So Mrs. Van Reypen bade Patty read sermons to her. When Patty did so she either fell asleep and then, waking suddenly, declared that Patty had been skipping, or else she argued contrary to the doctrines expressed in the sermons and expected Patty to combat her arguments. "I'm tired of hearing you read," she said, at last. "You do read abominably. First you go along in staccato jerks, then you drone in a monotone. Philip is a fine reader. I love to hear Philip read. I wish he'd come in to-day. I wonder why he doesn't? Probably because you're here. He must have taken a violent dislike to you, Miss Fairfield." "Do you think so?" said Patty, almost choking with suppressed laughter at this version of Philip's attitude toward her. "Yes, I'm sure he did. For usually he likes my companions--especially if they're pretty. And you're pretty, Miss Fairfield. Not the type I admire myself,--I prefer brunettes,--but still you are pretty in your own way." "Thank you," said Patty, meekly. "And you're especially pretty when you dance. I wish you could dance for me now; but, of course, I wouldn't let you dance on Sunday. That's the worst of Sundays. There's so little one can do." "Shall I sing hymns to you?" inquired Patty, gently, for she really felt sorry for the discontented old lady. "Yes, if you like," was the not very gracious rejoinder, and, without accompaniment, Patty sang the old, well-known hymns in her true, sweet voice. The twilight was falling, and, as Patty's soothing music continued, Mrs. Van Reypen fell asleep in her chair. Exhausted by a really difficult day Patty also dropped into a doze, and the two slept peacefully in their chairs in front of the dying embers of the wood fire. It was thus that Philip Van Reypen found them as he came softly in at five o'clock. "Well, I'll be excused," he said, to himself, "if I ever saw anything to beat that!" His gaze had wandered from his sleeping aunt to Patty, now sound asleep in a big armchair. The crimson velvet made a perfect background for her golden curls, a bit tumbled by her afternoon exertions at being entertaining. Her posture was one of graceful relaxation, and pretty Patty had never looked prettier than she did then, asleep in the faint firelight. "By Jove!" exclaimed the young man, but not aloud, "if that isn't the prettiest sight ever. I believe there's a tradition that one may kiss a lady whom one finds asleep in her chair, but I won't. She's a dear little girl, and she shan't be teased." Then Mr. Philip Van Reypen deliberately, and noiselessly, lifted another large armchair and, carefully disposing his own goodly proportioned frame within it, proceeded to fall asleep himself--or if not really asleep, he gave an exceedingly good imitation of it. Patty woke first. As she slowly opened her eyes she saw Philip dimly through the now rapidly gathering dusk.