May I take your hat off, Christine?"

Tears sprang to Christine Farley's eyes at this whole-souled welcome, and
she said:

"You make me ashamed of my stupid shyness. Really I'll try to overcome
it--Patty."

And soon the two girls were chatting cosily and veritably as if they had
been acquainted a long time.

Presently Nan came in. "If you prefer, Miss Farley," she said, "you
needn't come down to dinner to-night. I'll have a tray sent up here. I
know you're tired with your journey."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Fairfield; I'm not tired--and I think I'll go down."

The girl would have greatly preferred to accept the offer of dining in
her own room, but she felt it her duty to conquer the absurd timidity
which made her dread facing strangers at dinner.

"I'll be glad if you will," said Nan, simply. "Mr. Fairfield will like to
welcome you, and Mr. Hepworth will be the only other guest. You are not
afraid of him?"

"Oh, no," said Christine, her face lighting up at thought of her kind
friend. "He has been so good to me. His criticisms of my work helped me
more than any of my teachers'."

"Yes, he is an able artist and a man of true kindness and worth," agreed
Nan. "Very well, Miss Farley, we dine at seven."

"Now, Nan," began Patty, smiling, "that's the wrong tone. We're going to
make this girlie feel homelike and comfortable and omit all formality.
We're going to call her by her first name, and we're going to treat her
as one of ourselves. Now you just revise that little speech of 'We dine
at seven, Miss Farley.'"

"All right," said Nan, quickly catching Patty's idea. "I'm glad to revise
it. How's this? Dinner's at seven, Christine, but you hop into your
clothes and come on down earlier."

"That's a lot better," said Patty, approvingly patting her stepmother's
shoulder, while Christine Farley, who was all unaccustomed to this sort
of raillery, looked on in admiration.

"You see," she said, "I've only very plain clothes. I'm not at all
familiar with the ways of society, or even of well-to-do people."

"Oh, pooh!" said Patty, emphatically, if not very elegantly. "Don't you
bother about that in this house. Trot out your frocks and I'll tell you
what to put on."

After some consideration she selected a frock of that peculiar shade
known as "ashes of roses." It was of soft merino and made very simply,
with long, straight lines.

"Do you like that?" said Christine, looking pleased. "That's my newest
one, and I desig