The Christmas Eve party at the Blaneys\' was in full swing. A man at the piano was performing a monologue that was partly spoken, partly sung. It was cleverly done, and the audience showed its appreciation by outspoken comments.

"A little lame on that top note, old chap. S\'pose you try it over—ah, that\'s better!"

Patty sat next to Sam Blaney. Chick had expected to come, but Elise had persuaded him to attend her party instead. This rather pleased Patty, for she feared Chick\'s gay banter and she knew he didn\'t care for the Cosmic Centre Club and their ways.

"You are so wonderful!" Blaney was saying, as he looked at her. "I never cared for Christmas before."

Patty\'s gown was a long, sweeping robe of poinsettia red velvet. It would not have been becoming to most blondes, but Patty\'s fairness triumphed over all colour schemes. She wore a girdle of red velvet poinsettia blossoms and a wreath of small ones encircled her head.

"You are so beautiful——" Blaney\'s soft, purring voice went on.

"Don\'t make me blush," Patty laughed back. "Pink cheeks spoil the effect of this red gown. I must stay pale to suit it."

"Pink or pale, you are perfect! I adore you."

Embarrassed by the fervour of his tones, Patty turned to talk to the man at her other side. But he was engrossed in conversation with an aesthetic damsel, and so she gaily changed the subject.

"How splendid the rooms look," she said, glancing about. "That grove of green trees is wonderfully picturesque."

"That\'s where you\'re to dance," Blaney returned. "I looked after it myself. It\'s carpeted with pine needles, but they\'re soft, fresh ones, not dried ones. I\'m sure they\'ll be comfy."

"I dunno about dancing on \'em barefoot. I believe I\'ll wear sandals, after all."

"Oh, no, you mustn\'t. Grantham has designed every detail so exquisitely, don\'t fail to follow his directions accurately. Your number will be the best of all. That\'s why we put it last. It will be an enormous hit,—a revelation!"

"I hope they will like it. I\'ve never danced before these people before. I\'ve pleased ordinary audiences, but the Cosmos are so critical—it would break my heart if they didn\'t approve."

"Of course they\'ll approve! They\'ll go crazy over you. But you must throw yourself utterly into the spirit of it. We know at once if you\'re afraid or over-reserved. Abandon must be your keynote. Real interpretation of Grantham\'s wonderful ideas."

"They are wonderful," agreed Patty. "Mr. Grantham is a true poet. He sees Nature at her best and with an intuition almost divine."

Her blue eyes shone with earnestness and Blaney gazed at her in adoration.

"You perfect thing!" he murmured; "you have found your right environment among us. You are wasted on the ordinary, unthinking masses of society. You are Nature\'s child. What a pity you must live a conventional life. Patty, can\'t you break loose? Can\'t you give up your present hampering existence and come and throw in your lot with ours? Live here. Alla would warmly welcome you as a sister——"

"And will you be my brother, Sam? I\'ve never had a brother."

"No, I refuse to be your brother! I\'ll be—well, say, your guardian.
How\'d you like to be my ward?"

"I didn\'t know girls ever were wards except in old-fashioned novels.
And there, they always marry their guardians."

"Well?"

"Oh, my gracious, is this a proposal!" Something in Blaney\'s tone had warned Patty that light banter was the best course, and she rattled on; "if so, postpone it, please. I really must go very soon and dress for my dance."

"I know it. I will wait for a more fitting time and place. You ought to be wooed in a sylvan glade——"

"Oh, I\'d rather a bosky dell! I\'ve always been crazy to be wooed in a bosky dell. A leafy bower is the nearest I\'ve come to it."

"Who wooed you there?"

"Can\'t remember exactly. But it was the third from the last,—I think."

"You little witch! Do you know how fascinating you are?"

"No; tell me." Patty was in mischievous mood, and looked up demurely at Blaney.

"By Jove, I will! As soon as I can get you alone. Run away, now, and do your dance. And, listen; I command you to think of me at every step."

"Can\'t promise that. It\'s all I can do to remember Mr. Grantham\'s steps; they\'re fearfully complicated. So—you think of me,—instead."

With a saucy smile at Blaney, Patty slipped from her place, and went around to the dressing room.

"Oh, here you are," cried Alla, who was waiting to help her dress; "I was just going to send for you. Now, off with your frock."

Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, the audience sat in breathless anticipation of Patty\'s dance.

Howard Grantham was a great artist, and never before had he been known to devise a dance for any one. But he had recognised Patty\'s skill in the art, and had requested that he be allowed to design a picture dance for her. The result was to be a surprise to all present, except the Blaneys, for rehearsals had been jealously kept secret.

The lights in the room were low, and the stage, which was a small grove of evergreen trees, was dark. Then, through the trees, appeared slowly a faint, pink light, as of breaking dawn. Some unseen violins breathed almost inaudible strains of Spring-song music.

Two trees at the back were slowly drawn apart as two small, white hands appeared among their branches. In the opening showed Patty\'s lovely face, eyes upturned, scarlet lips parted in a smile that was a joyous expression of youth and gladness. Still further she drew apart the lissome trees, and stepped through, a vision of spring itself. Clouds of chiffon swirled about her, softest dawn-rose in colour, changing of tints of heliotrope and primrose, as she swayed in graceful, pliant rhythm. Her slim white arms waved slowly, as the hidden melodies came faintly from the depth of the grove. Her pretty bare feet shone whitely among the soft pine needles and the steps of her dance were the very essence of poetry itself.

The audience watched in silence, spellbound by the fair sight. Slowly she moved and swayed; then, as the music quickened, her steps grew more animated, her smile more bright, the lights were stronger, and the dance ended in a whirl of graceful pirouette and tossing, fluttering draperies. With no pause or intermission, Patty was changed to an impersonation of summer. It was done by the lights. Her robe was really of white chiffon, and as pink lights had made it appear in rosy tints, so now a deep yellow light gave the effect of sultry sunlight.

The music, and likewise the rhythm of the dance, were soft and languorous as a July noon. Limply hung the draperies, slowly waved the graceful arms, and at the end, Patty sank slowly, gently, down on a mound beneath the trees, and, her head pillowed on her arm, closed her eyes, while the violin notes faded to silence.

Knowing better than to applaud her, the spectators watched in silence. A moment, and then a clear bugle-like note sounded. Patty started up, passed her hand across her brow, opened her eyes, smiled slowly, and more and more merrily, then sprang up, and as the lights made her costume appear to be of the gold and russet red of autumn, she burst into a wild woodland dance such as a veritable Dryad might have performed. The music was rich, triumphant, and the whole atmosphere was filled with the glory of the crown of the yea............