Little Billee’s taste, too, was excellent, and he and Patty nearly always agreed on their choice.  But it was a rule that if either disapproved, the thing in question was not bought.  Only such as both sanctioned could come into their home.

The house had a wide and hospitable Colonial doorway, with broad fanlight above and columns at either side.  Seats, too, flanked the porch, and the carefully trimmed wistaria vine hung gracefully over all.  Across both ends of the house ran wide verandahs, with porte cochere, sun parlour, conservatory and tea-porch breaking the monotony.

Patty’s own bedroom was an exquisite nest, done up in blue and silver, and her boudoir, opening from it, was a dream of pink and white.  Then came the baby’s quarters; the day nursery, gay with pictured walls and the sun porch, bright and airy.

For the all-important baby was now two months old, and entitled to consideration as a real member of the family.

Fleurette was her name, only selected after long thought and much discussion.  Bill had stood out for Patricia Fairfield Farnsworth, but Patty declared no child of hers should be saddled with such a burden for life!  Then Bill declared it must be a diminutive, in some way, of the mother’s name, and as he always called Patty his Blossom Girl, the only suggestion worth considering was something that meant Little Flower.  And as their stay in France had made the French language seem less foreign than of yore, they finally chose Fleurette,—­the Baby Blossom.

Farnsworth was a man of affairs, and had sometimes to go to Washington or other distant cities on business, but not often or for a long stay.  And as Patty expressed it, that was a lot better than for him to have to go to New York every day,—­as so many men of their acquaintance did.

“I never thought I’d be as happy as this,” Patty said, as, still holding her baby, she sat rocking slowly, and gazing alternately at her husband and her child.

“Why not?” Farnsworth inquired, as he lighted a fresh cigar.

“Oh, it’s too much for any one mortal!  Here I’ve the biggest husband in the world, and the littlest baby—­”

“Oh, come now,—­that’s no incubator chick!”

“No, she’s fully normal size, Nurse says, but she’s a tiny mite as yet,” and Patty cuddled the mite in an ecstasy of maternal joy.

“I thought friend Nurse wouldn’t let you snuggle the kiddy like that.”

“She doesn’t approve,—­but she’s still at her lunch and when the cat’s away—­”

And then the white uniformed nurse appeared, and smiled at pretty Patty as she took the baby from her cuddling arms.

“Come for a ride, Patty Maman?” asked her husband, as they left the little Fleurette’s presence.

“No; let’s go for a walk.  I want to look over the west glade, and see if it will stand a Japanese tea-house there.”

“All right, come ahead.  You’ve not forgotten your dinky tea-porch?”