p's greatest
dinners of the season."

The good Susan looked so concerned, and her face was so anxious, that it
went straight to Patty's heart. To her mind there came a vivid and
tantalising remembrance of her exquisite dinner frock, of white
chiffon, embroidered with tiny sprays of blossoms--a soft sash and
shoulder-knots--one of the loveliest dresses she had ever had, and with a
sob she threw herself on to the couch and indulged in a few foolish but
comforting tears.

"There, there, Miss," said Susan, sympathisingly, "don't ee take on so.
Maybe we can find summat for ee."

When Susan was excited or troubled, she lapsed into her old dialect,
which she was striving to outgrow.

"You can't find anything, I know," said Patty, sitting up, and looking
the picture of woe. "There are no very young ladies in the house, are
there, Susan?"

"No, Miss, none so young as yourself, nor near it."

"And I can't wear this," went on Patty, looking at the silk blouse that
was part of her travelling gown.

"Lor' no, Miss; not to a dinner!"

"Then what?"

"Then what, indeed, Miss!"

Patty and Susan faced each other, at last in a full realisation of the
hopelessness of the situation, when, after a light tap at the door, Lady
Hamilton came in.

She laughed outright at the tragic attitude of the two, and knew at once
what they were troubled about.

"Listen to me, Pattypet," she said. "Am I your fairy godmother, or am I
not?"

"You are," said Patty, with an air of conviction, and feeling sure that
Lady Hamilton was about to help her out of her troubles, somehow.

"Well, I've carefully considered the case. I've sent Marie to canvass the
house for clothes suitable for a mademoiselle of seventeen."

"Nearly eighteen," murmured Patty.

"It doesn't matter. There isn't what's known as a 'misses' costume'
beneath this roof. Now, I simply refuse to let you be absent from this
dinner. It will be both a pleasure and an education to you to see this
especial kind of a formal function, and probably you'll not often have a
chance. They've sent a man and a wagon over to the next station, several
miles away for your boxes; that's the way they do things here. But he
can't get back until long after the dinner hour. So listen, to my
command, dictum, fiat--call it what you please, but this is what you're
to do."

"I'll do anything you say, Kitty Lady, if it's to go to bed at once, and
sleep soundly till morning."

"Nothing of the sort. Yo