“Patty, it was plain as day on the face of it.  Why, it sounded just like you from start to finish.  Of course, if you had been in New York, I should have tried to suspect somebody else, but when I found you were staying only about six miles from Maple Bank, I knew it was you.”

“Never mind, some day I’ll play a joke on you.”

“Thought you didn’t approve of them.”

“I don’t, for other people.  But you’re so fond of them I feel as if I ought to do all I can for you.”

“All right, joke away, little girl.  I don’t mind.  I say, Poppycheek, what’s this May-day business?  An old-fashioned picnic?”

“Not exactly.  It’s a new-fashioned picnic.  But they crown a May-queen, and all that sort of foolishness.”  “And who is to be queen?”

“Belle Harcourt.”

“My Belle!  Oh, I’m glad of that.  And so Princess Poppycheek is going to be made a queen!  Well, so long as you’re my Belle, you may be anybody’s queen you like.”

“I like an awful lot of people.”

“Mostly men.”

“No, sir!  The men mostly like me.  I like mostly girls.  Don’t you think Daisy Dow’s charming and pretty?”

“Yes, she is a very pretty girl.  You’re fond of her?”

“I am now.  I didn’t like her at first, but I think it was because I didn’t understand her.  But now we’re awfully good chums.”

“And so you don’t like the men?”

“Nonsense!  Of course I do.  I adore them.  But not as much as I do my girl friends.  And sometimes I think I like my married friends best of all.  Aren’t the Kenerleys just dear?”

“Then you’d like me better if I were married?”

“Yes, indeed.  Will you get married, to please me?”

“Oh, anything to oblige.  Will you pick out the lady?”

“Why, yes, if you want me to.  There’s Daisy Dow.”

“Yes, there’s Daisy Dow.  But here’s Patty Fairfield.  I’d ever so much rather marry her!  How about it, Poppycheek?”

“Nonsense, Kit, don’t be silly.”

“It isn’t silly.  You said you wanted me to be married and I’m awfully anxious to please you.”

“Oh, do you want to marry me just to please me?”

“Well, I’m interested in the scheme on my own account, too.”

“Well, don’t bother me about it, now.  I hate to answer questions in a speeding motor-car.”

“Shall I tell him to slow down?” And Kit leaned forward toward the chauffeur.

“Mercy, no! you’ll hardly catch your train now.  A little faster, Jacques.”

“Yes, Miss,” and the chauffeur threw on a little more speed.

“Poppycheek, you rascal, I intended to miss that train.”

“Well, you don’t do it! see?  We’ve enough to do to-morrow, without you bothering around.  You can come up Saturday, but to-morrow we’re going to be awfully busy.”

“Van Reypen coming?”

“Of course.  A party isn’t a party without Phil.”