“Meditate on your sins; it’ll do you good!”

Patty opened her blue eyes wide and stared at the speaker.  “Why,” she said, “to meditate, one must have something to meditate on!”

“And you think you haven’t any sins!  Oh, would some power the giftie gi’e us!”

“To see ourselves as ithers see us,” Patty completed the rhyme.  “But you see, Philip, as I don’t see any sins in myself, I can’t meditate on the sins that ithers see in me, if I don’t know what they are.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a big, black one!  You simply ignored me for half an hour, while you jabbered to that duffer on the other side!  Now meditate on that!”

Patty obediently cast down her eyes, and assumed a mournful expression.  She continued to sit thus without speaking; until Philip exclaimed: 

“Patty, you little goose, stop your nonsense!  What’s the matter with you to-night, anyway?”

“Honestly, Philip,” said Patty, very low, “your aunt’s parties always make me want to giggle.  They’re heavenly parties, and I simply adore to be at them, but her friends are so—­well, so aged, you know, and they seem to—­well, to be so interested in their dinner.”

“I’m my aunt’s guest, and I’m not a bit interested in my dinner.”

“Well, you may as well be, for I’m going to talk to Mr. Crosby now.”

Seeing that Mr. Crosby’s attention was unclaimed for the moment, Patty turned to him, saying, with great animation:  “Oh, Mr. Crosby, may I ask you something?  I’m awfully ignorant, you know, and you’re so wise.”

“Yes, yes, what is it?” And the great Oriental scholar looked benignly at her over his glasses.

Now naughty Patty hadn’t any question to ask, and she had only turned to her neighbour to tease Philip, so she floundered a little as she tried to think of some intelligent enquiry.

“What is it.  Miss Fairfield?” prompted Mr. Crosby.

Patty cast a fleeting glance toward Philip, as if appealing for help, and that young man, though engaged in a desultory conversation, whispered under his breath, “Ask him about the Aztecs.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Crosby,” said Patty, “it’s about the—­the Aztecs,—­you know.”

“Ah, yes, the Aztecs,—­a most interesting race, most interesting, indeed.  And what do you want to know about them, Miss Fairfield?”

Patty was tempted to say all about them, for her knowledge of the ancient people was practically nothing.

“Did they—­did they—­”

“Eat snails,” said Philip, in a whisper.

“Did they eat snails, Mr. Crosby?” And Patty’s big blue eyes were innocent of anything, save an intense desire to know about the Aztec diet.

“Snails?—­snails?—­well, bless my soul!  I don’t believe I know.  Important, too,—­most important.  I’ll look it up, and let you know.  Snails—­queer I don’t know.  I made a study of the Aztecs, and they are most interesting,—­but as to snails—­”