“You haven’t a soul for art?” said Cromer, looking solemnly at Roger.

“No, I haven’t an artful soul, I fear.  How are you getting along, Patty, down here without your fond but strict parents?”

“Getting along finely, Roger.  Aunt Adelaide plays propriety, and Mona and I keep house.”

“H’m, I’m ’fraid I scared off our long-haired friend,” said Roger, as Cromer rose and drifted away.  “Never mind, I want to talk to you a little myself.  I say, Patsy, don’t you let these men flatter you till you’re all puffed up with pride and vanity.”

“Now, Roger, am I that kind of a goose?”

“Well, you’re blossoming out so, and getting so growny-uppy looking, I’m ’fraid you won’t be my little Patty-friend much longer.”

“’Deed I shall!  Don’t you worry about that.  How do you think Mona is looking?”

“Fine!  Lots better than when I saw her in May.  She dresses better, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I guess she does,” said Patty, demurely, with no hint as to why Mona’s appearance had improved.  “She’s an awfully nice girl, Roger.”

“Yes, I always said so.  And you and she help each other.  Sort of reaction, you know.  What do we do down here?”

“Oh, there are oceans of things planned.  Parties of all sorts, and picnics, and dances, and motor trips, and every old thing.  How long can you stay?”

“I’m invited for a week, but I may have to go home sooner.  Isn’t that Western chap immense?”

For some ridiculous reason, Patty blushed scarlet at the mere mention of Mr. Farnsworth.

“What the—­oh, I say, Patty!  You’re not favouring him, are you?  Why, you’ve only just met him to-day, haven’t you?”

“Yes, certainly; I never saw him before.  No, I’m not favouring him, as you call it.”

“Then why are you the colour of a hard-boiled lobster?  Patty! quit blushing, or you’ll burn up!”

“Don’t, Roger; don’t be silly.  I’m not blushing.”

“Oh, no!  You’re only a delicate shade of crimson vermilion!  Well, if you want him, Patty, I’ll get him for you.  Do you want him now?”

“No! of course I don’t!  Do be still, Roger!  And stop that foolish smiling!  Well, then, I’m going to talk to Adele Kenerley.”

Patty ran away from Roger, who was decidedly in a teasing mood, and seated herself beside the pretty young matron.

“Such a good child,” Mrs. Kenerley was saying; “she never cries, and she’s so loving and affectionate.”

“Oh, she’s a heavenly baby!” cried Mona, in raptures of appreciation, and then along came the baby’s father, fresh from his ocean dip.

“You must choke off my wife,” he said, smiling, “if she gets started on a monologue about that infant prodigy!  She can keep it up most of the hours out of the twenty-four, and go right over it all again next day!”

“And why not?” cried Mona.  “Such a baby deserves appreciation.  I can hardly wait till to-morrow to wake her up and play with her.”