assure you."

"But I think--" Mrs. Shaw began very soberly.

"Sometimes, I find it quite as well not to think things over," Mr.
Dayre suggested. "Why, dear me, I'd quite counted on Patience's being
here. You see, I'm not a regular member, either; and I want someone to
keep me in countenance."

So presently, Hilary felt a hand slipped eagerly into hers. "I'm
staying! I'm staying!" an excited little voice announced. "And oh, I
just love Mr. Dayre!"

Then Patience went back to her window seat to play the delightful game
of "making believe" she hadn't stayed. She imagined that instead, she
was sitting between father and mother in the gig, bubbling over with
the desire to "hi-yi" at Fanny, picking her slow way along.

The studio was empty, even the dogs were outside, speeding the parting
guests with more zeal than discretion. But after awhile Harry Oram
strolled in.

"I'm staying!" Patience announced. She approved of Harry. "You're an
artist, too, aren't you?" she remarked.

"So kind of you to say so," Harry murmured. "I have heard grave doubts
expressed on the subject by my too impartial friends."

"I mean to be one when I grow up," Patience told him, "so's I can have
a room like this--with just rugs on the floor; rugs slide so
nicely--and window seats and things all cluttery."

"May I come and have tea with you? I'd like it awfully."

"It'll be really tea--not pretend kind," Patience said. "But I'll have
that sort for any children who may come. Hilary takes pictures--she
doesn't make them though. Made pictures are nicer, aren't they?"

"Some of them." Harry glanced through the open doorway, to where
Hilary sat resting. She was "making" a picture now, he thought to
himself, in her white dress, under the big tree, her pretty hair
forming a frame about her thoughtful face. Taking a portfolio from a
table near by, he went out to where Hilary sat.

"Your small sister says you take pictures," he said, drawing a chair up
beside hers, "so I thought perhaps you'd let me show you these--they
were taken by a friend of mine."

"Oh, but mine aren't anything like these! These are beautiful!"
Hilary bent over the photographs he handed her; marveling over their
soft tones. They were mostly bits of landscape, with here and there a
water view and one or two fleecy cloud effects. It hardly seemed as
though they could be really photographs.

"I've never done anything like these!" she said regretfully. "I