She would not have felt so comfortable had she heard Patty’s remarks at sight of the picture.

Patty and Mona had come to the theatre later than Azalea, and had been given seats on the other side of the large house.  The darkness, too, made it unlikely that they should see each other, and so Azalea remained in blissful ignorance of Patty’s presence.

* * * * *

“Of course, it’s Azalea,” Patty said to Mona, the moment the girl appeared on the screen.  “I—­oh, I don’t know what to think about it,—­but, isn’t she splendid!”

“She is!  That rig is most becoming to her, and she has such poise,—­so strong and free, yet graceful.”

“She’s certainly at her best.”

“Of course, the director saw her possibilities and has brought out all her best points.  How pretty her hair is,—­loose, like that.”

“Yes, she’s a real beauty,—­of the true breezy, Western type.  But, Mona, what will Bill say?  I do believe I shall feel more lenient about it all than he will!  He is conservative, you know, for all his Western bringing up.  Oh, my gracious, Mona, what’s she doing now?”

“She’ll kill herself with that wild horse!  She never can get on his back!”

In a state of great excitement, they watched Azalea’s skilful management of the pony and clutched each other’s hands in speechless fear as she tore through the gale to rescue her brother’s child.

And then—­when at last Azalea emerged from the tumbled-down ruin of the little old house, with a baby in her arms, Patty gave a cry of startled fear, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, lest her dismay be too evident to those sitting near by.

“Mona!” she whispered, “it’s Fleurette!”

“No!  I don’t believe it!  You can’t tell,—­such a little baby—­they all look alike,—­you’re imagining, Patty—­”

“It is! it is!  That’s where they went when Azalea took Baby off for a whole day,—­and two or three times for an afternoon or a morning!  Oh, I can’t stand it!”

Patty buried her face in her hands and refused to look up while Azalea rode the galloping horse, with the child held fast in one arm.

Mona felt it must be true.  To be sure she couldn’t really recognise Fleurette’s face, but she was certain that Patty’s mother heart could make no mistake, and it was small wonder that she was overcome at seeing her child in such scenes.

“Hush, Patty,” said Mona, as Patty’s sobs began to sound hysterical, “hush,—­this is only a picture, you know,—­this isn’t really Fleurette,—­she is safe at home—­”

“But she must have been here!  Azalea must have carried her, really—­on that terrific horse!  They couldn’t have got the pictures if she hadn’t!”

“Well, it’s all right, anyway.  It didn’t hurt the baby—­”

“Oh, hush, Mona! you don’t know what I’m suffering!  I guess if your baby had been taken off and put through such awful doings, you’d know what I feel!  My baby,—­my little flower baby!  In that awful crashing, tumbling down old shanty!  Oh, I can’t stand it!”