Well, at any rate, Patty determined to go on with the farce to the best of her ability.  If Farnsworth thought he could rattle her, he was very much mistaken.  But she would not look at him again.  If he should smile at her, she knew she should smile, for she was on the verge of laughing anyway.  So the dinner proceeded.  Patty did her part beautifully, serving everything just exactly right and doing everything just as it should be done.  And not once during the long dinner, did she catch the eye of either Farnsworth or Mr. Peyton.  Once or twice she looked at Mrs. Brewster with a note of inquiry in her eyes, and that lady gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval, so that Patty knew everything was going all right.

At last it was time for Patty to bring in the finger bowls.  They stood neatly ranged in readiness for her, and in each one was a pansy blossom.

On the table near the doorway through which Patty went in and out of the dining-room, chanced to be a big bowl of apple blossoms, and Patty appropriated one of these and substituted it for the pansy in the finger bowl which she subsequently placed before Farnsworth.

She did not glance at him, but she had the satisfaction of seeing him start with surprise, and then let his glance travel around the table as if assuring himself that he was the only one thus honoured.

He tried to catch Patty’s eye, but she resolutely refrained from looking at him.

After dinner was over, and the guests returned to the drawing-room, Patty remained in the dining-room, wondering what would happen next.

In a few moments Mrs. Brewster came running out to her.

“You little brick!” she cried; “but, my dear child, what made you do it?”

“What do you mean, madame?” asked Patty, in her most waitress-like voice.

“What do I mean?  You rogue!  You scamp!  Mr. Farnsworth has told us all about it!  I don’t know what you mean by this masquerade.  But it’s over now, and you must come into the drawing-room at once!  Take off that apron and cap, and put on your collar and bow again.”

“Oh, Mrs. Brewster, I can’t go into the drawing-room.  All your guests have on their evening things, and this is a morning frock!”

“Nonsense, child, come right along in.  You look as sweet as a peach.”

“But I say, Ethel,” and Bob Peyton bounced out into the dining-room, “Miss Fairfield hasn’t had any dinner, herself,” and he smiled at Patty.  “You see I know all about you.  Farnsworth told the whole story.  You are miffed with him, I believe, and wouldn’t let him help you.  So he came right over here and sent me back to help a fair lady in distress.  Why you got up that waitress jargon I don’t know.”

“I don’t either,” and Patty dimpled roguishly at him.  “I have an awful way of cutting up any jinks that happen to pop into my head!  You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

“I never should have forgiven you if you hadn’t!” and Peyton smiled admiringly into the big blue eyes that implored his forgiveness so sweetly.