“You are always so happy,” said Patty breathlessly, as she leaned forward and held out her hands to Corinna as if she were the fire.  “Everything about you seems to give out joy every minute.”

“You dear!” murmured Corinna softly, for admiration was to her nature what sunshine is to a flower.  “I am happy to-day—­happy as I thought I should never be again.  I am so happy that I should like to take the whole world to my heart and heal its misery.”  Then she added hastily before the girl could reply:  “You came just at the right moment.  I have wanted a talk with you, and there couldn’t be a better opportunity than this.  The other night I tried to join you after dinner; but Mrs. Berkeley got all the women together, and I didn’t have a chance to speak a word to you alone.  You looked charming in that scarlet dress.  Your head is shaped so prettily that I think you are wise to cut your hair.  It makes you look like a page of the Italian Renaissance.”

“Do you really like it?” asked Patty, and her voice trembled with pleasure.  “Father hates it, but men never know.”

Corinna laughed.  “Not much more about fashions than they know about women.”

“And that isn’t anything, is it?”

“Well, perhaps they’ll learn some day—­by the time I am dead and you are old.  You look so young, you can’t be over eighteen.”

“I’ll be nineteen next summer—­at least I think I shall, for nobody knows exactly when my birthday comes.”

“Not even your father?”

“No, he guesses it’s in June, but he isn’t perfectly sure, and he hasn’t any idea what day of the month it is.  He gives me a birthday gift whenever he happens to think of it.”

For a minute Corinna gazed thoughtfully into the fire.  “It is queer the things men can’t remember,” she said at last.  “Now, my father always forgets, or pretends to, that I’ve ever been married.”

“Then I needn’t be so surprised,” rejoined Patty brightly, “when mine forgets that I ever was born!”

“Oh, he doesn’t forget it really, my dear.  He adores you.”

“He is an angel to me,” answered the girl with passionate loyalty.  “I’ve never had any one else, you know, and he has been simply everything.  Only I do wish he wouldn’t have that tiresome Miss Spencer to live with us.”

“But you ought to have some one with you.”

“Not some one like that.  She doesn’t know as much as I do; but Father thinks she is all right because she lets her hair turn gray and wears long dresses.”

Corinna’s laugh was like music.  “It takes more than that to make a virtuous mind!” she exclaimed, but she was not thinking of Miss Spencer.

“Do you know,” said Patty, leaning forward and speaking with the earnestness of a child, “I doubt if Father ever looked at a well-dressed woman until he met you.”

Was it natural ingenuousness, or did the girl have a deeper motive?  For an instant Corinna wondered; then she returned merrily:  “Certainly he wouldn’t look at me when Mrs. Stribling is near.”