Patience thought the studio the very nicest room she had ever been in.  It was long and low—­in reality, the old dancing-hall, for the manor had been built after the pattern of its first owner’s English home; and in the deep, recessed windows, facing the lake, many a bepatched and powdered little belle of Colonial days had coquetted across her fan with her bravely-clad partner.

Mr. Dayre had thrown out an extra window at one end, at right angles to the great stone fireplace, banked to-day with golden rod, thereby securing the desired north light.

On the easel, stood a nearly finished painting,—­a sunny corner of the old manor kitchen, with Betsy Todd in lilac print gown, peeling apples by the open window, through which one caught a glimpse of the tall hollyhocks in the garden beyond.

Before this portrait, Patience found Sextoness Jane standing in mute astonishment.

“Betsy looks like she was just going to say—­’take your hands out of the dish!’ doesn’t she?” Patience commented.  Betsy had once helped out at the parsonage, during a brief illness of Miranda’s, and the young lady knew whereof she spoke.

“I’d never’ve thought,” Jane said slowly, “that anyone’d get that fond of Sister Todd—­as to want a picture of her!”

“Oh, it’s because she’s such a character, you know,” Patience explained serenely.  Jane was so good about letting one explain things. “’A perfect character,’ I heard one of those artist men say so.”

Jane shook her head dubiously.  “Not what I’d call a ‘perfect’ character—­not that I’ve got anything against Sister Todd; but she’s too fond of finding out a body’s faults.”

Patience went off then in search of empty tea-cups.  She was having a beautiful time; at present only one cloud overshadowed her horizon.  Already some tiresome folks were beginning to think about going.  There was the talk of chores to be done, suppers to get, and with the breaking up, must come an end to her share in the party.  For mother, though approached in the most delicate fashion, had proved obdurate regarding the further festivity to follow.  Had mother been willing to consider the matter, Patience would have cheerfully undertaken to procure the necessary invitation.  Shirley was a very obliging girl.

“And really, my dears,” she said, addressing the three P’s collectively, “it does seem a pity to have to go home before the fun’s all over.  And I could manage it—­Bob would take me out rowing—­if I coaxed—­he rows very slowly.  I don’t suppose, for one moment, that we would get back in time.  I believe—­” For fully three minutes, Patience sat quite still in one of the studio window seats, oblivious of the chatter going on all about her; then into her blue eyes came a look not seen there very often—­“No,” she said sternly, shaking her head at Phil, much to his surprise, for he wasn’t doing anything.  “No—­it wouldn’t be square—­and there would be the most awful to-do afterwards.”