Captain Sayre, in a most impressive looking white uniform, asked Patty to walk round the grounds with him.

“For,” said he, as they strolled away, “there’s nothing to do at a garden party but walk round the grounds, is there?”

“Indeed there is!” cried Patty.  “There’s lots to do.  There’s tennis and croquet and quoits and other games I see already.”

“Too hot for such things,” declared the captain.

“Then, these tents all about, have interesting inhabitants.  There’s a fortune teller in one, I know.”

“Fortune tellers are never interesting.  They just make up a lot of stuff with no sense to it.”

“But lots of things with no sense to them are interesting,” laughed Patty.  “I begin to think, Captain Sayre, that you’re blase.  I never met any one before who was really blase.  Do tell me how it feels.”

“Nonsense, child, you’re poking fun at me.  I’m not blase at all.”

Captain Sayre was not more than five or six years older than Patty, but he had the air of a man of the world, while Patty’s greatest charm was her simple, unsophisticated manner.

“I wish you were,” she said, a little regretfully; “all the boys I know are nice, enthusiastic young people, like myself, and I’d like some one to be different, just for a change.”

“Well, I can’t.  I assure you, I’m both nice and enthusiastic, if not so awfully young.”

Patty smiled up at him.  “Prove it,” she said, gaily.

“All right, I’ll prove it by poking an inquisitive nose into every tent on the place.  Come on.”

They went the rounds of the gay little festival, and so vivacious and entertaining did the captain prove, that Patty confessed frankly that she had misjudged him.

“You’re not blase,” she declared.  “I never saw any one less so.  If you fight with as much energy as you enjoy yourself you must be a fine soldier indeed!”

“Oh, I am!” returned the captain, laughing.  “I’m one of Uncle Sam’s noblest heroes!  He hasn’t realised it yet, because I’ve not had a real good chance to prove it, but I shall, some day.”

“Perhaps you could show other people, without waiting for Uncle Sam’s turn.”

A slight earnestness in Patty’s tone made Captain Sayre look at her quickly.

“I’ll show you now,” he said.  “Give me chance for a brave, heroic deed, and watch me hit it off!”

“I will!” said Patty, with twinkling eyes.  “But it’s Secret Service.  I mean Sealed Orders.  I’ll lead you to it, but you may ‘hit it off’ without realising it.”

“Lead on, fair lady!  From now, you are my superior officer.”

But Patty turned the subject then, and the pair went gaily on, stopping often to chat with groups of young people, or to admire some decorations.

At last, Patty adroitly managed that they should pause near Mona, who stood talking with Lora Sayre and Jack Pennington.  Patty’s quick eyes saw that Mona was ill at ease, and that the others were including her in their conversation merely through a perfunctory politeness.