CHAPTER I

MISS DOYLE INTERFERES


"Daddy," said Patricia Doyle at the breakfast table in her cosy New York
apartment, "here is something that will make you sit up and take
notice."

"My dear Patsy," was the reply, "it's already sitting up I am, an'
taking waffles. If anything at all would make me take notice it's your
own pretty phiz."

"Major," remarked Uncle John, helping himself to waffles from a fresh
plate Nora brought in, "you Irish are such confirmed flatterers that you
flatter your own daughters. Patsy isn't at all pretty this morning.
She's too red and freckled."

Patsy laughed and her blue eyes danced.

"That comes from living on your old farm at Millville," she retorted.
"We've only been back three days, and the sunburn sticks to me like a
burr to a kitten."

"Pay no attention to the ould rascal, Patsy," advised the Major,
composedly. "An' stop wavin' that letter like a white flag of surrender.
Who's it from?"

"Kenneth."