efforts.

"Come in," she called, innocently.

Riley stood in the doorway, with a hand resting on each hip, astonished
into silence by the peaceful scene before him. Patricia was seated in
the middle of the bed, completely surrounded with pillows, and fanning
herself nonchalantly.

"Phwat made ye slam th' dure?" he demanded.

"Did it slam?" she asked. "It must have been the draught. There's an
awful draught around this apartment--haven't you noticed it, Riley?"

"I haven't noticed nuthin' excep' that ye are a bad little gurl."

"It's the 'divvle' in me--coming out, isn't it, Riley? That's what you
told mamma Eleanor, and you ought to know."

"Shure, I ought ter know, an' I do know."

"I thought you did." Patricia smiled sweetly. "But if a person has the
'divvle' in him, it is much better to let it get out."

"'Twud take more room than there is here ter let it all out iv ye,"
retorted the irate Riley.

"You are no gentleman, Mr. Riley, to speak to a lady like that," she
said, severely. "You may go now."