"Patty, do come along and get your luncheon before everything grows cold " "'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.