one.

But the girl held her back. "No, you don't. We are not going to lose
you like that. We'll kidnap you, as Dempsy suggested, till after
lunch; then we'll motor you back to Arden. You'll get there just
about as soon."

Patsy had not the slightest intention of yielding; her mind and her
feet were braced against any divergence from the straight road now;
but the man Janet Payne had called Gregory Jessup said something that
scattered her resolutions like so much chaff.

"You've simply got to come, Miss O'Connell." And he leaned over the
side of the car in boyish enthusiasm. "Last summer Billy Burgeman
used to read to me the parts of Marjorie's letters that told about
you, and they were great! We were making up our minds to go to
Ireland and see if you were real when your company came to America.
After that Marjorie would never introduce us after the plays, just to
be contrary. You wouldn't have the heart to grudge us a little
acquaintanceship now, would you?"

"Billy Burgeman," repeated Patsy. "Do you know him?"

Dempsy Carter interposed. "They're chums, Miss O'Connell. I'll wager
there isn't a soul on earth that knows Billy as well as Greg does."

"That's hard on Marjorie, isn't it?" asked Janet Payne.

"Oh, hang Marjorie!" The sincerity of Gregory Jessup's emotion
somewhat excused his outburst.

"Why, I thought they were betrothed!" Patsy looked innocent.

"They were. What they are now--Heaven only knows! Marjorie Schuyler
has gone to China, and Billy has dropped off the face of the earth."

A sudden silence fell on the cross-roads. It was Patsy who broke it
at last. "Well?" A composite, interrogative stare came from the
carful. Patsy laughed bewitchingly. "For a crowd of rascally
kidnappers, you are the slowest I ever saw. Troth, in Ireland they'd
have it done in half the time."

The next instant Patsy was lifted bodily inside, and, amid a general
burst of merriment, the car swung down the road.

* * * * *

It was a picnic lunch--an elaborate affair put up in a hamper, a
fireless cooker, and a thermos basket; and it was spread on a tiny,
fir-covered peninsula jutting out into a diminutive lake. It was an
enchanting spot and a delicious lunch, with good company to boot;
but, to her annoyance, Patsy found herself continually comparing it
unfavorably with a certain vagabond breakfast garnished with yellow
lady's-slippers, musicianed by throstles, and served by a tinker.