"I think you're perfectly horrid!" cried Patty; "just per-fect-ly hor-rid!"
"You don't really, you know," and Kit smiled at her, calmly, "you're just as ready to admit yourself tricked, as I was."
Patty went off into a peal of laughter at the thought of how she had insisted that Kit should own up to being tricked, when they met; but she felt a little chagrined that her joke had fallen through.
"I'm glad of it," declared Adele, "for I may as well confess, Mr. Cameron, it had prejudiced me against you to think you would write those letters to a stranger."
"Oh, I wouldn't, Mrs. Kenerley," said Kit, with exaggerated earnestness. "Honest and truly, I wouldn't! I NEVER write letters to strangers, unless I'm SURE the strangers are Patty Fairfield. And I'm sure I shouldn't dare to write a letter to the young lady of the photograph that came to me. She looked like an angel in the last stages of nervous prostration."
"That's exactly what she did look like," said Adele, laughing. "I must tell Hester that! She's a school-girl cousin of mine, Mr. Cameron, and if she were here, she'd enjoy this two-story joke as well as any of us."
Cameron stayed to dinner, as he said, to make his peace with Mr. Kenerley when he came home, but really because he wanted to remain with the pleasant house party.
Hal Ferris came home at dinner time, too, and was greatly diverted by the whole story of the Belle Harcourt joke.
After dinner, it was warm enough to sit out on the veranda till time for Kit to go to the train.
At last the chauffeur brought the little runabout to the door, and Kit took leave of the merry group.