Diana smiled at her eagerness.  How nescient the poor little thing was!

“Your cousins, Miss Merrick and Miss De Graf, have consented to receive with me on the evening of the nineteenth.  Will you not join us?”

“Louise and Beth!” cried Patsy, astounded.

“Isn’t it nice of them?  And may I count upon you, also?”

Patsy smiled dubiously into the other’s face.

“Let me out of it!” she said.  “Can’t you see I’m no butterfly?”

Diana saw many things, having taken a shrewd account of the girl long before this.  Miss Patricia Doyle was short and plump, with a round, merry face covered with freckles, hair indisputably red and a retrousse nose.  Also she possessed a pair of wonderful blue eyes—­eyes that danced and scintillated with joyous good humor—­eyes so captivating that few ever looked beyond them or noted the plain face they glorified.  But the critic admitted that the face was charmingly expressive, the sweet and sensitive mouth always in sympathy with the twinkling, candid eyes.  Life and energy radiated from her small person, which Miss Von Taer grudgingly conceded to possess unusual fascination.  Here was a creature quite imperfect in detail, yet destined to allure and enchant whomsoever she might meet.  All this was quite the reverse of Diana’s own frigid personality.  Patsy would make an excellent foil for her.

“As you please, my dear,” she said graciously; “but do you not think it would amuse you to make your debut in society—­unimpeachable society—­and be properly introduced to the occupants of the ‘pedestals,’ as your cousins will be?”

Patsy reflected.  If Beth and Louise had determined to undertake this venture why should she hold back?  Moreover, she experienced a girlish and wholly natural curiosity to witness a fashionable gathering and “size up” the lions for herself.  So she said: 

“I’ll come, if you really want me; and I’ll try my best to behave nicely.  But I can’t imagine why you have chosen to take us three girls under your wing; unless—­” with sudden intuition, “it’s for Uncle John’s sake.”

“That was it, at first,” replied Diana, rising to go; “but now that I’ve seen you I’m delighted to have you on your own account.  Come early, dear; we must be ready to receive our guests by nine.”

“Nine o’clock!” reflected Patsy, when her visitor had gone; “why, I’m often in bed by that time.”

CHAPTER V

PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE

John Merrick lived with the Doyles at their Willing Square apartments.  There were but two of the Doyles—­Patricia and her father, Major Doyle, a tall, handsome, soldierly man with white moustache and hair.  The Major was noted as a “character,” a keen wit and a most agreeable type of the “old Irish gentleman.”  He fairly worshipped his daughter, and no one blamed him for it.  His business, as special agent and manager for his brother-in-law’s millions, kept the Major closely occupied and afforded John Merrick opportunity to spend his days as be pleased.  The rich man was supposed to be “retired,” yet the care of his investments and income was no light task, as the Major found.