oceans liners, I presume! Well, Suzette, here's a proposition. My sister wants a waitress, awfully. Hers has just left. If you will go along with me to my sister's house, she will pay you twice what your previous mistress did."

Patty appeared to consider the question.

"Who is your sister, sir?"

"Mrs. Brewster; she lives in that next place, where you see the red brick chimneys."

Now Patty knew all about the Brewsters, although she had never met them. They were great friends of the Kenerleys, and indeed the whole house party was invited to dine at the Brewsters' the next night. Adele, too, had spoken about Bob Brewster's brother, and Patty realised they were friends and neighbours.

In her present mood, Patty was simply aching for an escapade. And she thought it would be a pretty good practical joke if she should go to Mrs. Brewster's and pretend to be a waitress. She would telephone Adele what she was up to, and they would send another car for her that evening. Perhaps if she had thought another moment she wouldn't have done it, but on the impulse she said. "I'd love to get double wages, sir, and I will go to your sister's, but what about Mrs. Hemingway's car?"