"'And the stars are old, And the leaves of the judgment book unfold,'" chanted Patty, who had just learned this new song, and was apt to sing it at unexpected moments. She sat on the floor in the middle of the long drawing-room of her New York home. To say she was surrounded by flowers, faintly expresses it. She was hemmed in, barricaded, nearly smothered in flowers. They were or had been in enormous florist's boxes, and as fast as Patty opened the boxes and read the cards which accompanied the blossoms, Jane took the boxes away.…
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