"Your reproof convicts yourself," put in Frank Breck. "I am sorry you can't hear punch mentioned without being thirsty." "I am glad if you can," she retorted. The hit was a palpable one, for the young man had the reputation of walking in ways far removed from the paths of sobriety. When the rehearsal was concluded, the rain fell in torrents. Burleigh, who had his buggy, offered to take Patty and Flossy home. The former declined the invitation, although insisting that her cousin should ride. For herself, Patty delighted in the rain. The excitement of the storm exhilarated her, filling her with a delightful animal joy in living. She was fond of taking long walks in rainy weather, greatly to the disturbance of her mother, who had neither sympathy nor patience with this side of her daughter's nature. Even grandmother, who usually found whatever Patty did perfect, felt called upon to remonstrate against these escapades. But to the girl the struggle with the storm was delightful: it was a keen pleasure to feel the rain beat upon her face, and her young blood tingled under the cold touch. So to-night she chose to walk home, and meant to escape alone. She was prevented by Hazard Breck, who forestalled young Toxteth in seeking the honor of escorting her. As they left the house, Patty's quick ear caught a word or two between Ease Apthorpe and Frank Breck. "Thank you," she heard Ease say. "I will not trouble you." "Your aunt charged me to see you safe home," he answered. "I shouldn't want to disobey her." And as usual Ease yielded. CHAPTER XX. AN OUTBURST. "Hazard," Patty asked, as they went splashing through the puddles, "is Frank in earnest with Ease? Does he really care for her?" "I do not know," he answered slowly. "He never makes a confidant of me." "He persecutes her," Patty continued. "I wish he'd let her alone. She's too meek to stand out against him. I ought not to say this to you, but it makes me angry. Why are you so sober lately? You are as solemn as Bathalina." "Am I? I wasn't aware of it." "But of course you know what is troubling you." "It does little good to talk over such things," he said. "Such things as what?" she asked. "As--as being solemn." "You've some sort of a deadly secret preying upon your mind, Hazard. That I am sure of. Now, I insist upon knowing what it is." "I haven't any secret now," he answered rather mournfully. Hazard was, after all, only a boy, though a very noble and manly one. He adored Patty with all the ardor of a pure boy's first passion; a light which, if extinguished, leaves the very blackness of despair in the boyish heart; a dream from which the waking is very bitter. The lad whose first love is ill-starred refuses to believe that he can ever love again, that any sun will rise after this brilliant meteor-flash has faded.