“What a splendid likeness!” she exclaimed; “you’re awfully good-looking, Ken, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  I’ll wear the locket with pleasure—­ sometimes, you know, not all the time, of course—­until I find somebody who is handsomer than you, or—­whom I like better.”

“Pooh,” cried Kenneth, “I don’t care how often you replace it with a picture of a handsomer man, but, Patty, I don’t want you to find any one you like better.  Promise me you won’t.”

“Oh, I can’t promise that, Ken.  Just think of the fascinating Frenchmen I shall probably meet, with their waxed moustaches and their dandified manners.  How can I help liking them better than a plain, unvarnished American boy?”

“All right, my lady; if you set your affections on a French popinjay, I’ll come over there and fight a duel with him.  I know you’re too sensible to look at those addle-pated dandies, but I wish you’d promise not to like anybody better than this plain, unvarnished American boy.”

“I won’t promise you anything, Ken,” said Patty, not unkindly, but with a gentle, definite air.  “I thank you for your locket.  It is beautiful, and I do love pretty things.  I’ll wear it sometimes; let me see, to-day is Saturday; well, I’ll wear it every Saturday; that will insure your being thought of at least once a week.”

And with this Kenneth had to be content, for a roguish laugh appeared in Patty’s eyes and he knew she would not treat matters seriously any further.

Dropping the locket in her little handbag, Patty turned to go back to the others.

“But you’re not keeping your promise,” said Kenneth, detaining her.

“What promise?”

“You said you’d wear the locket on Saturdays, and to-day is Saturday.”

Patty was a little embarrassed.  She knew if she went back to the group with the trinket hanging round her neck, every one would know at once that Kenneth had given it to her, and they would surmise far more than the simple, truth.  And she was especially conscious that Mr. Hepworth would notice it, and would think it meant all Kenneth had wanted it to mean, which was far more than she had accepted it as meaning.

Kenneth saw her hesitation and stood watching her.

“Wear it, dear,” he said quietly; “an old friend like myself has a perfect right to give you a little keepsake.”  Then Patty had an inspiration.  She clasped the little chain about her neck and then tucked the locket down inside her collar so that it was entirely out of sight.

“You little witch!” cried Kenneth as she raised her laughing eyes to his; “but at any rate you’re wearing it, and that’s all I asked of you.”

“Yes,” said Patty; and, as gaily and unaffectedly as a child, she grasped Kenneth’s hand and ran down the long deck to join the others.

Although determined to ignore the episode, Patty’s cheeks bore a heightened colour and she let poor Kenneth severely alone, devoting her attention to the others.