“Oh, fiddlesticks!  You mean more finicky,—­like that paragon, Patty.  You think she’s perfect, because she never raises her voice above a certain pitch, and she expects all you men to lie down and let her walk over you.”

“She may walk over me, if she likes; and I want you to stop speaking of her in that slighting way, Daisy.”

“Oh, you do, do you?  And, pray, what right have you to say how I shall speak of her?”

“The right that any man has, to take the part of one who is absent.”

“You’d like to have more rights than that, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I would, but I’m not confiding in you.”

“You don’t have to.  Yours is an open secret.  Everybody can see you’re perfectly gone on that little pink and white thing!”

“That will do, Daisy; don’t say another word of that sort!” and Bill’s voice was so stern and tense that Daisy stopped, a little frightened at his demeanour.

What he might have said further, she never knew, for just then Guy Martin and Lora Sayre came strolling into the room.

“Hello, people!” said Guy.  “Where’s everybody that belongs to this chateau?  We’ve come through myriads of empty rooms, but at last we find the gems of the collection.”

“Why, Miss Dow,” exclaimed Lora, looking at Daisy’s gown, “is this a dinner party?”

Daisy laughed, and explained, rather pleased than otherwise to be the sole narrator of the interesting tale.  Needless to say, she and Bill Farnsworth figured as the principal actors in her dramatic version of the motor adventure, and, naturally, Bill could not contradict her.

“I congratulate you, Miss Dow,” said Guy, “on looking so fit after such a trying ordeal.  Patty is all right, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes; she’s all right, but you know, she can’t stand much fatigue.  And the whole performance unnerved her, and gave her a chance to insist on having a beauty sleep.”

“Which she doesn’t need for that purpose,” laughed Lora, good-naturedly.  “But I fear we are keeping you, Miss Dow.  Don’t you want to get into a morning frock?  Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable?”

“No, it doesn’t matter,” and Daisy’s manner gave the effect of sacrificing her comfort to the guests, though really she was of no mind to run away and lose this call.

“We came to talk about the Pageant,” began Guy.  “We want to get the various parts settled.”

“Well, of course we can’t answer for the others,” said Daisy, “but let’s discuss it,—­it’s such fun, and among us, we may think up some good ideas.  I’ve had lots of experience with this sort of thing out West.”

“Oh, have you?” said Guy, eagerly.  “Then do help me out.  I have to get up such a lot of characters,—­all representative of the sea, you know.  I want Mr. Farnsworth here for Father Neptune, that’s certain.”

“I’m quite willing,” said Bill, good-naturedly.  “Do I wear a bathing suit?”