“YES, indeed,” said Patty, pleasantly.

“And then a broad-leafed hat, with ribbons from the edge of the brim, tied under my chin,—or, perhaps chiffon ties. Which would you have, Patty?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, in a voice of enthusiasm, but not looking up from her book.

“Oh, Patty, you silly! Now, listen. Look at these plates, and pick out the prettiest hat so I may get it for the garden-party.”

Lady Kitty spread out the sheets of millinery designs, and still absorbed in her reading, Patty lifted her hand and, without looking, pointed a finger at random till it rested on one of the pictured hats.

“That one! Why, Patty, you’re crazy! I couldn’t wear that pudgy little turban,—I want a big sun-hat. Would you have a straw or lace?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, turning a leaf and devouring the next page of her book.

“Angel child! You think you’re teasing me, don’t you? But not so! I love to see you so bent on literary pursuits! Indeed, I don’t think one book at a time is enough for a great brain like yours,—you should have two at once. You go on with yours, and I’ll read another to you.”

Picking up a book from a rustic couch near by, Lady Kitty began to read aloud. Her reading was more dramatic than the text warranted, and besides much elocutionary effect, she gesticulated vigorously, and finally rose, and standing straight in front of Patty, kept on reading and declaiming in ludicrous style.

The two were under a large marquee, on the lawn of Markleham Grange, the country home of Lady Hamilton, and her father, Sir Otho. Patty was comfortably tucked up among the cushions of a lengthy wicker chair, and had elected to spend the morning reading a new story-book of the very kind she liked best. So, partly because she didn’t want to be disturbed, but more for the sake of mischievously teasing her friend, Patty pretended to be oblivious to the hat subject.

But she could not long keep a straight face while Kitty waved her arms and trilled her voice in ridiculous fashion, as she continued to read aloud from the book. Then she would drop into a monotonous drawl, then gallop ahead without emphasis or inflection, and sometimes she would chant the words in dramatic recitative.

Of course, while this went on, Patty couldn’t read her own book, so finding herself beaten at her own game of teasing, she closed the volume, and said quietly:

“I wish you’d let me advise you about that new hat you’re thinking of buying. You always selects such frights.” As Lady Hamilton’s hats were renowned for their beauty and variety, this speech was taken at its worth, and in a moment the two friends were earnestly discussing the respective merits of chiffon, lace, and straw, as protection against the rays of a garden-party sun.

It was the latter part of a lovely morning in the latter part of a lovely August. Patty had drifted through the summer, making and unmaking plans continuously in her efforts to secure the greatest good to the greatest number of her family and friends. She had not joined her parents in Switzerland, as she had thought to do, for invitations to various English country-houses had seemed more attractive, and after a round of such parties, Patty had come to Markleham Grange, for the double purpose of having a few quiet weeks, and of being with her adored friend, Lady Kitty.

The Grange was a typical country home, with all the appurtenances of terraces, gardens, duck-ponds, woodlands, and hunting preserves.

In the great, rambling house guests came and went, and Patty greatly enjoyed the personal freedom that prevailed.

Though occupations and amusements of all sorts were provided, no social obligations were exacted until afternoon tea time. At five, however, everybody assembled on the lawn, or, if rainy, in Sir Otho’s billiard-room, and the host himself accepted the attention and companionship of his guests. Dinner, too, was rather formal, and there was always pleasant entertainment in the evening. But it seemed to Patty that she liked the mornings best. She strolled, often all by herself, through the woods and parks; she chatted with the old gardener about the rare and beautiful flowers; she played with the pet fawns, or idly drifted about the lake in a small rowboat. Sometimes she met Sir Otho on her morning rambles, and for a time they would chat together. The old gentleman had a decided liking for Patty, and though he was an opinionated man, and dictatorial of speech, the girl’s innate tactfulness kept her from rousing his contradictory spirit, and they were most amiable friends. But, perhaps best of all, Patty liked the mornings when boxes of new books arrived from London.

Selecting an interesting story, she would make a bee-line for her favourite reading-place. This was a large tent-like affair, canopied, but without sides, and furnished with wicker chairs, tables, and lounges. Soft rugs covered the ground, and the view was across a small lake, dotted with tiny, flowery islands, to glorious green woodlands beyond.

Here, Patty would read and dream until the all too short morning had flown away, and a servant, or Lady Kitty herself, would come to summon her to luncheon. And it was here that Lady Kitty came, with her sheets of new hat designs, just up from London, when teasing Patty declined to be interested.

But having at last thrown herself into the discussion it proved to be an animated one, and ended by Lady Kitty’s return to the house to send an order for hats for both of them.

Patty remained in her lounging chair, but did not immediately resume her book. Her thoughts flew back to Kitty’s ridiculous antics as she read aloud to tease Patty. Then her gaze wandered out to the lake, and she watched a flock of ducklings, who were enthusiastically paddling along by the side of their more sedate mother. Such funny, blundering, little balls of down they were, and when one of them nearly turned a somersault in its efforts to swim gracefully, Patty laughed aloud at him.

“Do it again!” said a low but commanding voice at her side, and Patty looked round to see a grave-looking young man seated on the arm of a chair.

She had not heard him approach, and she stared at him with a pardonable curiosity. He was garbed in white flannels, with a soft, white, silk shirt and Windsor tie.

Though most correct in manner and bearing, he yet had an informal effect, and his large dark eyes looked almost mournfully at Patty.

“I said, do it again!” he repeated, in a slightly aggrieved tone.

“Do what again?” said Patty, more astonished than offended.

“Make that funny noise,—something like a laugh; was it a laugh?”

“Why, yes; one of my very best ones. Didn’t you like it?”

“I thought it was a chime of fairy bells,” was the reply, so fervently given that Patty laughed again.

The young man solemnly bowed as if in acknowledgment of her kindness.

“Don’t take it so hard,” she said, smiling; “you’ll get over it; you’ll be all right in a moment.”

“I’m all right now, thank you. I get used to things very quickly. And,—by the way,—you don’t mind my talking to you? Without having been properly introduced, I mean.”

“I do mind very much. I think you’re forward and unconventional, and I hate both those traits.”

“You’re so direct! Now, a softer, subtler insinuation would have pleased me better.”

“But I’m not trying to please you!”

“No? You really ought to study to please.” The young man arose and looked at Patty with an air of calm, impersonal criticism. “It would suit your personal appearance so well.”

“Indeed! What is my personal appearance?”

“Ah, direct and curious, both! Well, your beauty is of the sort described in most novels as ‘not a classic face, or even good-featured, but with that indescribable charm’——”

“Indeed! I’ve been told that my features were very good.”

“Ridiculous nonsense! Why, your eyes are too large for your face; your hair is too heavy for your head; and, and, your hands are too little for anything!”

“How rude you are!” said Patty, shaking with laughter, “but as I brought it on myself, I suppose I oughtn’t to complain. Now, let’s drop personalities and talk commonplaces.”

“Awfully mean of you—before I had my innings. However, I don’t care; let’s. It’s a fine, well-aired morning, isn’t it?”

“Are you always so funny?” asked Patty, staring at the young man, like a child pleased with a new toy.

“’Most always,” was the cheerful retort; “aren’t you?”

“Now you’re rude again, and I must ask you to go away. But tell me your name before you go, so that I may avoid you in future.”

“What a good plan! My name, on the Grampian Hills, is Floyd Austin, and, truly, I’m well worth knowing. This performance this morning is just an escapade. Into each life some escapades must fall, you know. And, by the way, if you’ll disentangle your eyes from my gaze just for a minute, and look the other way, you’ll see the august Sir Otho coming, with ‘bless you, my children’ written legibly in every line of his shining morning face.”

Sir Otho came toward them with hearty greetings.

“Well, well, Patty,” he said; “so you already know our friend Austin? That’s good, that’s good! But you must be afraid of him, for he’s one of our coming poets. He’s already a celebrity, you know.”

“Are you a celebrity?” demanded Patty, turning to Floyd Austin.

“I am,” he said, gravely, “why?”

“Why are you one?”

“To pay a bet,” Austin replied, so promptly that his two hearers laughed.

“He’s crazy,” said Patty to Sir Otho; “I never heard such talk!”

“He’s a humorist, my dear child; you don’t know his language.”

“A humorist?” said Patty, turning to Austin with simple inquiry on her pretty face. “I thought you were a poet.”

Austin flashed an amused look at Sir Otho, and then looking at Patty, he said, in a smooth, even voice:

“‘The force of Nature could no further go,—To make myself she joined the other two.’”

“I do understand your language,” cried Patty, gaily, “that’s in Bartlett,—and it says, ‘Under Mr. Milton’s Picture’!”

“Oh, my dear Patty,” said Sir Otho, “is your poetical knowledge bounded by Bartlett?”

“But, Sir Otho,” observed Floyd Austin, in his slow, quiet way, “Bartlett is not such a bad boundary. His book is like a bird’s-eye view of a city,—which is always a good thing, for one can then pick out the churches and monuments so easily.”

“Yes, and one can miss the most interesting bits that lurk in narrow streets and obscure corners.”

“True enough, and so we both have the best of the argument.”

Floyd Austin was a popular favourite, and one of the explanations of his popularity lay in the fact that he rarely continued to disagree with any one. The discomfiture of another, which is so pleasing to some clever people, was positively painful to his sensitive nature, and so easily adaptable were his own opinions, that he could adjust them to suit those of another with no trouble at all. This made his character somewhat indefinite, but added to the charm of his personality, and his sunny good nature was a quick passport to the good will of a new acquaintance.

One of Austin’s minor interests was harmony of colour. He looked at Patty as she stood leaning lightly against the back of the chair from which she had risen at Sir Otho’s approach. She wore a long summer cloak of a light tan-coloured silk, lined with another silk that was pink, like a seashell.

Simply cut, the long full folds almost hid her white frock, and she gathered the yielding material about her with a graceful gesture.

“How well you wear that cape, Miss Fairfield,” said Floyd, and then turning to Sir Otho, he asked, “Doesn’t she?”

“Why, yes; I daresay,” said the older man, uncertainly. “Do you, Patty?”

“I don’t know,” said the girl, laughing. “I hope so, I’m sure, for it’s one of my favourite wraps. Are you an artist, Mr. Austin, that you’re so observant?”

“I’m an artist in most ways, yes,” he replied; “and I love colour better than anything else in the world. Those two shades in your cloak, now, are like——”

“Like coffee and strawberry ice cream,” put in saucy Patty, and young Austin agreed enthusiastically.

“Just that,” he cried, “and surely there’s no better combination.”

“I like lemon, myself,” began Sir Otho, and just then Lady Hamilton came trailing her soft frills across the lawn toward the group.

“Floyd Austin! by all that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, as she held out both hands to the young man, and smiled a welcome.

“Yes, Lady Kitty,” he said, taking her hands, and smiling an acceptance of her welcome, “and so glad to see you again.”

“Is Mr. Austin a long-lost brother?” asked Patty, “and if so, why have I never heard of him before?”

“Yes, he’s a brother of all the world,” said Kitty; “the very dearest boy ever. I believe he lives next door to us, but he’s never there, for when he’s there he’s always here!”

“Oh, is he Irish?” said Patty, and Floyd Austin’s eyes twinkled at her quick repartee.

“He’s cosmopolitan,” said Sir Otho; “lives all over the world. But he’s a dear vagabond, and as long as we can keep him here, we’re going to do so.”

“Not long,” said Austin, shaking his head. “I’m just down for a whiffling trip, and then off again to a summer clime.”

“Oh, you can change your plans,” said Lady Kitty, easily. “I’ve known you to do it before. And I’m sure I can persuade you now, for I’ve Miss Fairfield to help me coax you.”

“Oh, I’m no good at coaxing,” said saucy Patty, who was not yet quite sure that she liked this rather audacious young man.

“But I’ll teach you how to coax prettily,” he said; “and then when you learn, you can coax me to do anything, and I’ll allow myself to be persuaded.”

“Allow yourself indeed!” said Patty. “Probably you won’t be able to help yourself!”

“Probably not,” he responded, with his unfailing concurrence.