“You,” said Bill, while Daisy sank down on the arbour seat, and seemed to crumple up in abject fear of what was about to happen.

“Now, Miss Fairfield,” Bill began, “there’s a little matter I want cleared up.  It’s the note you wrote to Mr. Martin saying you didn’t wish to be Spirit of the Sea.”

Daisy cast one piteous, despairing glance at Patty, and then covered her face in her hands.

At first, Patty’s blue eyes flashed with a righteous indignation, to think how Daisy had abused her kindness in writing that note at dictation.  Then a great wave of compassion swept through her heart.  The deed was so foreign to her own nature that she felt deep pity for one who was capable of such a thing.  And Daisy’s evident misery roused her sympathy.  She didn’t stop to think that probably Daisy’s regret was at being found out and not for the deed itself, but Patty’s forgiveness was full and free, even before it was asked.  In her unbounded generosity of heart, she resolved to shield Daisy from Farnsworth’s wrath.

“What about the note?” she asked, simply.

“Did you write it?”

“I did.”

“Did any one force or persuade you to write it?”

“I did it willingly, and without compulsion.”

“Did Daisy know you wrote it?”

“She knew it, yes.  She gave it to Guy Martin.”

Bill was nonplussed.  He knew there was some secret about that note, but he couldn’t quite fathom it.

And every word Patty spoke, though quite true, and seeming to exonerate Daisy, made the guilty girl more and more amazed that one she had so injured could be so forgiving.

“Didn’t you want to be Spirit of the Sea?” Bill said at last, desperately anxious on that point.

Patty hesitated.  She couldn’t truly say she didn’t, and to say she did would bring up the question of the note again.

“I did want to,” she said, slowly, “but, since Daisy has that part,—­and I have another, and a very pretty part,—­I am quite content.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Farnsworth muttered.  “The incident is closed.”

He started to leave the arbour, and Daisy lifted her troubled eyes to Patty’s face.  Patty tried to smile, but there must have been an involuntary shadow of reproach in her blue eyes, which, for some reason, went straight to Daisy’s heart.

“Don’t look at me like that, Patty,” she cried out; “I can’t bear it!  Bill, come back!  The incident isn’t closed.  I want to tell you, Bill, what I did.  Patty wrote that note, at my dictation, thinking it was for me,—­I had a hurt finger,—­and I told her I’d sign it,—­and I didn’t sign it,—­I gave it to Guy as if it was from her—­oh, Patty—­will you forgive me?  Will you?”

“There, there, Daisy,” and Patty put her arms around the sobbing girl.  “Never mind, it’s all right.”

“It isn’t all right!” exclaimed Farnsworth, his eyes blazing.  “Daisy Dow, do you mean to tell me—­”