“She will,” nodded Farnsworth, “she takes to hostessing like a duck to water.  She even asked me what sort of smokes you chaps prefer.”

“I hope you remembered,” said Roger.  “And when are they to be passed around?”

“Right now,” said Patty, smiling and nodding to the maid who hovered near.

In truth, Patty was a born hostess, and without fuss or ostentation always had the comfort of her guests in mind.  While not overburdened with a retinue of servants, she had enough to attend to everything she required of them; and her own knowledge and efficiency combined with her tact and real kindliness brought about a state of harmony in her household that might well have been envied by an older and more experienced matron.

Mrs. Chase, who had the nominal position of housekeeper, found herself strictly accountable to Patty for all she did, and as she was sensible enough to appreciate Patty’s attitude, she successfully fulfilled the requirements of a butler or steward, and had general charge and oversight of all the housekeeping details.

“The way to keep house,” said Patty to Mona and Elise, as she took them away with her, leaving the men to their “smokes,” “is not so much to work yourself as to be able to make others work in the way you want them to.”

“That’s just it,” agreed Mona, “and that’s just what I can’t do!  Why, my servants rode over me so, and were so impudent and lazy, I just gave up housekeeping and went to a hotel to live.  We had to,—­there was no other way out.”

“And how Roger hates it!” said Elise, who, as Roger’s sister, thought herself privileged to comment.

A cloud passed over Mona’s face.  “He does,” she admitted, “but what can I do?  He hated worse the scenes we had when we were housekeeping.”

“Perhaps conditions will get better now,” said Patty, hopefully, “and you can try again, Mona, with better results.”

“Maybe; and perhaps you can teach me.  You used to teach me lots of things, Patty.”

“All right,—­I’ll willingly do anything I can.  Now, who wants to see my angel child?  Or would you rather go to your rooms first?”

“No, indeed,” cried Elise, “let me see her right now.  If she’s as pretty as the wistaria vine—­oh, Patty, why don’t you name her Wistaria?”

“Gracious, what a name!  No, she’s Fleurette,—­or so Little Billee says.  Anyway, here she is.”

Patty led them to the nursery, and from the lacy draperies of the bassinette a smiling baby face looked up at them.

“What a heavenly kiddy!” Elise exclaimed, “Oh, Patty, what a daffodil head!  Just a blur of yellow fuzz!  And such blue eyes!  She looks exactly like you!  And exactly like Bill, too.  Oh, I never saw such a darling baby.  Let me take her,—­mayn’t I?”

“Yes, indeed.  She’s no glass-case baby.”

Elise picked up the dear little bundle, and cooed and crooned in most approved fashion.