“Oh, I thought you were temperamental, but you’re only an imaginative realist.”

“Now, what could she have meant by that?” said the boy, laughing.  “But you’re very imprudent.  How do you know that lady isn’t my—­my sister, or cousin, or something?”

“Well, even if she is,” said Patty, “I haven’t said anything unkind, have I?”

“No more you haven’t; but as I don’t see anyone just now at leisure to introduce us, suppose we introduce ourselves?  They say the roof is an introduction, but I notice it never pronounces names very distinctly.  Mine is Kenneth Harper.”

“And mine is Patricia Fairfield, but I’m usually called Patty.”

“I should think you would be, it suits you to a dot.  Of course the boys call me Ken.  I’m a Columbia student.”

“Oh, are you?” said Patty.  “I’ve never known a college boy, and I’ve always wanted to meet one.”

“Well, you see in me a noble specimen of my kind,” said young Harper, straightening up his broad shoulders and looking distinctly athletic.

“You must be,” said Patty; “you look just like all the pictures of college boys I’ve ever seen.”

“And I flattered myself that my beauty was something especial and individual.”

“You ought to be thankful that you’re beautiful,” said Patty, “and not be so particular about what kind of beauty it is.”

“But some kinds of beauty are not worth having,” went on young Harper; “look at that man over there with a lean pale face and long lank hair.  That’s beauty, but I must say I prefer a strong, brave, manly type, like this good-looking chap just coming toward us.”

“Oh, you do?” said Patty.  “Well, as that good-looking chap happens to be my father, I’ll take pleasure in introducing you.”

“I am glad to see you, sir,” said Kenneth Harper, as Patty presented him to her father, “and I may as well own up that I was just making remarks on your personal appearance, which accounts for my blushing embarrassment.”

“I won’t inquire what they were,” said Mr. Fairfield, “lest I, too, should become embarrassed.  But, Patty, my girl, if we’re going back to Vernondale on the six-o’clock train, it’s time we were starting.”

“Oh, do you live in Vernondale?” inquired Kenneth.  “I have an aunt there.  I wonder if you know her.  Her name is Daggett—­Miss Rachel Daggett.”

“Indeed I do know her,” said Patty.  “She is my next-door neighbour.”

“Is she really?  How jolly!  And don’t you think she’s an old dear?  I’m awfully fond of her.  I run out to see her every chance I can get, though I haven’t been much this winter, I’ve been digging so hard.”

“She is a dear,” said Patty.  “I’ve only seen her once, but I know I shall like her as a neighbour.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will, but let me give you a bit of confidential advice.  Don’t take the initiative, let her do that; and the game will be far more successful than if you make the overtures.”