“Isn’t the apartment lovely?” exclaimed Mona Galbraith, as she went through the rooms.  “This music-room, or living-room, or whatever you call it, is just dear!  Who selected the furnishings?”

“Oh, Mr. Hepworth and Christine,” said Patty; “two artists, you know; of course the rooms ought to be beautiful.  It is a lovely place, and just the right setting for that darling of a Christine.”

The whole merry crowd were assembled in the living-room, when the bride and groom arrived.  A shout of welcome went up from the young people, and Christine was smothered in girlish embraces, while the men vigorously shook Mr. Hepworth’s hand, or clapped him on the shoulder, in their masculine way of congratulation.

Christine looked very sweet and smiling, in a pretty travelling gown, but Patty carried her off at once and insisted that she get into a house gown.

“The idea,” said Patty, “of a hostess in a high-collared frock and all her guests in evening dress!”

So Christine quickly changed to a little chiffon gown of pale green and Patty tucked a pink rose in her hair and some more in her belt.

“Now you look like a bride,” said Patty, nodding approval at her, and leading her to a mirror; “look at that vision of beauty!  Aren’t you glad I made you change?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Christine, in mock humility; “it’s much better so.”

The evening was a merry one.  They danced and they sang and they chatted and finally they had the delightful supper that Patty had ordered.

Christine, blushing prettily, took the head of the table, while Gilbert Hepworth, with a proud air of proprietorship, sat at the other end.

Patty, as guest of honour, sat at the right hand of her host.

“It has always been my aspiration,” she said, with a beaming smile at Christine, “to have a married friend to visit.  I warn you, Christine, I shall spend most of my time here.  There’s one little nook of a bedroom I claim as my own and I expect to occupy it very frequently.  And, besides, I have to give you lessons in housekeeping.  You’re a great artist, I know, but you must learn to do lots of other things beside paint.”

“I wish you would, Patty,” and the little bride looked very much in earnest; “I truly want to keep house, but being an artist and a Southern girl both, I don’t believe I’m very capable.”

“You’re a blessed dear, that’s what you are”; and Patty turned to Hepworth, saying, “Isn’t she?”

“Yes, indeed,” he returned; “I’ve only just begun to realise the beautiful qualities in her nature.  And it is to you, Patty, that I owe my happiness.  I shall never forget what you did in order that Christine might come to New York.”

“And now we are surprised at the result,” said Patty, who never could be serious for long at a time.  “Come on, people, you’ve had enough supper, let’s have one more dance and then we must go home and leave these turtledoves to their own nest.”