As Patty was temporarily out of an “occupation,” she went skating the next day with the Farringtons and Kenneth. Indeed, the four were so often together that they began to call themselves the Quartette.

After a jolly skate, which made their cheeks rosy, they all went back to Patty’s, as they usually did after skating.

“I think you might come to my house, sometimes,” said Elise.

“Oh, I have to go to Patty’s to look after the goldfish,” said Kenneth. “I thought Darby swam lame, the last time I saw him. Does he, Patty?”

“No, not now. But Juliet has a cold, and I’m afraid of rheumatism setting in.”

“No,” said Kenneth; “she’s too young for rheumatism. But she may have ‘housemaid’s knee.’ You must be very careful about draughts.”

The goldfish were a never-failing source of fun for the Quartette. The fish themselves were quiet, inoffensive little creatures, but the ready imagination of the young people invested them with all sorts of strange qualities, both physical and mental.

“Juliet’s still sulky about that thimble,” said Roger, as they all looked into the fishes’ globe. “I gave her Patty’s thimble yesterday to wear for a hat, and it didn’t suit her at all.”

“I should say not!” cried Patty. “She thought it was a helmet. You must take her for Joan of Arc.”

“She didn’t wear a helmet,” said Elise, laughing.

“Well, she wore armour. They belong together. Anyway, Juliet doesn’t know but that Joan of Arc wore a helmet.”

“Oh, is that what made her so sulky?” said Roger. “Nice disposition, I must say.”

“She’s nervous,” put in Kenneth, “and a little morbid, poor thing. Patty, I think a little iron in the water would do her good.”

“Send for a flatiron, Patty,” said Roger. “I know it would help her, if you set it carefully on top of her.”

“I won’t do it!” said Patty. “Poor Juliet is flat enough now. She doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. Let’s go away and leave her to sleep. That will fatten her, maybe.”

“Lullaby, Julie, in the fish-bowl,” sang Roger.

“When the wind blows, the billows will roll,” continued Elise, fanning the water in the globe with a newspaper.

“When the bowl breaks, the fishes will fall,” contributed Patty, and Ken wound up by singing:

“And the Cat will eat Juliet, Darby, and all!”

“Oh, horrible!” cried Patty. “Indeed she won’t! My beautiful pets shall never meet that cruel fate.”

Leaving Juliet to her much needed nap, they all strolled into the library.

“Let’s be a club,” said Elise. “Just us four, you know.”

“All right,” said Patty, who loved clubs. “What sort of a club?”

“Musical,” said Elise. “We all sing.”

“Musical clubs are foolish,” said Roger. “Let’s be a dramatic club.”

“Dramatic clubs are too much work,” said Patty; “and four isn’t enough for that, anyway. Let’s do good.”

“Oh, Patty,” groaned Kenneth, “you’re getting so eleemosynary there’s no fun in you!”

“Mercy, gracious!” cried Patty. “What was that fearful word you said, Ken? No! don’t say it over again! I can’t stand all of it at once!”

“Well, we have to stand you!” grumbled Kenneth, “and you’re that all the time, now. What foolishness are you going to fly at next, trying to earn a dishonest penny?”

“I’m thinking of going out as a cook,” said Patty, her eyes twinkling. “Cooking is the only thing I really know how to do. But I can do that.”

“You’ll be fine as cook,” said Roger. “May I come round Thursday afternoons and take you out?”

“I s’pose I’ll only have every other Thursday,” said Patty, demurely.

“And the other Thursday you won’t be there! But what about this club we’re organising?”

“Make it musical,” said Kenneth, “and then while one of us is playing or singing some classical selection, the others can indulge in merry conversation.”

“You may as well make it the Patty Club,” said Elise, “as I suppose it will always meet here.”

Though not really jealous of her friend’s popularity, Elise always resented the fact that the young people would rather be at Patty’s than at her own home.

The reason was, that the Fairfield house, though handsomely appointed, was not so formally grand as the Farringtons’, and there was always an atmosphere of cordiality and hospitality at Patty’s, while at Elise’s it was oppressively formal and dignified.

“Oh, pshaw,” said Patty, ignoring Elise’s unkind intent; “I won’t have you always here. We’ll take turns, of course.”

“All right,” said Elise; “every other week at my house and every other week here. But don’t you think we ought to have more than four members?”

“No, I don’t,” declared Kenneth, promptly. “And we don’t want any musical nonsense, or any dramatic foolishness, either. Let’s just have fun; if it’s pleasant weather, we’ll go skating, or sleighing, or motoring, or whatever you like; if it isn’t, we’ll stay indoors, or go to a matinée or concert, or something like that.”

“Lovely!” cried Elise. “But if we’re to go to matinées, we’ll have to meet Saturdays.”

“Or Wednesdays,” amended Patty. “Let’s meet Wednesdays. I ’most always have engagements on Saturdays.”

“All right; shall we call it the Wednesday Club, then?”

“No, Elise,” said Roger, gravely. “That’s too obvious; we will call it the Thursday Club, because we meet on Wednesday; see?”

“No, I don’t see,” said Elise, looking puzzled.

“Why,” explained Roger, “you see we’ll spend all day Thursday thinking over the good time we had on Wednesday!”

“But that isn’t the real reason,” said Patty, giggling. “The real reason we call it the Thursday Club is because it meets on Wednesday!”

“That’s it, Patsy!” said Ken, approvingly, for he and Patty had the same love for nonsense, though more practical Elise couldn’t always understand it.

“Well, then, the Thursday Club will meet here next Wednesday,” said Patty; “unless I am otherwise engaged.”

For she just happened to think, that on that day she might be again attempting to earn her fifteen dollars.

“What’s the Thursday Club? Mayn’t I belong?” said a pleasant voice, and Mr. Hepworth came in.

“Oh, how do you do?” cried Patty, jumping up, and offering both hands. “I’m so glad to see you. Do sit down.”

“I came round,” said Mr. Hepworth, after greeting the others, “in hopes I could corral a cup of tea. I thought you ran a five-o’clock tea-room.”

“We do,” said Patty, ringing a bell nearby. “That is, we always have tea when Nan is home; and we can just as well have it when she isn’t.”

“I suppose you young people don’t care for tea,” went on Mr. Hepworth, looking a little enviously at the merry group, who, indeed, didn’t care whether they had tea or not.

“Oh, yes, we do,” said Patty. “We love it. But we,—we just forgot it. We were so engrossed in organising a club.”

But the others did not follow up this conversational beginning, and even before the tea was brought, Elise said she must go.

“Nonsense!” said Patty; “don’t go yet.”

But Elise was decided, so away she went, and of course, Roger went too.

“And I’m going,” said Kenneth, as Patty, having followed Elise out into the hall, he joined them there.

“Oh; don’t you go, Ken,” said Patty.

“Yes, I’d rather. When Hepworth comes you get so grown-up all of a sudden. With your ‘Oh, how do you do?’ and your tea.”

Kenneth mimicked Patty’s voice, which did sound different when she spoke to Mr. Hepworth.

“Ken, you’re very unjust,” said Patty, her cheeks flushing; “of course I have to give Mr. Hepworth tea when he asks for it; and if I seem more ‘grown-up’ with him, it’s because he’s so much older than you are.”

“He is, indeed! About twelve years older! Too old to be your friend. He ought to be calling on Mrs. Fairfield.”

“He is. He calls on us both. I think you’re very silly!”

This conversation had been in undertones, while Elise was donning her hat and furs, and great was her curiosity when Patty turned from Kenneth, with an offended or hurt expression on her face.

“What’s the matter with you two?” she asked, bluntly.

“Nothing,” said Ken, looking humble. “Patty’s been begging me to be more polite to the goldfish.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Patty; “your manners are above reproach, Ken.”

“Thanks, fair lady,” he replied, with a Chesterfieldian bow, and then the three went away.

“Did I drive off your young friends, Patty?” said Mr. Hepworth, as she returned to the library, where Jane was already setting forth the tea things.

Patty was nonplussed. He certainly had driven them away, but she couldn’t exactly tell him so.

“You needn’t answer,” he said, laughing at her dismayed expression. “I am sorry they don’t like me, but until you show that you don’t, I shall continue to come here.”

“I hope you will,” said Patty, earnestly. “It isn’t that they don’t like you, Mr. Hepworth; it’s that they think you don’t like them.”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t mean exactly that; but they think that you think they’re children,—almost, and you’re bored by them.”

“I’m not bored by you, and you’re a child,—almost.”

“Well, I don’t know how it is,” said Patty, throwing off all responsibility in the matter; “but I like them and I like you, and yet, I’d rather have you at different times.”

“Which do you like better?” asked Mr. Hepworth. He knew it was a foolish question, but it was uttered almost involuntarily.

“Them!” said Patty, but she gave him such a roguish smile as she said it, that he almost thought she meant the opposite.

“Still,” she went on, with what was palpably a mock regret, “I shall have to put up with you for the present; so be as young as you can. How many lumps, please?”

“Two; you see I can be very young.”

“Yes,” said Patty, approvingly; “it is young to take two lumps. But now tell me something about Miss Farley. Have you heard from her or of her lately?”

“Yes, I have,” said Mr. Hepworth, as he stirred his tea. “That is, I’ve heard of her. My friend, down in Virginia, who knows Miss Farley, has sent me another of her sketches, and it proves more positively than ever that the girl has real genius. But, Patty, I want you to give up this scheme of yours to help her. It was good of your father to make the offer he did, but I don’t want you racing around to these dreadful places looking for work. I’m going to get some other people interested in Miss Farley, and I’m sure her art education can be managed in some way. I’d willingly subscribe the whole sum needed, myself, but it would be impossible to arrange it that way. She’d never accept it, if she knew; and it’s difficult to deceive her.”

Patty looked serious.

“I don’t wonder you think I can’t do what I set out to do,” she said slowly, “for I’ve made so many ridiculous failures already. But please don’t lose faith in me, yet. Give me one or two more chances.”

Mr. Hepworth looked kindly into Patty’s earnest eyes.

“Don’t take this thing too seriously,” he said.

“But I want to take it seriously. You think I’m a child,—a butterfly. I assure you I am neither.”

“I think you’re adorable, whatever you are!” was on the tip of Gilbert Hepworth’s tongue; but he did not say it.

Though he cared more for Patty than for anything on earth, he had vowed to himself the girl should never know it. He was thirty-five, and Patty but eighteen, and he knew that was too great a discrepancy in years for him ever to hope to win her affections.

So he contented himself with an occasional evening call, or once in a while dropping in at tea time, resolved never to show to Patty herself the high regard he had for her.

She had told him of her various unsuccessful attempts at “earning her living,” and he deeply regretted that he had been the means of bringing about the situation.

He did not share Mr. Fairfield’s opinion that the experience was a good one for Patty, and would broaden her views of humanity in general, and teach her a few worth-while lessons.

“Please give up the notion,” he urged, after they had talked the matter over.

“Indeed I won’t,” returned Patty. “At least, not until I’ve proved to my own satisfaction that my theories are wrong. And I don’t think yet that they are. I still believe I can earn fifteen dollars a week, without having had special training for any work. Surely I ought to have time to prove myself right.”

“Yes, you ought to have time,” said Mr. Hepworth, gently, “but you ought not to do it at all. It’s an absurd proposition, the whole thing. And as I, unfortunately, brought it about, I want to ask you, please, to drop it.”

“No, sir!” said Patty, gravely, but wagging a roguish forefinger at him; “people can’t undo their mistakes so easily. If, as you say, you brought about this painful situation, then you must sit patiently by and watch me as I flounder about in the various sloughs of despond.”

“Oh, Patty, don’t! Please drop it all,—for my sake!”

Patty looked up in surprise at his earnest tones, but she only laughed gaily, and said:

“Nixy! Not I! Not by no means! But I’ll give in to this extent. I’ll agree not to make more than three more attempts. If I can’t succeed in three more efforts, I’ll give up the game, and confess myself a butterfly and an idiot.”

“The only symptoms of idiocy are shown in your making three more attempts,” said Mr. Hepworth, who was almost angry at Patty’s persistence.

“Oh, pooh! I probably shan’t make three more! I just somehow feel sure I’ll succeed the very next time.”

“A sanguine idiot is the most hopeless sort,” said Mr. Hepworth, with a resigned air. “May I ask what you intend to attempt next?”

“You may ask, but you can’t be answered, for I don’t yet know, myself. I’ve two or three tempting plans, but I don’t know which to choose. I’ve thought of taking a place as cook.”

“Patty! don’t you dare do such a thing! To think of you in a kitchen,—under orders! Oh, child, how can you?”

Patty laughed outright at Mr. Hepworth’s dismay.

“Cheer up!” she cried; “I didn’t mean it! But you think skilled labour is necessary, and truly, I’m skilled in cooking. I really am.”

“Yes, chafing-dish trifles; and fancy desserts.”

“Well, those are good things for a cook to know.”

“Patty, promise me you won’t take any sort of a servant’s position.”

“Oh, I can’t promise that. I fancy I’d make a rather good lady’s-maid or parlour-maid. But I promise you I won’t be a cook. Much as I like to fuss with a chafing-dish, I shouldn’t like to be kept in a kitchen and boil and roast things all the time.”

“I should say not! Well, since I can’t persuade you to give up your foolish notion, do go on, and get through with your three attempts as soon as possible. Remember, you’ve promised not more than three.”

“I promise,” said Patty, with much solemnity, and then Nan and Mr. Fairfield came in.

Mr. Hepworth appealed at once to Mr. Fairfield, telling him what he had already told Patty.

“Nonsense, Hepworth,” said Patty’s father, “I’m glad you started the ball rolling. It hasn’t done Patty a bit of harm, so far, and it will be an experience she’ll always remember. Let her go ahead; she can’t succeed, but she can have the satisfaction of knowing she tried.”

“I’m not so sure she can’t succeed,” said Nan, standing up for Patty, who looked a little crestfallen at the remarks of her father.

“Good for you, Nan!” cried Patty; “I’ll justify your faith in me yet. I know Mr. Hepworth thinks I’m good for nothing, but Daddy ought to know me better.”

Mr. Hepworth seemed not to notice this petulant outburst, and only said:

“Remember, you’ve promised to withdraw from the arena after three more conflicts.”

“They won’t be conflicts,” said Patty, “and there won’t be but one, anyway!”

“So much the better,” said Mr. Hepworth, calmly.

CHAPTER XIV
MRS. VAN REYPEN

It was about a week later. Nothing further had been said or done in the matter of Patty’s “occupation,” and Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield wondered what plan was slowly brewing under the mop of golden curls.

Mr. Hepworth began to hope his words had had an effect after all, and was about to lay the case of Miss Farley before some other true and tried friends.

But he had practically promised Patty to give her time for three more attempts; so he waited.

One day Patty came into the house just in time for luncheon.

“Nan,” she said, as they sat down at the table, “I’ve struck it right this time!”

“In-deed!” said Nan, raising her eyebrows, quizzically.

“Yes, I have! You needn’t laugh like that.”

“I didn’t laugh.”

“Yes, you did,—behind your eyes, but I saw you! Now, as I tell you, this time conquers!”

“Good for you, Patsy! Let me congratulate you. Let me do it now, lest I shouldn’t be able to do it later.”

“Huh! I thought you had faith in me.”

“And so I have, Patty girl,” said Nan, growing serious all at once. “I truly have. Also, I’ll help you, if I can.”

“That’s just it, Nan. You can help me this time, and I’m going to tell you all about it, before I start in.”

“Going to tell me now?”

“Yes, because I go this afternoon.”

“Go where?”

“That’s just it. I go to take a position as a companion to an elderly lady. And I shall stay a week. I’ll take some clothes in a suitcase, or small trunk, and after I’m gone, you must tell father, and make it all right with him.”

“But, Patty, he said at the outset, you must be home by five o’clock every day, whatever you were doing.”

“Yes; but that referred to occupations by the day. Now, that I’ve decided to take this sort of a position, which is really more appropriate to a lady of my ‘social standing,’ you must explain to him that I can’t come home at five o’clock, because I have to stay all the time, nights and all.”

“Patty, you’re crazy!”

“No, I’m not. I’m determined; I’m even stubborn, if you like; but I’m going! So, that’s settled. Now, you said you’d help me. Are you going to back out?”

“No; I’m not. But I can’t approve of it.”

“Oh, you can, if you try hard enough. Just think how much properer it is for me to be companion to a lovely lady in her own house, than to be racing around lower Broadway for patchwork!”

“That’s so,” said Nan, and then she realised that if she knew where Patty was going, they could go and bring her home at any time, if Mr. Fairfield wished.

“Well,” she went on, “who’s your lovely lady?”

“Mrs. Van Reypen.”

“Patty Fairfield! Not the Mrs. Van Reypen?”

“Yes, the very one! Isn’t it gay? She’s a bit eccentric, and she advertised for a companion, saying the application must be a written one. So I pranced up to her house this morning, and secured the position.”

“But she said to apply by letter.”

“Yes; that’s why I went myself! I sent up my card, and a message that I had come in answer to her advertisement. She sent back word that I could go home and write to her. I said I’d write then and there. So I helped myself to her library desk, and wrote out a regular application. In less than five minutes, I was summoned to her august presence, and after looking me over, she engaged me at once. How’s that for quick action?”

“But does she know who you are?”

“Why, she knows my name, and that’s all.”

“But she’s a,—why, she’s sort of an institution.”

“Yes; I know she’s a public benefactor, and all that. But, really, she’s very interesting; though, I fancy she has a quick temper. However, we’ve made the agreement for a week. Then if either of us wants to back out, we’re at liberty to do so.”

“She was willing to arrange it that way?”

“She insisted on it. She never takes anybody until after a week’s trial.”

“What are your duties?”

“Oh, almost nothing. I’m not a social secretary, or anything like that. Merely a companion, to be with her, and read to her occasionally, or perhaps sing to her, and go to drive with her,—and that’s about all.”

“No one else in the family?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t speak of any one, except her secretary and servants. She’s rather old-fashioned, and the house is dear. All crystal chandeliers, and old frescoed walls and ceilings, and elaborate door-frames. Why, Nan, it’ll be fun to be there a week, and it’s so,—well, so safe and pleasant, you know, and so correct and seemly. Why, if I really had to earn my own living, I couldn’t do better than to be companion to Mrs. Van Reypen.”

“No; I suppose not. What is the salary?”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of it! It’s just fifteen dollars a week. And as I get ‘board and lodging’ beside, I’m really doing better than I agreed to.”

“I don’t like it, Patty,” said Nan, after a few moments’ thought. “But it’s better, in some ways, than the other things you’ve done. Go on, and I’ll truly do all I can to talk your father into letting you stay there a week; but if he won’t consent, I can’t help it.”

“Why, of course he’ll consent, Nan, if you put it to him right. You can make him see anything as you see it, if you try. You know you can.”

“Well, go ahead. I suppose a week will pass; and anyway, you’ll probably come flying home after a couple of days.”

“No; I’m going to stay the week, if it finishes me. I’m tired of defeats; this time I conquer. You may help me pack, if you like.”

“You won’t need many frocks, will you?” said Nan, as they went up to Patty’s room.

“No; just some light, dressy things for evening,—she’s rather formal,—and some plain morning gowns.”

Nan helped Patty with her selection, and a small trunk was filled with what they considered an appropriate wardrobe for a companion.

At about four o’clock Patty started, in the motor-car.

Mrs. Van Reypen received her pleasantly, and as they sat chatting over a cup of tea, Patty felt more like an honoured guest than a subordinate.

Then Mrs. Van Reypen dismissed her, saying:

“Go to your room now, my dear, and occupy yourself as you choose until dinner-time. Dinner is at seven. There will be no guests, but you will wear a light, pretty gown, if you please. I am punctilious in such matters.”

Patty went to her room, greatly pleased with the turn events had taken. She wished she could telephone home how pleasantly she was getting along; but she thought wiser not to do that so soon.

As it neared dinner-time, she put on one of her prettiest dresses, a light blue chiffon, with a touch of silver embroidery round the half-low throat and short sleeves.

A few minutes before seven, she went slowly down the dark, old staircase, with its massive newels and balusters.

As she reached the middle steps, she observed an attractive, but bored-looking young man in the hall.

He had not noticed her light steps, and Patty paused a moment to look at him. As she stood, wondering who he might be, he chanced to turn, and saw her.

The young man ran his eyes swiftly, from the cloud of blue chiffon, up to the smiling face, with its crown of massed golden hair, which a saucy bow of blue ribbon did its best to hold in place.

His face promptly lost its bored expression, and with his hands still in his pockets, he involuntarily breathed a long, low whistle.

The sound seemed to bring back his lost wits, and quickly drawing his hands into view, he stepped forward, saying:

“I beg your pardon for that unconventional note of admiration, but I trust you will accept it as the tribute for which it was meant.”

This was an easy opening, and Patty was quite ready to respond gaily, when she suddenly remembered her position in the house and wondered if a companion ought to speak to a strange young man in the same language a young person in society might use.

“Thank you,” she said, uncertainly, and her shy hesitation completely captured the heart of Philip Van Reypen.

“Come on down; I won’t eat you,” he said, reassuringly. “You are, I assume, a guest of my aunt’s.”

“I am Mrs. Van Reypen’s companion,” said Patty, but though she made the announcement demurely enough, the funny side of it all struck her so forcibly that she had difficulty to keep the corners of her mouth from showing her amusement.

“By Jove!” exclaimed the young man, “Aunty Van always is lucky! Now, I’m her nephew.”

“Does that prove her good luck?” said Patty, unable to be prim in the face of this light gaiety.

“Yes, indeed! Come on down, and get acquainted, and you’ll agree with me.”

“I don’t believe I ought to,” said Patty, hesitatingly placing one little satin-slippered foot on the next step below, and then pausing again. “You see, I’ve never been a companion before, but I don’t think it’s right for me to precede Mrs. Van Reypen into the drawing-room.”

“Ah, well, perhaps not. Stay on the stairs, then, if you think that’s the proper place. I daresay it is,—I never was a companion, either; so I’m not sure. But sit down, won’t you? I’ll sit here, if I may.”

Young Van Reypen dropped onto a stair a few steps below Patty, who sat down, too, feeling decidedly at her ease, for, upon occasion, a staircase was one of her favourite haunts.

“It’s like a party,” she said, smiling. “I love to sit on a staircase at a party, don’t you?”

And so provocative of sociability did the staircase prove, that when Mrs. Van Reypen came down, in all the glory of her black velvet and old lace, she nearly tumbled over two chatting young people, who seemed to be very good friends.

“Philip! You here?” she exclaimed, and a casual observer would have said she was not too well pleased.

“Yes, Aunty Van; aren’t you as glad to see me as I am to see you? I’ve been making Miss Fairfield’s acquaintance. You may introduce us if you like, but it isn’t really necessary.”

“So it seems,” said the old lady, drily; “but as I have some regard for the conventions, I will present to you, Miss Fairfield, my scape-grace and ne’er-do-well nephew, Philip Van Reypen.”

“What an awful reputation to live up to,” said Patty, smiling at the debonair Philip, who quite looked the part his aunt assigned to him.

“Awful, but not at all difficult,” he responded, gaily, and Patty followed as he escorted his aunt to the dining-room.

The little dinner-party was a gay one; Mrs. Van Reypen became mildly amiable under the influence of the young people’s merry chatter, and Patty felt that so far, at least, a companion’s lot was not such a very unhappy one.

After dinner, however, the young man was sent peremptorily away. He begged to stay, but his aunt ordered him off, declaring that she had seen enough of him, and he was not to return for a week at least. Philip went away, sulkily, declaring that he would call the very next morning to inquire after his aunt’s health.

“I trust you are not flirtatiously inclined, Miss Fairfield,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, as the two sat alone in the large and rather sombre drawing-room.

“I am not,” said Patty, honestly. “I like gay and merry conversation, but as your companion, I consider myself entirely at your orders, and have no mind to chatter if you do not wish me to do so.”

“That is right,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, approvingly. “You cannot have many friends in your present position, of course. And you must not feel flattered at Mr. Philip’s apparent admiration of you. He is a most impressionable youth, and is caught by every new face he sees.”

Patty smiled at the idea of her being unduly impressed by Mr. Van Reypen’s glances. She had given him no thought, save as a good-natured, well-bred young man.

But she pleasantly assured Mrs. Van Reypen that she would give her nephew no further consideration, and though Mrs. Van Reypen looked sharply at Patty’s face, she saw only an honest desire to please her employer.

The evening was long and uninteresting.

At Mrs. Van Reypen’s request, Patty read to her, and then sang for her.

But the lady was critical, and declared that the reading was too fast, and the singing too loud, so that when at last it was bedtime, Patty wondered whether she was giving satisfaction or not.

But she was engaged for a week, anyway, and whether satisfactory or not, Mrs. Van Reypen must keep her for that length of time, and that was all Patty wanted.

She woke next morning with a pang of homesickness. It was a bit forlorn, to wake up as a hired companion, instead of as a beloved daughter in her own father’s house.

But resolutely putting aside such thoughts, she forced herself to think of her good fortune in securing her present position.

“I’m glad I’m here!” she assured herself, as she dashed cold water into her suspiciously reddened eyes. “I know I shall have all sorts of odd and interesting adventures here; and I’m determined to be happy whatever happens. And, anyway, it will be over soon. A week isn’t long.”

Putting on a trim morning dress, of soft old rose cashmere, with a fine embroidered white yoke, she went sedately down to the breakfast room. She had been told to come to breakfast at nine o’clock, and the clock struck the hour just as she crossed the threshold.

Instead of her employer, she was astounded to see Philip Van Reypen calmly seated at the table.

“Jolly to see you again!” he cried, as he jumped up to greet her. “Just thought I’d run in for a bite of breakfast, and to inquire how Aunty Van’s cold is.”

“I didn’t know she had a cold,” said Patty, primly, trying to act as she thought a companion ought to act.

“Neither did I,” said the irrepressible Philip. “But I didn’t know but she might have caught one in the night. A germ flying in at the window, or something.”

Mindful of Mrs. Van Reypen’s admonitions, Patty tried not to appear interested in the young man’s remarks, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that he was interested in her.

She responded to his gay banter in monosyllables, and kept her dancing eyes veiled by their own long-fringed lids, but this only served to pique Philip’s curiosity.

“I’ve a notion to spend the day here, with Aunty Van,” he said, and then Patty glanced up at him in positive alarm.

“Don’t!” she cried, and her face betokened a genuine distress.

“Why not?” said the surprised young man; “have you learned to dislike me so cordially already?”

Amiable Patty couldn’t stand for this misinterpretation of her attitude, and her involuntary, smiling glance was a sufficient disclaimer.

But she was saved the necessity of a verbal reply, for just at that moment Mrs. Van Reypen came into the room.