At last they reached the Country Club, which was their destination, and the parade was over; though as the carnival was to conclude with a supper and a dance for the participators, the best part of the fun was yet to come.  Aunt Adelaide, who had reached the clubhouse a little earlier, was waiting for her charges, and Bill promptly escorted Patty to her.

“Look after this little girl, won’t you, Mrs. Parsons?” he said.  “She’ll be O. K. after a few moments’ rest, but a seafaring life is a hard one, and this little craft is glad to get into port.”

Patty gave him a grateful glance, and said: 

“Nonsense, Aunt Adelaide, I’m not really tired, but I just want to sit down a while.  My feet have a headache!”

“I don’t wonder!” declared Mona.  “It was awful for you to perch on one toe for a hundred million mile ride!  And I reclined at ease on a Roman trident, or whatever you call it!” “Tripod, you mean,” said Adele, laughing, “or is it trireme?”

“Dunno,” said Mona, who was arranging Patty in a soft easy-chair in the dressing-room of the club.  “Now, you sit there, you Sea Witch,” she commanded, “and I’ll have a maid bring you a hot bouillon or a weak tea, whichever you prefer.  You can’t have coffee, it might spoil that pinky-winky complexion of yours.”

“Nothing can spoil that!” said Daisy, and though the remark sounded complimentary, it was prompted by a spirit of jealousy.  Daisy had truly appreciated Patty’s generosity in the matter of the note but she couldn’t gracefully submit to having her own brunette beauty eclipsed by what she called a doll-face.

Patty’s weariness was purely muscular, and so of short duration, and after ten minutes’ rest, she was feeling as fresh as ever.

“Now, what do we do?” she asked, shaking her draperies into place and adjusting the new wreath on her hair.

“Now comes the supper,” said Mona, “and I’m glad of it.  Come on, girls.”

The long dining hall at the club was a pretty sight.  The guests were all in their Pageant costumes, and as the various float groups mingled, the contrasts were effective.  A Venetian gondolier escorted a fisher girl of the Seine, or a bold buccaneer from the Spanish Main clanked his sword in time with the clatter of the wooden sabots of a Holland lass.

Neptune was waiting to escort the Spirit of the Sea to a table, but as Patty came through the dressing-room door, Captain Sayre bowed before her, and asked the honour of taking her to supper.  As Farnsworth had made no engagement with Patty, merely taking it for granted that she would go with him, she saw no reason to decline Captain Sayre’s invitation, and went gaily away with him.

Farnsworth gazed after her with a look of dazed bewilderment.

“Had you asked her?” said an amused voice, and turning, he saw Mrs. Parsons at his elbow.

“No!  I was too stupid to think of it!”

“Patty is so very popular, you know, it’s difficult to secure her favours.  Have you engaged any dances?”