p's assumption of authority.

Her blue eyes flashed, and a spot of pink came into each cheek, as she
replied: "It is not of the slightest interest to me whether you are
ashamed of me or not! You are in no way responsible for my actions and
you have no right to reprove or criticise me. I may have broken the
conventions of hospitality, but that is between me and Mrs. Farrington.
Your opinion of me means nothing to me whatever! Good night, Roger."

Patty held out her hand to Roger, who took it for a moment, with a
smiling good night, and then, with the air of an offended queen, Patty
swept upstairs and entered her own room.

There she found Mona and Elise, one asleep on the couch, the other
rubbing her eyes as she sat up in a big easy-chair.

"Goodness, Patty!" said Mona, looking at the clock, "what _have_ you
been up to?"

Elise blinked and shook herself awake. "We had to wait up to see you,"
she said, "so we waited here."

"I see you did," returned Patty, lightly. "And now your wait is over,
and you've seen me, shall us say good night?"

"Not much we won't!" declared Elise, now broad awake. "Tell us
everything about it! What did you do there all this time? What did
Phil say? Who brought you home? Do you like that crowd? How can you?
They bore me to death! Oh, Patty, you're going to cry!"

"I am," declared Patty, and the tears gathered thickly in her eyes.
"I'm all in, and I'm down and out, and I'm mad as hops, and I'm tired,
and I _am_ going to cry. Now, if you've any sense of common humanity,
you'll know enough to go away and let me alone!"

"Can I help?" asked Mona, looking commiseratingly at Patty.

"No," and Patty smiled through the fast-flooding tears. "I never need
help to cry!"

"Come on, then," and Mona took Elise by the arm and led her away, as
they heard Patty's door locked behind them.

Now, most girls would have thrown themselves down on the pillows to
have their cry out, but Patty was too methodical for that. "I can't
cry comfortably in this rig," she said to herself, beginning to take
off the chiffon gown.

And it was with tears still unshed that she finally sat at her
dressing-table plaiting her hair for the night.

"And after all," she remarked to her reflection in the mirror, "I only
want to cry 'cause I'm tired and worn out and--yes, and mad! I'm mad
at Philip, and I'm going to stay mad! He has no right to talk to me
like a Dutch uncle! My own father never spoke to me