"Will ye be th' good gurl if I lave ye by yersel'?"

"How do I know if it's all out of me?"

"Shure, it oughter be," he declared, in despair. "Will ye thry?"

"Certainly, _I'll_ try." Patricia was demureness itself. "If anything
happens, it will be the 'divvle's' fault, so you mustn't hold me
responsible."

"It's ye'er own divvle, ain't it?--ye can make it do what ye want."

"_I_ don't know," protested Patricia. "I didn't even know I had a
'divvle.' It was you who discovered it; and people who discover things
have to be responsible for them, don't they?"

Riley shook his head in desperation. His arguments were exhausted, and
all that was left to him was retreat.

"I wuddent be that child's gov'ness f'r all th' money in th' world," he
muttered, as he shuffled through the hall. "An' ter think they lift her
home fr'm ch'ice. 'Twas th' lucky day f'r Miss Mary--but I wish her
here."

Finding the coast clear, Patricia moved the scene of her activity to the
reception-room. Here she undertook to put into execution the latest idea
which had struck her fancy, which was nothing less than a medieval
tournament on as elaborate a scale as the properties at hand would
permit. The hotel had not been furnished with an eye to contests of
chivalry, but chairs, turned wrong-side up and covered with