But Patty knew she had already gained one friend for Mona, for heretofore, Jack Pennington had ignored the girl's existence.
"What are you doing to-morrow, Patty?" asked Dorothy Dennison, as she and Guy Martin came up to the corner where Patty and Jack were sitting. It was a pleasant nook, a sort of balcony built out from the main veranda, and draped with a few clustering vines. The veranda was lighted with Japanese lanterns, whose gayer glow was looked down upon by the silvery full moon.
"We're going to the Sayres' garden party,—Mona and I," said Patty.
"Oh, good gracious!" rejoined Dorothy. "I suppose Mona will have to be asked everywhere, now you're staying with her!"
"Not to YOUR parties, Dorothy, for I'm sure neither of us would care to come!"
It was rarely that Patty spoke crossly to any one, and still more rarely that she flung out such a bitter speech as that; but she was getting tired of combating the prevalent attitude of the young people toward Mona, and though she had determined to overcome it, she began to think it meant real warfare. Dorothy looked perfectly amazed. She had never heard gentle, merry Patty speak like that before.
Guy Martin looked uncomfortable, and Jack Pennington shook with laughter.
"Them cheeks is now a deep solferino colour," he observed, and Patty's flushed face had to break into smiles.
"Forgive me, Dorothy," she said; "I didn't mean what I said, and neither did you. Let's forget it."
Glad of this easy escape from a difficult situation, Dorothy broke into a merry stream of chatter about other things, and the quartette were soon laughing gaily.