it is."

"You little tyrant!" he replied good-naturedly. "You run me ragged and
make me like it."

From a rocker on the porch at the eastern end of the patio Kay's mother
rose and called to them, and the girl darted away to greet her. Mrs.
Parker folded the girl to a somewhat ample bosom and kissed her
lovingly on her ripe red lips; to her husband she presented a cheek
that showed to advantage the artistry of a member of that tribe of
genii who strive so valiantly to hold in check the ravages of age. At
fifty, Kay's mother was still a handsome woman; her carriage, her
dress, and a certain repressed vivacity indicated that she had mastered
the art of growing old gracefully.

"Well, kitten," she said, a trifle louder and shriller than one seemed
to expect of her, "are you going to remain with us a little while, or
will next week see you scampering away again?"

"I'll stay all summer, fuss-budget. I'm going to paint the San
Gregorio while it's on exhibition, and then this old house and the
garden. Oh, mother dear, I'm in love with it! It's wonderful!"

The potato baron had followed Parker and his daughter into the patio,
and stood now, showing all of his teeth in an amiable smile. Parker
suddenly remembered his guest.

"My dear," he addressed his wife, "I have brought a guest with me.
This is Mr. Okada, of whom I wrote you."