Patty looked up, laughing, for she knew it was Bill who threw the blossom.

The bay window of Patty’s boudoir opened on a particularly pleasant corner of the upper veranda,—­a corner provided with wicker seats and tables, and screened by awnings from the midday sun.  And when Patty was seated by her desk in that same bay window, half-hidden by the thin, fluttering curtain draperies, Big Bill Farnsworth had an incurable habit of strolling by.  But he did not respond to Patty’s laughter in kind.

“Come out here,” he said, and his tone was not peremptory, but beseechingly in earnest.  Wondering a little, Patty rose and stepped over the low sill to the veranda.  Bill took her two little hands in his own two big ones, and looked her straight in the eyes.

“What part are you going to take in this foolish racket they’re getting up?” he asked.

“I’m going to be Maid of the Mist,” answered Patty, trying to speak as if she didn’t care.

“Why aren’t you going to be Spirit of the Sea?”

“Because Guy asked Daisy to take that part.”

“Yes! he asked her after you had refused to take it!”

“Refused!  What do you mean?”

“Oh, I know all about it!  You wrote a note to Martin, telling him you wouldn’t take the part, and asking him not to mention the subject to you again.”

“What!” and all the colour went out of Patty’s face as the thought flashed across her mind what this meant.  She saw at once that Daisy had given that note to Guy, as coming from her!  She saw that Daisy must have done this intentionally!  And this knowledge of a deed so despicable, so impossible, from Patty’s standpoint, stunned her like a blow.

But she quickly recovered herself.  Patty’s mind always jumped from one thought to another, and she knew, instantly, that however contemptible Daisy’s act had been, she could not and would not disclose it.

“Oh, that note,” she said, striving to speak carelessly.

“Yes, that note,” repeated Bill, still gazing straight at her.  “Tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Patty, her voice trembling a little at this true statement of fact.

“You wrote it?”

“Yes,—­I wrote it,” Patty declared, for she could not tell the circumstance of her writing it.

Bill let go her hands, and a vanquished look came into his eyes.

“I—­I hoped you didn’t,” he said, simply; “but as you did, then I know why you did it.  Because you didn’t want to be on the float with me.”

“Oh, no,-no, Bill!” cried Patty, shocked at this added injustice.  “It wasn’t that,—­truly it wasn’t!”

Gladness lighted up Bill’s face, and his big blue eyes beamed again.

“Wasn’t it?” he said.  “Wasn’t it, Apple Blossom?  Then, tell me, why did you write it?”

“But I don’t want to tell you,” and Patty pouted one of her very prettiest pouts.