“O.K.,” Azalea returned.  “Had a bang-up time.  Made friends all along the line.  Some of ’em coming to see me.  Hope you’ll like ’em.”

She stretched out luxuriously in the long chair, throwing her arms above her head, and crossing her feet, which were dressed with “gun metal” stockings and shoes.  Her hat was pushed awry, and wisps of hair fell at either side of her face.

“Now, perhaps you’d like to go to your room,” suggested Patty, at her wits’ end what to do with such an unconventional person.

“Nixy; I’m too comfortable here!  I’ll chuck my hat, and just enjoy myself.”

Off came the hat, and was pitched on the floor.  Azalea ran her fingers through her hair, making it a little more disordered than before.  It was pretty hair,—­or, rather would have been, if it were better cared for.  Dark, almost black, with a slight inclination to curl, it was bunched into a tousled knot that was far from picturesque.

“Oh, come,” said Patty, jumping up, for she couldn’t stand the girl’s uncouth actions another minute.  “Come along with me, Azalea.  You must dress for dinner soon,—­and some one might come to call now.  We’ll have tea in your room, if you like.”

“Tea!  I never drink it.  I like coffee,—­for breakfast,—­or cocoa.  But see here, Cousin, don’t you make any difference for me.  I ain’t company, you know,—­just let me be one of the family, won’t you?”

Many retorts flashed through Patty’s mind, but she only said, “Certainly, Azalea.  We want you to be one of us.”

Farnsworth was silent.  The man was really aghast.  What had he brought on poor little Patty!  He didn’t excuse himself with the thought that it was Patty’s doing, not his, that Azalea was there at all, but he felt personally to blame for having such a relative and for having her there in their home.  He looked helplessly at Patty, with such despair in his kind eyes, that she ran over and kissed him, in spite of the fact that they were not alone.

Azalea giggled.  “That’s right,” she said, affably; “don’t mind me!  Just go right on spoonin’ even when I’m around.  I don’t mind.  And I don’t wonder you took to her, Cousin William.  She’s a peach, for fair,—­ain’t she?”

“She certainly is,” said Farnsworth, forcing a polite smile, but conscious of a strong desire to choke his new-found relative.

His utterly discouraged face roused Patty to fresh efforts at hospitality, and taking Azalea’s arm, she persuaded her to get up from the lounging chair.

On her feet, the girl shook herself with a careless abandon of manner, unheeding the fact that a hairpin flew from her loosened hair, and she dropped the handkerchief, gloves and small bag that she had had in her lap.

“Oh, pshaw,” she said, as Bill restored them, “ain’t I awful!  That’s me—­dropping things all the time!  But I can pick them up myself—­don’t you be bothering.”

She stuffed gloves and handkerchief in the bag, slinging it on her arm.  “My, what a vine!” she said, pulling down a branch of the wistaria,—­and, incidentally, breaking it off.