After a time the men came from the dining-room and rejoined the ladies.

Patty was chatting with a group of young women, and when she glanced around, it was to see Lord Ruthven standing at her side.

“I was miles away from you at dinner,” he said, “but now there is an opportunity, let us begin our lessons in English at once.”

“Do,” said Patty, smiling; “where shall be our classroom?”

“We’ll pre-empt this sofa,” said Lord Ruthven, indicating, as he spoke, a gold-framed Louis XIV. tÊte-À-tÊte. “We’ll pretend that it is a real schoolroom, with four walls hung with maps and charts—just such as you used to have when you were a little girl.”

Patty smiled at this reference to her far-away school-days, but fell in with his mood.

“Yes,” she said, “and you must be the stern schoolmaster, and I the stupid pupil who has been kept in after school.”

But their merry game was interrupted by Lady Herenden’s invitation to the ballroom.

Escorted by Lord Ruthven, Patty followed the others to the great hall where they were to dance.

It was a resplendent apartment, with balconies and boxes, from which the spectators could look down upon the dancers. A fine orchestra furnished the music, and Patty, who loved to dance, found her feet involuntarily keeping time to the harmonious strains.

“Shall we have a try?” said Lord Ruthven, and in a moment they were gliding over the smooth floor.

Patty already knew that English dancing is not like the American steps, but she was so completely mistress of the art, that she could adapt herself instantly to any variation.

“I won’t compliment your dancing,” said the Earl, as the waltz was finished, “for you must have been told so often how wonderfully well you dance. But I must tell you what a pleasure it is to dance with you.”

Patty thought this a very pretty speech, and graciously gave his lordship some other dances for which he asked, and then, leaving her with Lady Herenden, he excused himself and went away. Then Patty was besieged with would-be partners. Her dancing had called forth the admiration of everybody, and the young men crowded about, begging to see her dance-card.

Only Mr. Merivale stood aloof. He was still sulky, and he looked so like a cross schoolboy that Patty took pity on him.

She slightly nodded her head at him by way of invitation, and he came slowly toward her.

“Which two do you want?” she said, demurely.

Merivale’s face lighted up. “You are indeed kind,” he said, in a low voice. “I will take any you will give me. My card is blank as yet.”

So Patty arranged the dances, and the young man went away looking much happier. The evening was all too short. Patty whirled through dance after dance, and between them was restored to Lady Herenden or Lady Hamilton, only to be claimed the next minute by another partner.

“What a belle it is!” said Lady Herenden, patting the girl’s shoulder affectionately. “You have made a real sensation, Miss Fairfield.”

“But I’m Cinderella, to-night,” she said, gaily.

“Wait till to-morrow, and see all my popularity vanish.”

Lady Herenden did not understand, but took it as merry chaff and paid no heed.

Then Lord Ruthven came for the last dance.

“This is an extra, Miss Fairfield,” he said; “will you give it to me?”

Patty agreed, but as they walked away, his Lordship said:

“You look really tired; would you not rather sit on the terrace than dance?”

“I am tired,” said Patty, honestly; “I think it’s carrying this heavy train around. I’ve never before danced in a long gown.”

“Then you shall rest. Let us sit on the terrace, and I’ll send for an ice for you.”

Lord Ruthven was very kind and courteous. He found a delightful corner of the terrace unoccupied, and he arranged two wicker easy-chairs, where they might be just out of the way of the promenaders. He asked a footman to bring the ices, and then seated himself beside Patty.

“Is it not beautiful,” he said, “the rose garden in the moonlight? One can almost fancy the roses opening beneath the moon’s light as in daytime by the sun’s warm rays.”

“Yes,” said Patty, falling in with his fanciful mood, “and I think, perhaps, at night, the white roses and the pale yellow ones bloom. Then at daybreak, the pink or blush roses open, and at midday the deep red ones.”

“You have the mind of a poet, Miss Fairfield. Where do you get those graceful conceits?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patty, carelessly; “I think they are the result of this beautiful moonlight night, and these picturesque surroundings.”

“Yes, I am sure that is true. You have a soul that responds to all beauty in art or nature. Let us take a short turn in the rose garden, and get a view of this noble old house with the moonlight full upon it.”

“But I want my ice cream,” objected Patty, who still had her schoolgirl appetite.

“We’ll stay but a moment, and we’ll return to find it awaiting us,” gently insisted Lord Ruthven, and Patty amiably went down the terrace steps and along the garden path with him.

Near a clump of cedars, only a short distance away, they turned to look at the beautiful old house. Herenden Hall was always a splendid picture, but especially at night, backgrounded by a gray sky full of racing clouds, and touched at every gable by the silver moonlight, it was enchanting.

“Oh,” said Patty, drawing a sigh, “it is the most wonderful effect I ever saw. See that great, quiet roof sloping darkly away, and beneath, the gay lights of the terrace, and the laughter of happy people.”

“It is a beautiful picture,” said Lord Ruthven, looking steadily at Patty, “but not so beautiful as another one I see. A lovely face framed in soft, shining curls, against a background of dark cedar trees.”

His tone, even more than his words, alarmed Patty. She was not used to such speeches as this, and she said, gravely: “Take me back to the house, please, Lord Ruthven.”

“Not just yet,” pleaded the nobleman. “Dear Miss Fairfield, listen to me a moment. Let me tell you something. Let me justify myself. I oughtn’t to talk to you like this, I know—but the fact is—oh, the fact is you’ve completely bowled me over.”

“What?” said Patty, not at all comprehending his meaning.

“Yes; I’m done for—and at first sight! And by an American! But it’s a fact. I adore you, Miss Fairfield—I’m so desperately in love with you that I can’t down it. Oh, I know I oughtn’t to be talking to you like this. I ought to see your father, and all that. And I will, as soon as I can, but—oh, I say, Patty, tell me you like me a little!”

It suddenly dawned on Patty that she was having a proposal! And from an English Earl! And all on account of her grown-up gown! The absurdity of it impressed her far more than the romantic side of it, and though a little frightened, she couldn’t help smiling at the Earl’s tragic tones.

“Nonsense, Lord Ruthven,” she said, though her cheeks were pink; “don’t talk like that. Please cut me that lovely cluster of roses, and then take me back to Lady Hamilton.”

The Earl drew a penknife from his pocket, and cut the flowers she asked for. Then he stood, trimming off the thorns, and looking down at her.

Patty had never looked so winsome. Her garb made her seem a grown woman, and yet the situation alarmed her, and her perplexed face was that of a troubled child.

“Tell me,” he repeated, “that you like me a little.”

“Of course I like you a little,” returned Patty, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“That’s something,” said the Earl, in a tone of satisfaction, “and now will you accept these flowers as a gift from me? As, for the moment, I’ve nothing else to offer.”

Patty took the flowers in both hands, but Lord Ruthven still held them, too, saying: “And will you let them mean——?”

“No,” cried Patty, “they don’t mean anything—not anything at all!”

Lord Ruthven clasped Patty’s two hands, roses and all, in his own.

“They do,” he said quietly; “they mean I love you. Do you understand?”

He looked straight into the troubled, beseeching eyes that met his own.

“Please let me go, Lord Ruthven—please!” said Patty, her hands trembling in his own.

“You may go, if you will first call me by some less formal name. Patty, dearest, say Sylvester—just once!”

This desperate request was too much for Patty’s sense of humour.

“Why can’t I say it twice?” she said in a low tone, but her voice was shaking with laughter.

“You little witch!” exclaimed the Earl, and his clasp tightened on her hands. “Now you shan’t go until you have said it twice!”

“Sylvester—Sylvester—there!” said Patty, her eyes twinkling with fun, and her lips on the verge of laughter. Then, gently disengaging her hands from his, she gathered up her long white train, and prepared to run away.

The Earl laid a detaining hand on her arm. “Miss Fairfield,” he said, “Patty, I won’t keep you now, but to-morrow you’ll give me an opportunity, won’t you? to tell you——”

“Wait till to-morrow, my lord,” said Patty, really laughing now. “You will probably have changed your mind.”

“How little you know me!” he cried, reproachfully, and then they had reached the terrace, and joined the others.

Soon after the guests all retired to their own rooms, and the moonlight on Herenden Hall saw no more the gay scene on the terrace.

Patty, passing through her own room, discovered that her two trunks had arrived and had been unpacked. She went straight on and tapped at Lady Hamilton’s door. “Get me out of this gown, please, Marie; I’ve had quite enough of being a grown-up young woman!”

“What’s the matter, Patty?” said Lady Kitty, looking round. “Didn’t you have a good time this evening?”

“The time of my life!” declared Patty, dropping into her own graphic speech, as she emerged from the heap of lace and silk. “I’ll see you later, Kitty,” and without further word she returned to her own room.

And later, when Marie had been dismissed, Patty crept back to Lady Hamilton, a very different Patty, indeed. Her hair fell in two long braids, with curly tails; a dainty dressing-gown enveloped her slight figure; and on her bare feet were heelless satin slippers. She found Lady Kitty in an armchair before the wood fire, awaiting her.

Patty threw a big, fat sofa pillow at her friend’s feet, and settled herself cosily upon it.

“Well, girlie,” said Lady Hamilton, “come to the story at once. What happened to you as a grown-up?”

“What usually happens to grown-ups, I suppose,” said Patty, demurely; “the Earl of Ruthven proposed to me.”

“What!” cried Lady Hamilton, starting up, and quite upsetting Patty from her cushion.

“Yes, he did,” went on Patty, placidly; “shall I accept him?”

“Patty, you naughty child, tell me all about it at once! Oh, what shall I say to your father and mother?”

Patty grinned. “Yes, it was all your fault, Kitty. If I hadn’t worn your gown, he would never have dreamed of such a thing.”

“But, Patty, it can’t be true. You must have misunderstood him.”

“Not I. It’s my first proposal, to be sure; but I know what a man means when he says he loves me and begs me to call him by his first name. And I did—twice.”

Patty went off in shrieks of laughter at the remembrance of it, and she rocked back and forth on her cushion in paroxysms of mirth.

“Patty, behave yourself, and tell me the truth. I’ve a mind to shake you!”

“I am shaking,” said Patty, trying to control her voice. “And I am telling you the truth. His first name is Sylvester. Lovely name!”

“Where did this occur?”

“In the rose garden. Oh, right near the terrace. Not a dozen yards away from you all. I’m sure if you’d been listening, you could have heard me say, ‘Sylvester—Sylvester!’”

Again Patty went off in uncontrollable merriment at this recollection, and Lady Kitty had to laugh too.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to wait till to-morrow, and he’d probably change his mind. And I see my trunks have come, so he surely will. You see he proposed to that long-tailed gown and jewelled tiara I had on——”

“It wasn’t a tiara.”

“Well, it looked something like one. I’m sure he thought it was. He doubtless wants a dignified, stately Lady Ruthven, and he thought I was it. Oh, Kitty! if you could have heard him.”

“I don’t think it’s nice of you, to take him that way.”

“All right, I won’t. But I’m not going to take him at all. Why, Kitty, when he sees me to-morrow in my own little pink muslin, he won’t know me, let alone remembering what he said to me.”

“Patty, you’re incorrigible. I don’t know what to say to you. But I hope your parents won’t blame me for this.”

“Of course they won’t, Kitsie. You see it was an accident. A sort of case of mistaken identity. I don’t mind it so much now that it’s over, but I was scared stiff at the time. Only it was all so funny that it swallowed up my scare. Now I’ll tell you the whole story.”

So Patty told every word that the Earl had said to her during the evening, in the ballroom and on the terrace. And Lady Hamilton listened attentively.

“You were not a bit to blame, dear,” she said, kindly, when the tale was finished. “I don’t think you even flirted with him. But it’s truly extraordinary that he should speak so soon.”

“It was on the spur of the moment,” declared Patty, with conviction. “You know, moonlight and roses and a summer evening have a romantic influence on some natures.”

“What do you know of a romantic influence, you baby. Hop along to bed, now, and get up in the morning your own sweet, natural self—without a thought of Earls or moonlight.”

“I will so,” said Patty; “I didn’t like it a bit, except that it was all so funny. Won’t Nan howl?”

“She may, but I’m afraid your father will be annoyed. You know you’re in my care, Patty.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll tell Daddy all about it. And I rather guess it will make him laugh.”