AFTERNOON tea was in progress, and as a light rain had set in, it was being served in the billiard-room.

This large apartment was very attractive, for aside from the purpose for which it was intended, it was admirably adapted for a cosy lounging-place. A sort of extension with roof and sides of stained glass was an ideal place for the tea-table and its many appurtenances, and except for the footman, who brought in fresh supplies, Lady Kitty and her guests waited upon themselves.

Though never a large group, a few neighbours usually dropped in at tea-time, and as there were always some people staying in the house, the hour was a social one.

Patty, looking very dainty in a pretty little house-dress of Dresden silk, was having a very good time.

Flo Carrington, a young English girl, whom she had met only the day before, came bustling in with exclamations of dismay.

“I’m nearly drowned!” she cried. “The pelting rain has ruined me frock, and I’m starving for me tea. Do give me some, dear Lady Kitty.”

“You shall have it at once,” declared Patty, hovering around the tea things; “cream or lemon?”

“Lemon, and two lumps. You pretty Patty-thing, I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve only known you twenty-four hours, but already I feel one-sided if you’re not by me. Sit down, and let’s indulge in pleasant conversation.”

So with their teacups, the girls sat down, and being largely about their two selves, the conversation was very pleasant indeed. But soon they were interrupted, as Cadwalader Oram, a typical young Englishman, approached them.

“You two young women have monopolised each other long enough,” he declared; “you must now endeavour to entertain me.”

“That’s easy,” said Patty, and turning to a near-by muffin-stand, she took a plate of hot, buttered ones, and offered them to young Oram; “have a muffin?”

“Indeed I will, they’re very entertaining. Have you ever noticed how wonderful the Markleham muffins are? I get such nowhere else. Why is that, I wonder?”

Lady Kitty, who was waiting by, answered this herself.

“Because at large and formal teas,” she said, “muffins are not served; and if one’s friends drop in unexpectedly, muffins are rarely ready. It is my aim in life to have just so many people to tea as will justify muffins without prohibiting them.”

“At last I understand why the teas at this house are always perfection,” said Oram, rising for a moment as Lady Kitty moved away.

A newcomer had arrived, and Patty, looking up, saw Floyd Austin’s grave face in the doorway.

“Owing to the inclemency of the weather, the starving people gathered in the billiard-room to partake of that nourishment which was to keep them alive until the dinner hour.”

He said this in an impersonal, reading-aloud sort of voice, which seemed to Patty extremely funny.

“He’s always doing that,” said Flo Carrington; “sometimes he’s screamingly droll.”

After greeting his hostess, Austin made his way toward the small group clustered round Patty.

With much chat and banter, he was served with tea and muffins, and so much attention was shown him that Patty concluded he must be a favourite indeed.

“I fear we have rudely run into a cloudburst or something,” remarked Cadwalader Oram, unsuccessfully trying to look through a window, whose stained glass was further obscured by slipping raindrops.

“Sit down, Caddy,” said Flo; “you mar the harmony of this meeting when you’re so restless.”

“Being thus admonished, young Oram crumpled himself gracefully into a chair,” drawled Floyd Austin, as Oram did that very thing, and Patty’s laughter rang out at the apt description.

“Do that again,” said Austin, looking gravely at Patty, but she only smiled saucily at him, and looked over his head at another man who was approaching.

“Mayn’t I be invited to join this all-star group?” If the speaker’s voice betokened a confidence in his own welcome, it was not misplaced, for smiles of greeting were bestowed on him, and Flo Carrington moved to make room for him between herself and Patty on the great settle.

“Striving to act as if a literary lion were an everyday occurrence, the ladies beamed graciously upon him,” droned Austin; and so pat was his allusion that they all laughed.

“This is Peter Homer, Miss Fairfield,” said Flo, and Austin added:

“Beyond all doubt, the most outrageously interesting man you have ever met.”

“Just queer enough to be delightful,” put in Cadwalader Oram, and Mr. Homer smiled benignly at the chaff flung at him.

“He isn’t queer at all,” declared Flo; “he’s a genius, and a thoroughly sensible man.”

“Both? Impossible!” exclaimed Floyd Austin.

“Not at all!” said Mr. Homer, himself. “I’m writing a book in twenty volumes, Miss Fairfield,—that proves my genius. And I’ve left my work to come and chum with my friends,—that proves my sense.”

“What is your book about?” asked Patty, a little uncertain how to talk to this wise man. “Tell me about your work.”

“How can I talk to you of work,” said Mr. Homer, “when you don’t even know what the word means? Have you ever done any work in your life?”

“No,” admitted Patty; “I’m too busy being idle to have any time for work. My life is nothing but folly.”

“But folly and happiness are twins,” said he, looking kindly at the girl, and when kindness shone in Peter Homer’s blue eyes he was indeed attractive.

“They are,” agreed Patty; “but pray how do you know what the word folly means?”

“His folly is being wise,” broke in Cadwalader Oram.

“Good for you, Caddy!” exclaimed Floyd Austin. “If that didn’t have a vaguely familiar ring about it, I should say you’d made an epigram.”

“Well, let’s say it all the same,” said Flo Carrington; “he may never come any nearer to one.”

“I don’t want to,” returned Oram. “Stevenson says, ‘There’s nothing so disenchanting as attainment,’ and that’s a delightful principle to work on. I hope to goodness I shall always fail just as I’m about to attain.”

“What nonsense!” cried Patty. “Then if you ever ask a lovely girl to marry you, you’ll be secretly hoping she’ll say ‘no!’”

“My word! but Americans are clever!” said Mr. Oram, bowing to her; “but for the sake of my argument, I must even subscribe to that.”

“Oh, pshaw, Caddy!” said Mr. Homer, “don’t worry over it. You know you’re a younger son, and very few girls would marry you anyway.”

“Very few would be enough,” observed Cadwalader, quickly and Floyd Austin immediately chimed in:

“Having neatly vanquished his opponent, the younger son chuckled softly to himself.”

Then as Lady Kitty came, and took Mr. Homer away, the little group broke up and somehow Patty found herself talking to Floyd Austin.

“Say some more of those funny things,” she demanded; “I never heard any one do that before.”

“The young man glanced furtively at his watch, and a spasm of pain crossed his features as he realised he must say adieu to the fair young girl before him.”

Austin said this in a whimsical, high-pitched tone, and Patty laughed aloud in spite of herself.

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly, for his admiration of her musical laugh was now a standing joke between them. “And by the way, there’s a dance at Three Towers to-morrow night. I suppose you’ll go. Will you give me all the odd-numbered dances? Just for luck, you know.”

“All the odd numbers! Why, I never heard of such greediness! I’ll give you just one dance, and you may be thankful if you get all of it!”

“Somehow, I can’t feel alarmed, for I know you’ll change your mind a dozen times before to-morrow night comes.”

“How well you read me! But truly, I can’t help it. I always fraction up my dances, and they won’t come out even, and then I have to tear up my programme, and then of course I can’t remember who’s who in the ballroom.”

“Who’s hoodooed in the ballroom, you mean. But after that programme’s torn up, I may fare better than in the face of its accusing statistics.”

“Tell me something about Mr. Homer,” said Patty, as she looked at the tall man who was the centre of an admiring group.

“Peter Homer? Well, he’s the rightest kind of a fellow, a great scholar, and the best-looking man I ever saw,—outside my own mirror.”

“Do you think you’re pretty?” asked Patty, looking at him with an air of innocent inquiry.

“Yes, indeed. Not as pretty as you are, of course, but still a beauty. But Homer has the noble brow and lantern jaws that go to make up the ideal of facial elegance. Isn’t his hair stunning?”

Mr. Homer’s hair was black and abundant. It was somewhat bushy and of coarse texture, and was tossed over back, as if by the incessant pushings of an impatient hand.

“You’ll like him,” Austin went on, “but you won’t understand or appreciate him; you’re too young and ignorant.”

“Thank you,” said Patty.

“Not at all. Don’t mention it, no trouble, I assure you. But Homer’s a puzzle.”

“I’m specially good at puzzles.”

“Ah, but he isn’t of the ‘transposed, I am a fish,’ variety. You never can solve Peter Homer, little girl.”

“I’ve no desire to,” said Patty, a little chagrined at his superior tone. “He isn’t a prize puzzle, is he?”

“With the native quickness of the young American, she gracefully took the wind out of the sails of the conversation,” piped Austin, as he looked at her admiringly. Just then a footman brought a telegram to Patty.

“I brought it at once, ma’am,” he said, “if so there might be an answer. The man will wait a bit.”

“Allow me,” said Austin, slitting the envelope for her; “and I’ll stand in front of you while you read it, lest it may be of dire import, and your emotion be exposed to the gaping crowd.”

Patty smiled at his nonsense, and read the telegram:

“Last call. No more postponements. We will come for you next week, and all start for home September first. Be ready.

“Father.”

“Oh,” cried Patty in surprised dismay, as she grasped the sense of the message. “Can I help?” said Austin, quite serious now, for he saw Patty was really agitated.

“No. It’s nothing tragic. At least, not really so, but it seems so to me. I have to go home, that’s all.”

“Home? to America?”

“Yes; and of course, I’m glad to go, in some ways, but I wanted to stay over here a little longer. Through the autumn, anyway.”

“It’s a beastly pity. I don’t want you to go. Who says you must?”

“My father,” said Patty. “I’ve been promising to join him all summer, but somehow I didn’t get off, and now he suddenly says we’re all to go home.”

“All?”

“Yes, father and Nan and me. Nan’s my dear little stepmother. She’s the sweetest thing,—I just love her. I’m really crazy to see them both again, but I don’t want to go back to New York quite yet. I’ll soon get used to the idea, but coming just now, it’s a disappointment.”

“It is to me, I assure you. Why, we’re just beginning to be friends.”

“Yes, I shall always remember you pleasantly.”

Patty was really thinking of something else, and said this so perfunctorily that Floyd Austin drawled out:

“Having made a polite speech, the young lady promptly forgot the very presence of the gentleman who was addressing her.”

“Nonsense,” said Patty laughing; “there, I’ll put this rather disturbing telegram away for the present, and devote my attention entirely to you!”

“Heaven be praised!” murmured Austin, rolling his melancholy eyes toward the ceiling. “But oughtn’t you to answer it? You know the henchman awaiteth.”

“Oh, yes; well, I’ll scribble a reply.”

Turning to a desk, Patty quickly wrote:

“All right. Come on. I’ll be ready.”

Then addressing it, and signing it, she gave it to Floyd, who went in search of a footman.

After the tea guests had all gone, Patty went to Lady Kitty’s room to tell her the news.

“Wake up,” said Patty, gently dropping a kiss on the closed eyes of her friend, who was resting a bit before dinner.

“What for?” asked Kitty, not opening her eyes.

“What for, indeed! To see the last of your rapidly-disappearing friend and partner. Eyes, gaze your last! Heart, breathe your fond farewells!”

The big blue eyes of Kitty Hamilton slowly unclosed themselves.

“Melodramatics, my dear!” she said; “what do they mean?”

“Read that!” said Patty, handing her the telegram.

Kitty read it twice, and then sat up, wide awake enough now.

“My little Pattypat,” she said, “you can’t go away home to America. I won’t let you!”

“You can’t help yourself, Kitsie. If father has made up his mind,—and it does sound so,—off we go.”

“They’re coming here next week,” went on Kitty, musing over the telegram. “That part of it’s delightful. I’ll make it so pleasant for them that they can’t tear themselves away.”

“You can’t do that, dear. But it will be fun to see them. Blessed old Nan! I’ve missed her a lot this summer.”

“You fraud! I do believe you’re glad you’re going home, after all.”

“Well, in some ways, I am. You know I’m rather adaptable, and when I get my sailing orders, I begin to face toward the sea. I hate to leave you, and lots of other friends over here, but, I have friends in America, too, you know. And, Kitty, Sir Otho promised he’d bring you over there some time.”

“Well, perhaps he will. At any rate, don’t let this summons cloud your bright young life for the moment. Lock it up in your desk, and put it out of your mind for to-night, anyway. Now, run and dress for dinner. What are you wearing?”

“Are there guests?”

“Yes, a few. Nobody very especial. Put on that speckled gauze thing.”

“Don’t you call my dotted chiffon by disrespectful names,” and Patty ran, singing, away to her own room.