“Oh, Patsy-Pat!  Do you consider yourself a pretty girl?  How can you think so?  Your nose turns up, and I think you’re a little cross-eyed—­”

“Oh, Roger, I am not!”

“Well, perhaps I’m mistaken about that; but you’ve a freckle on your left cheek, and a curl on your right temple is out of place.”

“It isn’t!  I fixed it there on purpose!  It’s supposed to look coquettish.”

“Very untidy!” and Roger glared in pretended disapproval at the curl that had purposely been allowed to escape from the apple-blossom wreath.

Patty liked Roger’s fooling, for they were old chums and thoroughly good friends, and it was one of his customary jokes to pretend that he was trying to correct her tendency to personal vanity.

Beside the house party, there were several other guests, mostly Spring Beach cottagers, and the dinner was a gay one.  Jack Pennington sat at Patty’s other side, and Farnsworth and Daisy Dow were far away, near the head of the table.

“Dashing girl, Miss Dow,” said Jack, as he looked at the vivacious Daisy, who was entertaining those near her with picturesque stories of Western life.

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty; “and very clever and capable.”

“Now, isn’t it funny!  Just from the way you say that, I know you don’t like her.”

Patty was dismayed.  If she didn’t altogether like Daisy, she had no wish to have other people aware of the fact.

“Oh, Jack, don’t be mean.  I do like her.”

“No, you don’t; at least, not very much.  She isn’t your style.”

“Well, then, if you think that, don’t say it.  I must like Mona’s guests.”

“Yes, of course.  Forgive a poor, blundering idiot!  And don’t worry, Patty, no one shall ever know from me that you and the Dashing Daisy aren’t boon companions.”

“You’re so nice and understanding, Jacky boy, and I’m much obliged.  Do you remember the night you discovered who our chaperon was, and you helped me out so beautifully?”

“Always glad to help the ladies.  What are we doing to-night, after this feast of fat things is over?”

“Nothing especial; dance a little, I suppose, sit around on the veranda, sing choruses, and that sort of thing.”

“There’s a glorious full moon.  Couldn’t we escape for a little spin?  Just a very short one, in my runabout?”

“Yes, I’d love to.  Or we could take my runabout.”

“Or Mona’s for that matter.  I don’t care what car we take, but I do love a short, quick drive, and then come back for the dance.”

“All right, I’ll go.  Mona won’t mind, if I don’t stay long.”

“Oh, only just around a block or two.  Just to clear the effect of these flowers and candles from our brain.”

“Isn’t your brain a little weak, if it can’t stand flowers and candles?” asked Patty, laughing.

“Perhaps it is, and perhaps that’s only an excuse to get away.  Hooray!  Mona’s rising now; let’s make a mad dash.”