“Then, may this dance last for ever!”

“Oh, what a pretty speech!  Of course, you wouldn’t make that to a sister!  I think a second cousinship is very pleasant.”

“Then, that’s settled.  And I may call you Cousin Patty, I suppose?”

“It would seem absurd to say Cousin Miss Fairfield, wouldn’t it?  And yet our acquaintance is entirely too short for first names.”

“But it’s growing longer every minute; and, if you would grant me another dance after I’m removed from this one, I’m sure we could reach the stage of first names.”

“I will give you one more,” said Patty, for she liked Mr. Bell very much.

So at the end of their dance they agreed upon a number later on the programme, and Mr. Bell wrote down “Cousin Ed” on Patty’s card.

It was just after this that Kit came back for his second dance.

“Naughty girl,” he said; “you’ve kept me waiting three-quarters of the evening.”

“I thought I saw you dancing with several visions of beauty.”

“Only killing time till I could get back to you.  Come on, don’t waste a minute.”

It was a joy to Patty to dance with Cameron, for he was by all odds the best dancer she had ever met.  And many admiring glances followed them as they circled the great room.

“How did you like your little brother?” Kit enquired.

“He’s a ducky-daddles!” declared Patty, enthusiastically.  “Just a nice all-round boy, frank and jolly and good-natured.”

“That’s what I am.”

“Not a bit of it!  You’re a musician; freakish, temperamental, touchy, and—­a woman-hater.”

“Gracious! what a character to live up to,—­or down to.  But I hate you awfully, don’t I?”

“I don’t know.  I never can feel sure of these temperamental natures.”

“Well, don’t you worry about feeling sure of me.  The longer you live, the surer you’ll feel.”

“That sounds like ‘the longer she lives the shorter she grows,’” said Patty, flippantly.

“Yes, the old nursery rhyme.  Well, you are my candle,—­a beacon, lighting my pathway with your golden beams——­”

“Oh, do stop!  That’s beautiful talk, but it’s such rubbish.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that much beautiful talk is rubbish?”

“Yes, I have.  And I’m glad that you think that way, too.  Beautiful thoughts are best expressed by plain, sincere words, and have little connection with ‘beautiful talk.’”

“Patty Fairfield, you’re a brick!  And, when I’ve said that, I can’t say anything more.”

“A gold brick?”

“Not in the usual acceptance of that term; but you’re pure gold, and I’m jolly well glad I’ve found a girl like you.”

There was such a ring of sincerity in Cameron’s tone that Patty looked up at him suddenly.  And the honest look in his eyes made it impossible for her to return any flippant response.

“And I’m glad, too, that we are friends, Kit,” she said, simply.