Mr. Wheeler stood looking down at her. Pat had an old sunburned felt hat of Sid’s on her head which she would not have thought…if she had thought about it at all…likely to attract masculine admiration. And she wore an ancient brown crepe dress which burrs and stick-tights could no longer injure. She did not know how its warm hues brought out the creaminess of her skin…the gloss of her hair…the fire of her amber eyes. She was really looking her best and when, after a rather overlong silence, she raised her eyes to her caller’s she found his dark, soulful orbs…the adjectives were Aunt Polly’s daughter’s…gazing down at her with a strange expression in their depths. An incredible idea came to Pat…and was instantly dismissed. Nonsense! She wished he wouldn’t stand so close to her. She knew at once what he had had for supper. How overfull his red lips were! And when had his finger-nails been cleaned last? Why didn’t somebody come along? People were always somewhere else when you wanted them and when you didn’t you simply fell over them.

“You are smiling…you have such a fascinating smile. What are you thinking of, Patricia,” he said in a low, caressing tone.

Merciful goodness, suppose she told him what she was thinking! Pat had hard work to avert a grin. And then the bolt fell, straight out of the blue.

Mr. Wheeler helped himself to one of her hands and looked at it.

“Little white hand,” he murmured. “Little white hand that holds my heart.”

Pat’s hands were brown and not particularly little. She tried to pull it away. But he held on and put his arm around her. Worse and more of it, as Tillytuck would say. Suppose Judy were looking out of the kitchen window!

“Please, don’t be so…foolish,” said Pat coldly.

“I’m not foolish. I am wise…very wise…wise with the wisdom of countless ages.” His voice was getting lower and tenderer with every word. “I’ve been wanting this opportunity for weeks. It has been so hard to find you alone. Dearest, sweetest of angels, have you any idea how much I love you…have loved you for a thousand lives?”

“I never thought of such a thing…I always thought it was Rae,” was all poor Pat could gasp.

Mr. Wheeler smiled patronizingly.

“You couldn’t have thought that, my darling. Miss Rachel is a charming child. But it is you, my sweet…and always has been since the first moment I drowned my soul in your beautiful eyes. I think I must have dreamed you all my life…and now my dream has come true.” He tried to draw her closer. “You belong to me…you know you do. We will have such a wonderful life together, my queen.”