A few nights later, Patty invited the two Blaneys to dinner. Nan wanted to meet Alla, and Mr. Fairfield, too, expressed a desire to see these new friends of Patty\'s.

"Me and the two companies is three," said Patty, making up her party, "and you and Dad are five. Who\'d make a good sixth?"

"Only six?" asked Nan. "Why not a big dinner?"

"No; I don\'t think so. You see, the Blaneys don\'t fit in with everybody, and I want them to have a good time."

"Oh, I mean ask their own sort of people."

Patty looked up, quickly. "Now, Nan, don\'t be unpleasant. You\'re implying that their kind of people are not as nice as our kind, and that hurts my feelinks, and you know it. I want you wid me on this,—not agin me."

"I am, Patty. I don\'t mean to be horrid. Well, have six, if you like.
Who else?"

"Chick Channing, I think. He\'s so adaptable and all-round nice with everybody. Phil hates the Blaneys, and——"

"Mr. Farnsworth?"

"I don\'t think he\'d like them, either. And,—too,—Bill isn\'t very chummy with me lately."

"Why not?"

"Dunno."

"Did you quarrel?"

"Now, Nan, don\'t ask such leading questions. We didn\'t exactly quarrel, and yet again, I suppose we did quarrel,—at least, I did,—he didn\'t. I sort of snubbed him, and he took it more seriously than I meant, if you call that a quarrel. But anyway, he wouldn\'t stand for the Blaney crowd, I\'m sure of that."

"All right, ask Chick. As you say, he\'ll chum with anybody. He\'s a splendid dinner guest."

Channing accepted the invitation with pleasure, and the party was made up.

"I don\'t want anything eccentric or foolish," Patty said to Nan, regarding the appointments, "but I do want it aesthetic and artistic."

"You can arrange it as you like, dear," Nan said, kindly, and Patty did.

The dining-room was dimly lighted, and the table decoration consisted of an enormous bronze placque, which Patty took down from the hall wall. This held a small amount of water, and on it floated three pansies. The table candles wore deep purple shades, and Nan privately thought the whole effect dull and gloomy enough, but she said no word of criticism.

Patty appeared, in a flowing, robe-like costume of pale violet chiffon, and wore pansies in her hair over each ear.

"Well!" exclaimed her father, as he saw her, "I thought you could wear any colour, but take my advice, Kiddie, and never brave lavender again! It makes you look old and sallow."

"Nothing of the sort!" denied Patty. "You\'re unaccustomed to seeing me in it, that\'s all."

Then Channing came, and Patty had to bear his disapproving glances.

"You\'re an angel in anything," he said, "but you\'re least angelic in that mawkish mauve. You look like a member of the Art Students\' union."

Patty didn\'t mind their chaff, and only smiled good-naturedly, and then the Blaneys came.

Patty was used to their aesthetic effects, but the others weren\'t, and though the greetings were cordial and courteous, the elder Fairfields needed a moment to recover their poise. But Chick Channing was always to be depended upon, and he plunged into gay conversation that broke the ice and did away with all self-consciousness.

Nor was it surprising that the appearance of the brother and sister should strike an observer as startling. Alla was swathed in yellowish-brown stuff. Her gown seemed to have no shape or design, just draperies that wrapped her about in mummy fashion. Long sleeves came well down over her hands, a high collar rose over her ears, and the long skirt twined itself round her feet, till she could scarcely walk. The material was a woolly serge, and no bit of colour or trimming relieved the severity. She wore no ornament save a hideous necklace of great, ugly stones, that fell down as far as her knees, and carried a dilapidated old fan of peacock feathers. Patty had never seen her look so unattractive, for even in her eccentric garb, she was usually picturesque. But in this brown thing she was utterly without charm.

Sam Blaney, too, looked ill-dressed and out of place. He had bowed to convention to the extent of wearing evening clothes, but they were not of correct cut, and did not fit well, and he wore an absurd tie of soft silk, of his favourite light green hue, which gave him the appearance of a caricature.

However, the two were most affable and agreeable, and their soft, low voices murmured pleasantries suitable to the occasion.

At dinner the conversation turned on the approaching Christmas celebration of the Cosmic Centre.

"What a funny name," said Channing. "Sounds like a small village in
New England."

"So it does," returned Sam Blaney, taking the jest in good part. "But we call our club that modest little name because we think ourselves the centre of the Universe."

"I always admire self-respect," said Mr. Fairfield, smiling; "I hold that a man or a club with full appreciation of self-merit can\'t go far wrong."

"And Cosmic Centre is so very expressive," said Channing. "I don\'t see how you could have well found anything more inclusive."

"Mrs. Fairfield calls you the Cosmickers," put in Patty, smiling at Nan.

"And a very good name," agreed Alla. "Cosmickers sounds a bit like picknickers, and often that\'s what we are."

"What is your real end and aim?" asked Mr. Fairfield, seriously.

"Advancement of beauty and appreciation of art," replied Alla, looking thoughtful and a little affected.

"Interpretation of beauty," amended her brother. "We endeavour to imbue our souls with the highest and best emotions and to discard and disown all that is merely conventional and formal in life or in thought."

"Meaning the outward and ordinary signs of clothes and manners?" said
Chick.

Patty detected the chaffing note in his voice, but his tone was grave and respectful, and after a quick glance at him, Blaney replied, "Yes, and the inner graces of poesy and music of the soul."

"In fact, you use your soul instead of your mind or brain," Chick continued, and now Patty gave him an imploring glance, meant to beg him not to guy the Cosmic principles.

But Alla had no thought of Chick\'s insincerity. "That is it," she said. "We use our souls for everything, even physical processes. One of our geniuses is inventing a dance for Miss Fairfield. Appreciating her genius for dancing, he is making a masterpiece in which she can dance with her soul——"

"Put her whole sole in her dancing," said Chick, with enough emphasis to point his jest.

"Yes," went on Alla, unmoved, though Mr. Fairfield nearly choked as he watched her intent face, "just that. Unless one does use one\'s soul it becomes rusted and useless."

Her face was drawn with intensity, her lifted hand shook a long slender forefinger at Chick, and that urbane young man had just about all he could do to preserve his gravity.

But he went calmly on. "Do you know," he said, "I sometimes think my soul is a bit rusty."

"Very likely," said Sam Blaney, who didn\'t like to be long out of the conversation. "Suppose you join our coterie and get the rust removed. Nor am I joking, Mr. Channing. Many there be who laugh at our earnestness, but only because of their own ignorance."

"I dare say that is so," put in Fred Fairfield, in sincere tones; "that\'s why I\'m specially interested in knowing just what you do to tinker up a rusty soul. Pardon my rude diction, but I am ............