“Why,—­let me see.  Moonlight,—­on a balcony,—­with the right man.”

“I’m the right man, all right,—­and you know it.  And if I’m not greatly mistaken, here’s moonlight and a balcony!”

Sure enough, a long French window had been set slightly ajar to cool the overheated room, and almost before she knew it, Patty was whisked outside.

“Oh, Philip!  Don’t! you mustn’t!  I’ll take cold.  I ought to have something around me.”

“You have,” said Van Reypen, calmly, and as he had not yet released her from the dance he held his arms lightly round her shoulders.

Patty was angry.  She knew Philip loved her,—­several times he had asked her to marry him,—­but this was taking an unfair advantage.

The February wind itself was not colder than the manner with which she drew away from him, and stepped back into the ballroom.

“My dear, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Homer, who chanced to be near, “how imprudent!  You should not go out without a wrap.”

“I know it, Mrs. Homer,” and Patty looked so sweetly penitent that her hostess could but smile at her.  “But, truly, I just stepped out a single second to get a tiny breath of air.  The room is warm, isn’t it?  May I stay here by you a few moments?”

“Yes, indeed,” and Mrs. Homer drew the girl down beside her on the sofa.  “You’re not robust, my child, and you mustn’t run foolish risks.”

“You’re quite right, and I won’t do it again.  But on a night not quite so cold, that balcony, flooded with moonlight, must be a romantic spot.”

“It is, indeed,” said Mrs. Homer, smiling.  “My young people think so; and I hope you will have many opportunities in the future to see it for yourself.”

“Your young people?  Have you other children besides Marie?”

“Yes; I have a daughter who is away at boarding-school.  And, also, I have a nephew, whose home is in this same building.”

“Is he here to-night?”

“No; Kit hates dances.  Of course, that’s because he doesn’t dance himself.  He’s a musician.”

“Kit?  What a funny name.”

“It’s Christopher, really, Christopher Cameron; but he’s such a happy-go-lucky sort of chap, we naturally call him Kit.”

“I think I should like him,” said Patty.  “Would he like me?”

“No,” said Mrs. Homer, her eyes twinkling at Patty’s look of amazement.  “He detests girls.  Even my daughters, his cousins, are nuisances, he says.  Still he likes to come down here and sit on my balcony, and tease them.  He lives with his parents in the apartment just above us.”

“He sounds an interesting youth,” said Patty, and then, as Roger came up and asked her for a dance, she promptly forgot the musical nephew.

At supper-time, Patty’s crowd of intimates gathered around her, and they occupied a pleasant corner of the dining-room.

“What’ll you have, Patsums?” asked Roger, as a waiter brought a tray full of dainty viands.