At eight o'clock that same evening, Patty came down to her own dinner party. An hour's rest had freshened her up wonderfully, and she had changed her little white frock for a dinner gown of pale green chiffon, sparkling with silver embroidery. It trailed behind her in a most grown-up fashion, and she entered the drawing-room with an exaggerated air of dignity.
"Huh," cried Roger; "look at grown-up Patty! Isn't she the haughty lady? Patty, if you put on such airs, you'll be old before your time!"
"Airs, nothing!" retorted Patty, and with a skipping little dance step, she crossed the room, picked up a sofa pillow, and aimed it deftly at Roger, who caught it on the wing.
"That's better," he said. "We can't have any of these grande dame airs. Now, who is the lucky man who is to take you out to dinner? Me?"

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