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CHAPTER VII
FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY

Sarah was indeed an expert hair-dresser, and she piled up Patty’s hair in soft coils, and twisted the curly tendrils into fluffy puffs, and though the result was beautiful, it made Patty look like her own older sister. A jewelled ornament of Lady Hamilton’s crowned the coiffure, and this gave an added effect of dignity. The lace gown was easily made to fit its new wearer. Marie pinned it, and sewed it, and patted it into place, till nobody would suspect it had not been made for Patty. But the long lines of the Princess pattern took away all of Patty’s usual simple girlish appearance, and transformed her at once into a beautiful, queenly young woman. The décolletée corsage, and the sleeves, which were merely frills of lace, were very becoming; and the long train, which billowed into a frou-frou of chiffon ruffles took away the last semblance of a girl of eighteen. Notwithstanding her softly-curved cheeks and throat, and her exquisite, fresh complexion, Patty looked quite the young woman of society and could easily have been adjudged about twenty-four years old.

Her eyes danced, as she walked sedately through the open door and into Lady Hamilton’s room.

“My word, Patty!” exclaimed that lady, “you’re simply stunning in that gown! You look as if you’d been ‘out’ for two or three seasons. Your people would never forgive me if they knew how I’ve dressed you up.”

“It was the only thing to do,” said Patty, airily, as she began to draw on her arms a pair of Lady Hamilton’s long white gloves. “The wonder is that you had plenty of all sorts of things to fit me out, and also that they do fit so well. These gloves are just right, though I confess the slippers pinch me just a speck.”

“‘Pretty never hurts,’ you know,” said Lady Hamilton, laughing. “Marie, isn’t Miss Fairfield a picture?”

“Mais oui! She is charmante. It is amazing how the gown suits her. She is très-belle!”

With the grown-up clothes, Patty had quite unconsciously assumed a grown-up air. She nonchalantly flung aside her train with just the same gesture Lady Hamilton was wont to use, and she carried herself with a dignity and graciousness of manner which would have been absurd when wearing her own simple frocks.

“Gracious, goodness, child!” cried Lady Hamilton. “Come down off that pedestal! You walk like a Duchess. It won’t do, you know, really.”

“I don’t mean to,” said Patty; “you know I’m a sort of chameleon. This gown makes me feel as if I belonged in an opera-box, or had an audience with the Queen.”

“Oh, you goose! Stop your nonsense, and we’ll go down to dinner. Mind, now, none of those airs, or I’ll send you back to your room.”

Patty honestly tried to be her own simple-minded self, and would have succeeded all right, if Herenden Hall had not been so lavishly provided with mirrors. On the grand staircase she came face to face with a radiant creature, and was about to step aside when she discovered it was herself! Involuntarily she gazed at the reflection of the white-gowned lady, and unconsciously an air of serenity, almost hauteur, replaced her usual merry smile, and with a gracious mien she passed on down the stairs.

Lady Herenden awaited them in the drawing-room.

A brilliant assemblage was already there, for Patty’s unusual costuming had caused her some delay. After the first few introductions, Lady Hamilton and Patty became separated, and the guests stood about conversing in small groups.

Patty chanced to fall in with some very entertaining people, among whom was the Earl of Ruthven.

The Earl was a handsome man, tall, and of an imposing presence.

When presented to Patty, he gazed at her with frank, though quite deferential admiration. “So pleased to meet you, Miss Fairfield,” he said; “I adore American ladies.”

Patty really felt a little in awe of an Earl, as she had never met one before, and was about to make a shy response, when a slight movement of her head showed her her own reflection in a nearby mirror.

Realising afresh that she was masquerading as a society lady, a spirit of mischief suddenly took possession of her, and she determined to throw herself into the rôle. So, with a pretty little toss of her head, and a charming smile, she said:

“Thank you, Lord Ruthven; I adore Englishmen, too, but I know so few of them.”

“You’ve not been here long, then?”

“No, only a few weeks. And there’s so much I want to learn.”

“Let me teach you,” said his Lordship, eagerly. “I do not think you would prove a dull pupil.”

Patty’s eyes smiled. “No Americans are dull,” she said.

“That’s true; my experience has already proved it. I’ve met six, I think, including yourself. But what sort of things do you want to learn?”

“The language, principally. I just want to learn to say ‘only fancy’ occasionally, and ‘d’y’ see?’ in the middle of every sentence.”

“It’s not easy,” said Lord Ruthven, thoughtfully, “but I think I can teach you in, say, about ten lessons. When shall we begin the course?”

Patty looked at him reproachfully. “If you knew the American nature at all,” she said, “you’d know that we always begin things the moment the plan occurs to us.”

“Good! there’s no time like the present.”

But just then their conversation was interrupted by the announcement of dinner.

Patty hoped she would sit at table next the Earl, but it was not so. The nobleman was accorded the seat of honour at the right of his hostess, while Patty, as a minor guest, was far away across the table. But she found herself between two affable and pleasant-mannered young Englishmen, and instantly forgot all about her titled friend.

Indeed, the bewildering beauty of the scene claimed her attention, and she fairly held her breath as she looked about her. The great oval room was lighted only by wax candles in crystal chandeliers and candelabra. This made a soft, mellow radiance quite different from gas or electricity. On one side of the room long French windows opened on to the terrace, through which came the scent of roses and the sound of plashing fountains. On the other side, only slender pillars and arches divided the dining-room from a conservatory, and a riotous tangle of blossoms and foliage fairly spilled into the room, forming almost a cascade of flowers.

The great round table was a bewildering array of gold plate, gilded glass, and exquisite china, while on the delicate lace of the tablecloth lay rare blossoms that seemed to have drifted from the circular mound of flowers which formed the low centrepiece.

Twenty-four guests sat round the board, in chairs of gilded wicker, and as the silent, black-garbed waiters served the viands, the scene became as animated as it was beautiful.

Patty forgot all else in her absolute enjoyment of the fairy-like spectacle, and was only brought back to a sense of reality by the sound of a voice at her side. Mr. Merivale was speaking—the young man who had escorted her out to dinner, and who now sat at her right hand.

“You love beauty of detail,” he was saying as he noted Patty’s absorption.

“Oh, isn’t it great!” she exclaimed, and then suddenly realised that the expression was not at all in keeping with the dignity of her Princess gown.

But Mr. Merivale seemed amused rather than shocked.

“That’s American for ‘ripping,’ isn’t it?” he said, smiling. “But whatever the adjective, the fact is the same. Lady Herenden’s dinners are always the refinement of the spectacular.”

Patty realised the appropriateness of this phrase, and cudgelled her brain for an appropriate reply. She began to think that playing grown-up was a more difficult game than she had supposed. Had she had on her own simple little frock, Mr. Merivale would not have talked to her like that.

“Don’t you remember last season,” he went on, “when Lady Herenden had a real pond, with gold fish in the middle of the table, and ferns and water lilies round the edge?”

“I wasn’t here last season,” said Patty. “I have never been in England until this summer.”

“Indeed? I know you are an American, but you have really an English manner.”

“It’s acquired,” said Patty, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I find my American manner isn’t admired over here, so I assume London airs.”

“Ah, you wish to be admired?”

“Of all things!” declared naughty Patty, with a roguish glance at the jesting young man.

“You’ll probably get your wish,” he replied. “I’m jolly well ready to do my share.”

This brought the colour to Patty’s cheeks, and she turned slightly away, toward the man on her other side.

He was a slightly older man than Mr. Merivale and was the squire of an adjoining estate. He was quite ready to talk to his American neighbour, and began the conversation by asking her if she had yet seen Lady Herenden’s rose-orchard.

“No, Mr. Snowden,” said Patty, “I only arrived a few hours ago, and I’ve not been round the place at all.”

“Then let me show it to you, please. I’ll come over to-morrow morning for a stroll. May I?”

“I don’t know,” said Patty, hesitatingly, for she was uncertain what she ought to do in the matter. “You see, I’m with Lady Hamilton, and whatever she says–”

“Oh, nonsense! She’ll spare you from her side for an hour or two. There’s really a lot to see.”

Again poor Patty realised her anomalous position. But for her piled-up hair and her trained gown, the man would never have dreamed of asking her to go for a walk unchaperoned. Patty had learned the ethics of London etiquette for girls of eighteen, but she was not versed in the ways of older young women.

“We’ll see about it,” she said, non-committally, and then she almost laughed outright at the sudden thought of Mr. Snowden’s surprise should he see her next day in one of her own simple morning frocks of light muslin. Lady Hamilton’s morning gowns were Paris affairs, with trailing frills and long knotted ribbons.

“It seems to amuse you,” said Mr. Snowden, a trifle piqued at her merriment.

“You’ll be amused, too,” she said, “if you see me to-morrow.”

Then something in the man’s pleasant face seemed to invite confidence, and she said, impulsively:

“I may as well tell you that I’m masquerading. I’m not a grown-up lady at all. I’m not much more than a schoolgirl—not quite eighteen years old. But—but my box didn’t come, and—and I had to wear Lady Hamilton’s gown. It makes me seem a lot older, I know, but I had to do it, or stay away from dinner.”

Mr. Snowden looked first amazed, and then he burst into laughter.

“I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” he said, “but I had no idea! And so Lady Hamilton is your chaperon? I see. Of course. Well, we’ll have the stroll just the same, if you will, and we’ll ask her to go with us.”

“Isn’t she the dearest thing?” exclaimed Patty, looking at Lady Kitty across the table, and feeling much more at her ease now that she had confessed her position.

“She is a beautiful and charming woman,” agreed Mr. Snowden.

And then it was time for Patty to turn back to Mr. Merivale, for she had learned that one must divide the time fairly between dinner neighbors.

“I didn’t offend you, did I?” said young Merivale, eagerly. “You turned so quickly—and—and you—er—blushed, you know, and so I was afraid—er–”

But Patty was of no mind to confess the fewness of her years to everybody, and her mischievous spirit returned as she determined to chaff this amusing young man.

“What!” she said, reproachfully, “an Englishman, and afraid!”

“Afraid of nothing but a fair lady’s displeasure. All true Englishmen surrender to that.”

“I’m not displeased,” said Patty, dimpling and smiling; “in fact, I’ve even forgotten what you said.”

“That’s good! Now we can start fresh. Will you save a lot of dances for me to-night?”

“Oh, will there be dancing?” exclaimed Patty, delighted at the prospect.

“Yes, indeed; in the big ballroom. Will you give me all the waltzes?”

Patty looked at him in amazement. “You said you were going to ‘start fresh,’” she said, “and now you’ve certainly done so!”

But the American phrase was lost on the Englishman, who only proceeded to repeat his request.

Meantime, Mr. Snowden was asking Patty for a dance.

“Certainly,” she said, “I shall be pleased to dance with you.”

“You’ll give me more than one dance or you needn’t give me any,” grumbled young Merivale.

“All right,” said Patty, quickly. “Mr. Snowden, I’ve just had a dance ‘returned with thanks,’ so you can have that, if you wish it.”

“I do indeed,” he replied, enthusiastically, and Mr. Merivale relapsed into a sulky silence.

Then Lady Herenden rose from the table, and the ladies all rose and followed her up to one of the beautiful salons, where coffee was served to them. Patty managed to secure a seat on a divan beside Lady Hamilton.

“You quite take my breath away, little Patty,” said her friend, in a low voice. “You are already a favourite, and in a fair way to become the belle of the ball.”

“I try not to act too old, Kitty,” said Patty, earnestly, “but truly everybody thinks I’m a society lady. They don’t even look on me as a débutante.”

“Never mind, dearie; have all the fun you can. Enjoy the dancing, and don’t care what anybody thinks.”

Encouraged by Lady Hamilton’s approval, Patty ceased to think about her demeanour and proceeded to enjoy the conversation of those about her.

Lady Herenden was especially kind to her, and singled out the young American for her special favour and attention.

CHAPTER VIII
THE EARL OF RUTHVEN

After a time the men came from the dining-room and rejoined the ladies.

Patty was chatting with a group of young women, and when she glanced around, it was to see Lord Ruthven standing at her side.

“I was miles away from you at dinner,” he said, “but now there is an opportunity, let us begin our lessons in English at once.”

“Do,” said Patty, smiling; “where shall be our classroom?”

“We’ll pre-empt this sofa,” said Lord Ruthven, indicating, as he spoke, a gold-framed Louis XIV. tête-à-tête. “We’ll pretend that it is a real schoolroom, with four walls hung with maps and charts—just such as you used to have when you were a little girl.”

Patty smiled at this reference to her far-away school-days, but fell in with his mood.

“Yes,” she said, “and you must be the stern schoolmaster, and I the stupid pupil who has been kept in after school.”

But their merry game was interrupted by Lady Herenden’s invitation to the ballroom.

Escorted by Lord Ruthven, Patty followed the others to the great hall where they were to dance.

It was a resplendent apartment, with balconies and boxes, from which the spectators could look down upon the dancers. A fine orchestra furnished the music, and Patty, who loved to dance, found her feet involuntarily keeping time to the harmonious strains.

“Shall we have a try?” said Lord Ruthven, and in a moment they were gliding over the smooth floor.

Patty already knew that English dancing is not like the American steps, but she was so completely mistress of the art, that she could adapt herself instantly to any variation.

“I won’t compliment your dancing,” said the Earl, as the waltz was finished, “for you must have been told so often how wonderfully well you dance. But I must tell you what a pleasure it is to dance with you.”

Patty thought this a very pretty speech, and graciously gave his lordship some other dances for which he asked, and then, leaving her with Lady Herenden, he excused himself and went away. Then Patty was besieged with would-be partners. Her dancing had called forth the admiration of everybody, and the young men crowded about, begging to see her dance-card.

Only Mr. Merivale stood aloof. He was still sulky, and he looked so like a cross schoolboy that Patty took pity on him.

She slightly nodded her head at him by way of invitation, and he came slowly toward her.

“Which two do you want?” she said, demurely.

Merivale’s face lighted up. “You are indeed kind,” he said, in a low voice. “I will take any you will give me. My card is blank as yet.”

So Patty arranged the dances, and the young man went away looking much happier. The evening was all too short. Patty whirled through dance after dance, and between them was restored to Lady Herenden or Lady Hamilton, only to be claimed the next minute by another partner.

“What a belle it is!” said Lady Herenden, patting the girl’s shoulder affectionately. “You have made a real sensation, Miss Fairfield.”

“But I’m Cinderella, to-night,” she said, gaily.

“Wait till to-morrow, and see all my popularity vanish.”

Lady Herenden did not understand, but took it as merry chaff and paid no heed.

Then Lord Ruthven came for the last dance.

“This is an extra, Miss Fairfield,” he said; “will you give it to me?”

Patty agreed, but as they walked away, his Lordship said:

“You look really tired; would you not rather sit on the terrace than dance?”

“I am tired,” said Patty, honestly; “I think it’s carrying this heavy train around. I’ve never before danced in a long gown.”

“Then you shall rest. Let us sit on the terrace, and I’ll send for an ice for you.”

Lord Ruthven was very kind and courteous. He found a delightful corner of the terrace unoccupied, and he arranged two wicker easy-chairs, where they might be just out of the way of the promenaders. He asked a footman to bring the ices, and then seated himself beside Patty.

“Is it not beautiful,” he said, “the rose garden in the moonlight? One can almost fancy the roses opening beneath the moon’s light as in daytime by the sun’s warm rays.”

“Yes,” said Patty, falling in with his fanciful mood, “and I think, perhaps, at night, the white roses and the pale yellow ones bloom. Then at daybreak, the pink or blush roses open, and at midday the deep red ones.”

“You have the mind of a poet, Miss Fairfield. Where do you get those graceful conceits?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patty, carelessly; “I think they are the result of this beautiful moonlight night, and these picturesque surroundings.”

“Yes, I am sure that is true. You have a soul that responds to all beauty in art or nature. Let us take a short turn in the rose garden, and get a view of this noble old house with the moonlight full upon it.”

“But I want my ice cream,” objected Patty, who still had her schoolgirl appetite.

“We’ll stay but a moment, and we’ll return to find it awaiting us,” gently insisted Lord Ruthven, and Patty amiably went down the terrace steps and along the garden path with him.

Near a clump of cedars, only a short distance away, they turned to look at the beautiful old house. Herenden Hall was always a splendid picture, but especially at night, backgrounded by a gray sky full of racing clouds, and touched at every gable by the silver moonlight, it was enchanting.

“Oh,” said Patty, drawing a sigh, “it is the most wonderful effect I ever saw. See that great, quiet roof sloping darkly away, and beneath, the gay lights of the terrace, and the laughter of happy people.”

“It is a beautiful picture,” said Lord Ruthven, looking steadily at Patty, “but not so beautiful as another one I see. A lovely face framed in soft, shining curls, against a background of dark cedar trees.”

His tone, even more than his words, alarmed Patty. She was not used to such speeches as this, and she said, gravely: “Take me back to the house, please, Lord Ruthven.”

“Not just yet,” pleaded the nobleman. “Dear Miss Fairfield, listen to me a moment. Let me tell you something. Let me justify myself. I oughtn’t to talk to you like this, I know—but the fact is—oh, the fact is you’ve completely bowled me over.”

“What?” said Patty, not at all comprehending his meaning.

“Yes; I’m done for—and at first sight! And by an American! But it’s a fact. I adore you, Miss Fairfield—I’m so desperately in love with you that I can’t down it. Oh, I know I oughtn’t to be talking to you like this. I ought to see your father, and all that. And I will, as soon as I can, but—oh, I say, Patty, tell me you like me a little!”

It suddenly dawned on Patty that she was having a proposal! And from an English Earl! And all on account of her grown-up gown! The absurdity of it impressed her far more than the romantic side of it, and though a little frightened, she couldn’t help smiling at the Earl’s tragic tones.

“Nonsense, Lord Ruthven,” she said, though her cheeks were pink; “don’t talk like that. Please cut me that lovely cluster of roses, and then take me back to Lady Hamilton.”

The Earl drew a penknife from his pocket, and cut the flowers she asked for. Then he stood, trimming off the thorns, and looking down at her.

Patty had never looked so winsome. Her garb made her seem a grown woman, and yet the situation alarmed her, and her perplexed face was that of a troubled child.

“Tell me,” he repeated, “that you like me a little.”

“Of course I like you a little,” returned Patty, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“That’s something,” said the Earl, in a tone of satisfaction, “and now will you accept these flowers as a gift from me? As, for the moment, I’ve nothing else to offer.”

Patty took the flowers in both hands, but Lord Ruthven still held them, too, saying: “And will you let them mean–?”

“No,” cried Patty, “they don’t mean anything—not anything at all!”

Lord Ruthven clasped Patty’s two hands, roses and all, in his own.

“They do,” he said quietly; “they mean I love you. Do you understand?”

He looked straight into the troubled, beseeching eyes that met his own.

“Please let me go, Lord Ruthven—please!” said Patty, her hands trembling in his own.

“You may go, if you will first call me by some less formal name. Patty, dearest, say Sylvester—just once!”

This desperate request was too much for Patty’s sense of humour.

“Why can’t I say it twice?” she said in a low tone, but her voice was shaking with laughter.

“You little witch!” exclaimed the Earl, and his clasp tightened on her hands. “Now you shan’t go until you have said it twice!”

“Sylvester—Sylvester—there!” said Patty, her eyes twinkling with fun, and her lips on the verge of laughter. Then, gently disengaging her hands from his, she gathered up her long white train, and prepared to run away.

The Earl laid a detaining hand on her arm. “Miss Fairfield,” he said, “Patty, I won’t keep you now, but to-morrow you’ll give me an opportunity, won’t you? to tell you–”

“Wait till to-morrow, my lord,” said Patty, really laughing now. “You will probably have changed your mind.”

“How little you know me!” he cried, reproachfully, and then they had reached the terrace, and joined the others.

Soon after the guests all retired to their own rooms, and the moonlight on Herenden Hall saw no more the gay scene on the terrace.

Patty, passing through her own room, discovered that her two trunks had arrived and had been unpacked. She went straight on and tapped at Lady Hamilton’s door. “Get me out of this gown, please, Marie; I’ve had quite enough of being a grown-up young woman!”

“What’s the matter, Patty?” said Lady Kitty, looking round. “Didn’t you have a good time this evening?”

“The time of my life!” declared Patty, dropping into her own graphic speech, as she emerged from the heap of lace and silk. “I’ll see you later, Kitty,” and without further word she returned to her own room.

And later, when Marie had been dismissed, Patty crept back to Lady Hamilton, a very different Patty, indeed. Her hair fell in two long braids, with curly tails; a dainty dressing-gown enveloped her slight figure; and on her bare feet were heelless satin slippers. She found Lady Kitty in an armchair before the wood fire, awaiting her.

Patty threw a big, fat sofa pillow at her friend’s feet, and settled herself cosily upon it.

“Well, girlie,” said Lady Hamilton, “come to the story at once. What happened to you as a grown-up?”

“What usually happens to grown-ups, I suppose,” said Patty, demurely; “the Earl of Ruthven proposed to me.”

“What!” cried Lady Hamilton, starting up, and quite upsetting Patty from her cushion.

“Yes, he did,” went on Patty, placidly; “shall I accept him?”

“Patty, you naughty child, tell me all about it at once! Oh, what shall I say to your father and mother?”

Patty grinned. “Yes, it was all your fault, Kitty. If I hadn’t worn your gown, he would never have dreamed of such a thing.”

“But, Patty, it can’t be true. You must have misunderstood him.”

“Not I. It’s my first proposal, to be sure; but I know what a man means when he says he loves me and begs me to call him by his first name. And I did—twice.”

Patty went off in shrieks of laughter at the remembrance of it, and she rocked back and forth on her cushion in paroxysms of mirth.

“Patty, behave yourself, and tell me the truth. I’ve a mind to shake you!”

“I am shaking,” said Patty, trying to control her voice. “And I am telling you the truth. His first name is Sylvester. Lovely name!”

“Where did this occur?”

“In the rose garden. Oh, right near the terrace. Not a dozen yards away from you all. I’m sure if you’d been listening, you could have heard me say, ‘Sylvester—Sylvester!’”

Again Patty went off in uncontrollable merriment at this recollection, and Lady Kitty had to laugh too.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to wait till to-morrow, and he’d probably change his mind. And I see my trunks have come, so he surely will. You see he proposed to that long-tailed gown and jewelled tiara I had on–”

“It wasn’t a tiara.”

“Well, it looked something like one. I’m sure he thought it was. He doubtless wants a dignified, stately Lady Ruthven, and he thought I was it. Oh, Kitty! if you could have heard him.”

“I don’t think it’s nice of you, to take him that way.”

“All right, I won’t. But I’m not going to take him at all. Why, Kitty, when he sees me to-morrow in my own little pink muslin, he won’t know me, let alone remembering what he said to me.”

“Patty, you’re incorrigible. I don’t know what to say to you. But I hope your parents won’t blame me for this.”

“Of course they won’t, Kitsie. You see it was an accident. A sort of case of mistaken identity. I don’t mind it so much now that it’s over, but I was scared stiff at the time. Only it was all so funny that it swallowed up my scare. Now I’ll tell you the whole story.”

So Patty told every word that the Earl had said to her during the evening, in the ballroom and on the terrace. And Lady Hamilton listened attentively.

“You were not a bit to blame, dear,” she said, kindly, when the tale was finished. “I don’t think you even flirted with him. But it’s truly extraordinary that he should speak so soon.”

“It was on the spur of the moment,” declared Patty, with conviction. “You know, moonlight and roses and a summer evening have a romantic influence on some natures.”

“What do you know of a romantic influence, you baby. Hop along to bed, now, and get up in the morning your own sweet, natural self—without a thought of Earls or moonlight.”

“I will so,” said Patty; “I didn’t like it a bit, except that it was all so funny. Won’t Nan howl?”

“She may, but I’m afraid your father will be annoyed. You know you’re in my care, Patty.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll tell Daddy all about it. And I rather guess it will make him laugh.”