That she should make the proposition--she who, from the first, had not only never "got on" with him, but had seemed to regard him with active dislike--surprised both her sisters not a little; but the proposition itself appeared to them, as to her, to have every good reason to recommend it. They thought it a most happy idea, and adopted it with enthusiasm. That very evening they made their plans. They designed the simple decorations for their little room, and the appropriate dishes for their modest feast. And, when these details had been settled, they remembered that on the following night no Parliament would be sitting, which meant that Paul would probably come home early (they knew his times of coming and going, for he was back at his old quarters now, having returned in consequence of the departure of the discordant piano, and to oblige Mrs. M'Intyre, he said); and that decided them to send him his invitation at once. Patty, while her complaisant mood was on her, wrote it herself before she went to bed, and gave it over the garden railing to Mrs. M'Intyre's maid. In the morning, as they were asking which of them should go to town to fetch certain materials for their little _fête_, they heard the door bang and the gate rattle at No. 7, and a quick step that they knew. And the slavey of No. 6 came upstairs with Paul Brion's answer, which he had left as he passed on his way to his office. The note was addressed to "Miss King," whose amanuensis Patty had carefully explained herself to be when writing her invitation. "MY DEAR MISS KING,--You are indeed very kind, but I fear I must deny myself the pleasure you propose--than which, I assure you, I could have none greater. If you will allow me, I will come in some day with Mrs. M'Intyre, who is very anxious to see your new menage. And when I come, I hope you will let me hear that new piano, which is such an amazing contrast to the old one.--Believe me, yours very truly, "PAUL BRION." This was Paul Brion's note. When the girls had read it, they stood still and looked at each other in a long, dead silence. Eleanor was the first to speak. Half laughing, but with her delicate face dyed in blushes, she whispered under her breath, "Oh--oh, don't you see what he means?" "He is quite right--we must thank him," said Elizabeth, gentle as ever, but grave and proud. "We ought not to have wanted it--that is all I am sorry for." But Patty stood in the middle of the room, white to the lips, and beside herself with passion. "That we should have made such a mistake!--and for _him_ to rebuke us!" she cried, as if it were more than she could bear. "That _I_ should have been the one to write that letter! Elizabeth, I suppose he is not to blame--" "No, my dear--quite the contrary." "But, all the same, I will never forgive him," said poor Patty in the bitterness of her soul. CHAPTER IX. MRS. AARONS.