e you dropped my formal title, and called me
by my first name. I'd love to have you do so."

"I've often wondered what your first name is, but I haven't the slightest
idea. Tell me."

"No, guess. What name do you think suits me?"

Patty considered.

"Well," she said, at last, "I think it must be either Ethelfrida or
Gwendolyn Gladys."

Lady Hamilton laughed merrily. "Prepare yourself for a sudden shock," she
said. "I was named for my grandmother, Catharine."

"Catharine! What an absurd name for you! You're not even a Kate. But you
are Lady Kitty, and I'll call you that, if I may."

"Indeed you may. Father used to call me Kitty, when I was a child, but as
I grew older, I preferred my full name."

"Lady Kitty is just right for you, and when you're in the mood you're a
saucy puss. Now, listen, the reason for my invasion of your premises this
morning is that I want you to go with me this afternoon to a tea on the
Terrace of Parliament House."

Patty's tones were very persuasive, and she looked so daintily attractive
in her fresh morning gown that few could have refused any request she
might make.

Lady Hamilton in a soft, frilly white negligee, was sipping her coffee
and looking over her letters when Patty had interrupted the process. She
looked at her eager young guest with a slow, provoking smile, and said
only:

"Nixy."

"But why not?" said Patty, smiling too, for she knew the Englishwoman had
learned the slangy word from herself. "You'd have a lovely time. It's so
beautiful there, and the people are always so cordial and pleasant."

"But I don't want to go."

"But you _ought_ to want to. You're too young to give up the pomps and
vanities of this world. How can I _make_ you go?"

"You can't."

"I know it! That's just the trouble with you. I never saw such a
stubborn, self-willed, determined----"

"Pigheaded?"

"Yes! and stupidly obstinate thing as you are! So, there now!"

They both laughed, and then Lady Hamilton said more seriously, "Shall I
tell you why I won't go?"

"Yes, do, if you know, yourself."

"I know perfectly. I won't go to the Terrace because I'm afraid I'll meet
my father there."

"For goodness' sake! Is that the real reason? But you _want_ to be
reconciled to him!"

"Yes, but you don't understand. We couldn't have a 'Come home and all
will be forgiven' scene on the Terrace, in sight of hundreds of people,
so if I did see him, I should have to bow slightly, or cut him dead;