MR. and Mrs. Fairfield arrived duly at Markleham Grange, and in response to urgent invitation consented to stay there for a few days before taking Patty away with them.

But the last evening had come and the party that gathered on the terrace after dinner showed that subdued air that last evenings usually compel.

The party was not a small one, for there had been guests at dinner, and several of the young people from the neighbouring country-houses had come over later, to say good-by to Patty.

“I’m so sorry to have you go,” said Flo Carrington, as she possessed herself of Patty’s hand and caressed it.

“I’m sorry to go,” replied Patty; “somehow it seems as if I were always saying good-by to somebody. I’ve visited so much this summer, and every visit means a regretful parting.”

“At the heartrending pathos of Miss Fairfield’s tones, everybody burst into tears,” declaimed Floyd Austin, burying his face in a voluminous handkerchief. But so burlesque was his woe that everybody burst into laughter instead.

“You may stay here if you choose, instead of going with us, Patty,” said her father. “I didn’t realise it would be such a wrench for you and your friends.”

“No, thank you,” said Patty, decidedly. “The longer I stay, the more painful would be the wrench,—and I’ve no notion of losing my Italian trip, anyway.”

“That’s the right way to look at it,” said Austin, approvingly, “and cheer up, the fatal blow is yet to fall. I, too, am going to Italy in a few weeks, and I’ll meet you on any Rialto you say.”

“Are you really?” exclaimed Patty, pleased at the prospect. “Won’t that be gay, father? And Lady Hamilton and her father are going later too. We can have a reunion. Won’t you come, Flo?”

“I wish I could,” said the girl, and Mr. Fairfield said heartily:

“I shall be more than glad to welcome any of Patty’s friends, wherever we meet them. When are you starting, Mr. Austin?”

“I’m not sure yet, Mr. Fairfield. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Keep me posted as to your whereabouts, and I’ll find you somehow.”

“Do. We are going direct to Rome, and shall stay there for a time before we begin a series of other cities.”

“Are you going to Milan?” asked Cadwalader Oram.

“Yes, later,” said Mr. Fairfield, and Patty said, “Why?”

“Because I want you to be sure to see the man with his skin hanging over his arm.”

“What!”

“Yes, truly. It’s a great statue,—in the Cathedral, you know. The gentleman was flayed,—he was one of the noble family of martyrs,—and it was his whim to have his statue taken, with his whole skin flung gracefully over one arm. It’s a most impressive sight.”

“I should think so!” said Patty. “I’ll jot that down in my book. I’m making a list of things to see that are not in the guidebooks.”

“Well, you won’t find that in a guidebook. But be sure not to miss it.”

“We won’t,” said Mr. Fairfield, “it sounds extremely interesting.”

“I’m going to coax mother to let me go,” said Flo Carrington. “She’s always promised me an Italian trip, and Snippy could take me as well as not.”

“Who’s Snippy?” asked Patty.

“My governess. She’s been with us for years, and she’s awfully capable and well-travelled, and languaged, and all that. If she will take me, and mother lets me go, may I see you sometimes?”

“You may, indeed,” said Mr. Fairfield, answering for his daughter. “Come right along, Miss Carrington, and we’ll be of service to you in any way we can.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Flo, her dark eyes dancing at the thought of such a pleasure trip. “I’ll try to wheedle mumsie into it, and I’ll let you know, Patty, if I succeed. I’ll write you in London.”

“I wish my mumsie would let me go,” put in Caddy Oram, in such plaintive tones that they all laughed. “But she can’t spare her pet boy at present, so I can only wish you all sorts of happy experiences, Miss Fairfield.”

The young man rose to go, and soon there was a general departure of most of the guests. Floyd Austin and Peter Homer tarried after the others had gone, and Lady Hamilton proposed that they all go indoors, for the evening air was growing chill. Then to the dining-room for a bit of a farewell supper, and Patty, as guest of honour, was queen of the merry feast.

“I am very sorry to lose my little Miss Yankee Doodle,” said Sir Otho. “Of all the American girls I’ve ever met,—and I’ve never met any other,—she’s the most like an English girl.”

“I’m sorry not to return the compliment,” said Patty, “but you’re not the least bit like an American. Though you’re quite the nicest Englishman I know.”

A groan from Mr. Homer and a wail from Floyd Austin greeted this speech.

“Never mind,” said Austin, cheerfully, “our own English lassies like us, anyway.”

“And mayn’t we count on your admiration, Mrs. Fairfield?” said Peter Homer. “I trust all American ladies are not so exclusive in their favours as Miss Patricia.”

“You may indeed,” said Nan, smiling; “and let me advise you not to take Patty’s words too literally. I’m beginning to think that since she escaped my restraining influences she has developed coquettish tendencies. I’d not be surprised to learn that she admires both you young men extremely.”

“Good for you, Nan!” cried Patty. “I do! I think they’re great! and I’m not a coquette at all. I’d like to be, but I don’t know how.”

“Don’t bother to learn,” said Peter Homer. “It will come naturally after a while.”

“’Deed I won’t bother to learn,” returned Patty. “I’ve too much to learn now. I want to learn Italian perfectly, before I start for Italy next week, and I want to learn all about art and architecture, and everything like that, before I go, too.”

“Take the same advice for those things,” said Austin; “don’t bother to learn them, and they’ll come naturally after a while.”

“I agree to that,” said Lady Hamilton. “Patty will learn more of art and architecture by being thus suddenly pushed into it than she could learn from a hundred text-books or tutors.”

“Right!” agreed Sir Otho, heartily. “But don’t try too hard to learn, little girl; just enjoy. These are your years for enjoying. When you’re my age you’ll have time to learn.”

“That’s a new theory,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “but I rather think it’s a sound one.”

“I think so, too,” said Nan. “I know lots of people who have just spoiled a perfectly good trip through Italy, because they learned so hard they had no time to enjoy.”

“One should go through Italy,” said Mr. Homer, “with a mind like a sieve. Let it alone, and worthless trifles will sift through, and the big, important things will remain.”

“All this is very comforting,” said Patty, with a relieved sigh; “I had expected to cram as if for an examination, all next week. Now, I shan’t even open a book.”

“Having supplied Miss Fairfield with all necessary advice and information, the two scholarly and erudite gentlemen rose to take their leave,” drawled Austin, as he rose from his chair and beckoned to Mr. Homer to do the same.

Peter Homer made his adieus, and then, saying good-by to Patty, he added:

“I wish I were to show you my Italy, but perhaps it’s just as well for you to discover your own. Still, I must warn you not to let the glamour gather too thickly. Brush it off once in a while, and look at the real thing.”

“I’ll remember,” promised Patty. “But we’ll see you again, sooner or later?”

“Oh, yes; I’ll be in Italy before Christmas, and everybody in Italy runs against everybody else, somewhere. Good-by.”

“Good-by,” said Patty, with a kindly politeness, and turned to say the same to Austin Floyd.

“Be sure to go to the Aquarium in Naples,” he reminded her, for the fourteenth time. “The polyps are so pleasantly disgusting, and that fat red starfish is a love. Don’t disgrace your country,—remember you’re Murrican. I shall miss you,—oh, my heart will be as an empty colander! My dolour will be as of one without hope! I shall be as a mullein stalk—but, ’tis better so! Good-by!”

Austin’s melodramatic tone was so absurd that the final good-bys were said amid much laughter, but Patty was conscious of a sincere regret at leaving the gay merriment of Markleham Grange, and its pleasant neighbours.

Next morning the three Fairfields started for London.

Sir Otho and Lady Kitty partly promised to join them later in Italy, but the matter was not fully decided.

Flo Carrington, too, had sent over an early note, excitedly saying that she was not yet sure she could go, but the outlook was extremely hopeful.

Late in the afternoon they reached London, and as they left the train and found themselves in the ponderous bustle of the railway station, going through the usual distracting hunt for their luggage, Patty’s love for the great city came back to her, and she remarked to Nan that she greatly preferred city to country at any time.

“You are a chameleon, Patty,” said Nan, laughing. “I always said you were. Wherever you are, you immediately claim that it’s the best place in the world.”

“And a happy disposition, that is,” broke in Mr. Fairfield. “Though I’m ready to admit that this sitting on one’s trunk, to prevent another citizen from attaching it, is not my idea of luxurious ease.”

However, as always finally happens, a porter performed a great magic, and the party, in cab, drove off to the Savoy. Once again in one of its pleasantest apartments, the dust of travel removed, and tea served, it seemed like getting back home once more.

Mr. Fairfield, having pronounced against a restaurant dinner, had a delightful meal sent up to their own cosy drawing-room, and the three greatly enjoyed their family reunion.

“You people are the best,” declared Patty, as she lingered appreciatively over her somewhat scanty portion of ice cream. “By the way,” she interrupted herself, “I know why in London they always say ‘ice,’ instead of ‘ice cream.’ It’s because they never serve enough of it to justify the longer title, though it’s of the same materials and quite as good as the American variety. Well, as I was saying, you two are the best people I know. I’ve had quite enough of friends, and acquaintances, and hostesses, and staying guests, and all that; I’m glad to be back with my relatives.”

“I’d think more of that, Patty,” said Nan, smiling, “if I weren’t sure that you’d take the first chance that offered to go straying off again.”

“Isn’t she awful, Daddy?” said Patty, placidly. “She doesn’t know a compliment when she sees one. Well, let’s have these empty plates removed, and get out our maps and plans. I’m crazy to see where we’re going.”

“We shan’t have a cast-iron itinerary,” said Mr. Fairfield, as he produced a bundle of maps and time-tables and memoranda. “We’ll leave next Wednesday for Paris, stay there a day or two, if you girls want to shop a little, then when we’re ready, we’ll take the Rome express, right through. After we’re well settled in Rome, and have seen more or less of its sights, we’ll plan what to do next. In a general way, I may say that we’ll go from Rome up to the other principal cities, and back to Rome again. We may decide to spend the whole winter there, but, for my part, I’d be best pleased, that is, if it suits you two, to eat my Christmas dinner in New York City, U. S. A.”

“Me too!” cried Patty, her thoughts suddenly rolling in a homesick wave toward her native land.

“Me too!” cried Nan, enthusiastically, but Mr. Fairfield only smiled, and said:

“We won’t decide that now; we’ll have a fine Italian trip, and it shall be shorter or longer, as suits our pleasure.”

“Dear old Daddy,” said Patty, “you have the most gumption of anybody I know. I’m so glad I picked out a wise father, as well as such a handsome one.”

“I wish you had inherited either trait,” said Mr. Fairfield, with a mock sigh, and Patty answered him only by a saucy glance.

The few days that intervened between their arrival in London and their departure for Paris were busy ones for Nan and Patty. There was some shopping to be done, but this was hurried through that they might have more time to pay farewell visits to some of their favourite haunts.

“But you must get some dresses, Patty,” said Nan, as Patty, declared her intention of spending a day in the picture galleries; “you can’t wear garden-party muslin, and chiffon evening gowns on Italian railroads.”

“Italians don’t have railroads, my ignorant little stepmother; they have railways,—or, more likely they call them by some absurd, unpronounceable name of their own. Well, as I was saying, I’ll get dresses in Paris, but if we’re really going home from Italy, straight to New York, and not coming back here again, there are some ‘loved spots that my infancy knew’ in London, to which I simply must repair once more!”

“All right, girlie; you’ve only four days left in London, so spend them as you like.”

So Patty wandered about as she chose; spending an afternoon in Westminster Abbey, and a morning in the British Museum, and often enjoying a drive in the parks. There were few people whom they knew in London, as most of them were still in their country-places, but the weather was cool and pleasant, and Patty declared she was glad not to be bothered with social engagements.

At last the day came when they must leave for Paris. Trunks were strapped and despatched. Boxes containing various purchases they had made were shipped directly home to New York, and with real tears in her eyes, Patty stood looking out of the hotel window down on the noisy, bustling Strand.

“Cheer up,” said Nan, observing her, “we’ll come back here some day, if not this year.”

“I never thought of that!” exclaimed Patty, as the smiles broke over her face; “why, of course we shall! What a comfort you are, Nan. Why, I shouldn’t wonder if we came over every summer, mayn’t we?”

“Every other summer, perhaps,” said Nan, a little absently, for she was attending to some last matters.

“Come, Patty,” said her father, “the cab’s here. Wave a weeping farewell to your London joys, and turn a smiling face to fresh fields and pastures new.”

“All ready, Father,” said Patty, cheerily, and in a few moments they were off.

At Victoria station they took the train for Dover, and Patty looked from the window as long as it was possible to get glimpses of the great city they were leaving.

To many people the crossing of the English Channel is not a pleasing experience. Nan frankly confessed that she did not care for it at all; but Patty and her father, being blessed with entire freedom from any physical discomfort in the matter, went aboard the Channel steamer with anticipations of a pleasant trip across. The ideal time to sail away from the Dover cliffs is mid-afternoon, when the sunlight dazzles on the white chalk formations, and the green grass and blue water and the pink tints on the rocks all form a beautiful panorama of the brightest colouring possible.

Patty and her father having done all they could to make Nan as comfortable as possible, they left her at her own request in charge of a kind-mannered stewardess, and returned to the upper deck. Here, in two steamer chairs they sat, and watched England disappear.

As they went on, the intrusive spray dashed up on the deck, and finally onto the travellers themselves.

Patty laughed in glee, for her travelling cloak was of staunch material, and she thought the dashing drops great fun. But as the spray flew higher, the deckmaster brought tarpaulins to wrap about them, and thus protected, the two seafarers enjoyed the rough crossing.

“Isn’t it gay!” cried Patty, as a cloud of drops splashed full in her face, making her curly hair curl tighter about her brow.

“Fine!” answered Mr. Fairfield, but he had to scream to make himself heard above the racket of the sea.

As they neared shore, they went below to tidy up for the landing, and found Nan, radiantly smiling, as she awaited them.

“I’m all right now,” she announced, “but I shouldn’t have been, if I’d been pitching and tossing about in the upper air as you have. Goodness! but you’re a sight! Both of you. Can you get wrung out in time to land, do you think?” But in a short time Mr. Fairfield and Patty were transformed into dry and correct-looking citizens, and no sign remained of their watery escapade, save the damp curls that clustered around Patty’s forehead.