Читать книгу: «Patty's Social Season», страница 13

There was an instantaneous change in Horace Lansing’s demeanour. From a blustering braggart, he became a pale and cringing coward. But with a desperate attempt to bluff it out, he exclaimed, “What do you mean?” but even as he spoke, he shivered and staggered backward, as if dreading a blow.

“Since you ask me,” said Farnsworth, looking at him, sternly, “I’ll answer frankly, that unless you consent to go away and never again enter the presence of these ladies, I shall inform these policemen of a certain little bank trouble that happened in Chicago–”

It was unnecessary to go on. Lansing was abject, and begged in pleading tones that Farnsworth would say no more. “I am going,” Lansing stammered, and without a word of farewell to Mona or even a glance at Patty, he walked rapidly away.

“Let him go,” said Farnsworth. “I can’t tell you girls about it, but I’ll explain to Mr. Galbraith. Mona, that man is not fit for you to know! He is guilty of forgery and robbery.”

“I don’t believe it!” declared Mona, angrily.

“You do believe it,” and Farnsworth looked at her steadily, “because you know I would not tell you so unless I knew it to be true.”

Mona was silent at this, for she did know it. She knew Bill Farnsworth well enough to know that if he made an accusation of that sort, he knew it to be the truth.

“But I love him so,” she said, sobbing.

“No, Mona, you don’t love him.” Bill spoke very gently, and as he laid his hand on Mona’s shoulder, she raised her eyes to look into his kind, serious face. “You were not much to blame, Mona; the man fascinated you, and you thought the foolish infatuation you felt for him was love. But it wasn’t, and you’ll soon forget him. You don’t want to remember a man who was a wrong-doer, I’m sure; nor do you want to remember a man who goes away and deserts you because he has been found out. Mona, is not his going away as he did, enough proof of his guilt?”

But Mona was sobbing so that she could not speak. Not angry sobs now, but pathetic, repentant sorrow.

“Now, it’s up to you, Patty,” said Farnsworth, cheerily. “You and Mona get into the tonneau of this Galbraith car, and I’ll drive you home. You chirk her up, Patty, and tell her there’s no harm done, and that all her friends love her just the same. And tell her if she’ll stop her crying and calm herself before she gets home, nobody need ever know a thing about this whole affair.”

Mona looked up at this, and said, eagerly, “Not father?”

“No, Mona dear,” said Patty. “Sit here by me and I’ll tell you all about it. How we read the note and kept it, and everything. And, Mona, we won’t even let Roger know anything about all this, because it would hurt him very much.”

“But Anne,” said Mona, doubtfully. “You say she told you where I went.”

“I’ll attend to Anne,” said Farnsworth, decidedly. “Can’t you go home to dinner with Patty, Mona? I think that would do you good.”

“Yes, do,” said Patty. “And stay over night with me. We’ll telephone your father where you are, and then, to-morrow, you can go home as if nothing had ever happened.”

“It’s a justifiable deception, Mona,” said Bill, “for I know how it would grieve the poor man if he knew about your foolish little escapade,—which is all over now. It’s past history, and the incident is closed forever. Don’t you be afraid Lansing will ever appear against you. He’s too thoroughly frightened ever to be seen in these parts again.”

“You come to dinner, too, Bill,” said Patty, as they took their places; “though I fear we’ll all be rather late.”

Farnsworth hesitated a moment, then he said, decidedly, “No, Patty, I can’t do it. I was to take the seven o’clock train to-night, but though I’ll miss that, I can take the nine o’clock, and I must go.”

“But, Little Billee, I want to thank you for helping me as you did. I want to thank you, not only for Mona’s sake, but my own.”

“That would be worth staying for, Little Girl, but it is a case of duty, you see. Won’t you write me your thanks,—Apple Blossom?”

“Yes,” said Patty, softly, “I will.”

CHAPTER XX
BRIDESMAID PATTY

Early in February Christine was to be married, and the Fairfields had persuaded her to accept the use of their house for the occasion.

Christine had demurred, for she wanted a simple ceremony with no reception at all. But the Fairfields finally made her see that Mr. Hepworth’s position as an artist of high repute made it desirable that his many friends should be invited to his wedding.

So Christine agreed to the plan, and Patty was delighted at the thought of the festivities in her home.

The elder Fairfields had returned from their Southern trip, but Mrs. Allen was still with them, and there were other house guests from Christine’s Southern home.

The day of the wedding, Patty, assisted by Elise and Mona, was superintending the decorations. Christine had insisted that these should be simple, and as Mr. Hepworth, too, was opposed to the conventional work of a florist, the girls had directed it all themselves.

“It does look perfectly sweet,” said Patty, as she surveyed the drawing-room. “Personally, I should prefer all those dinky white telegraph poles stretched with ribbon and bunched up with flowers to make an aisle for the happy couple to walk through. But as it isn’t my wedding, I suppose we must let the bride have her own way.”

“I’m tired of those tied up poles,” said Elise, decidedly. “I think this is a lot prettier, and all this Southern jasmine is beautiful, and just like Christine.”

“She is the sweetest thing!” said Patty. “Every new present that comes in, she sits and looks at it helplessly, as if it were the very last straw!”

“Well, of course, most of the presents are from Mr. Hepworth’s friends,” said Mona, “and they are stunning! I don’t wonder Christine is overcome.”

“She has lots of friends of her own, too,” said Patty. “All the girls gave her beautiful things, and you two quite outdid yourselves. That lamp of yours, Mona, is a perfect dream; and, Elise, I never saw such gems as your silver candlesticks. Christine’s path through life will be well lighted! Well, everything’s finished, and I think it’s about time we went to dress. The ceremony’s at four, and as I’m going to be a bridesmaid for the first time in my mad career, I don’t want to be late at the party.”

“How beautiful the drawing-room looks,” said Mrs. Allen, coming along just then. “Patty dear, doesn’t this all remind you of the day Nan was married?”

“Yes, Mrs. Allen; only the weddings are quite different. But Christine would keep this as simple as possible, so of course I let her have her own way.”

“Yes, Patty, that’s the privilege of a bride. But some day you can have your own way in the direction of your own wedding, and I rather fancy it will be an elaborate affair. I hope I’ll be here to see.”

“I hope you will, Mrs. Allen,” laughed Patty; “but don’t look for it very soon. My suitors are so bashful, you know; I have to urge them on.”

“Nonsense!” cried Elise. “Patty’s greatest trouble is to keep her suitors off! She tries to hold them at arm’s length, but they are so insistent that it is difficult.”

“I think you girls are all too young to have suitors,” commented Mrs. Allen, smiling at the pretty trio.

“Oh, Mrs. Allen,” said Patty; “suitors doesn’t mean men who want to marry you. I suppose it’s sort of slang, but nowadays, girls call all their young men suitors, even the merest casual acquaintances.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mrs. Allen. “I suppose as in my younger days we used to call them beaux.”

“Yes, just that,” said Patty. “Why, Mr. Hepworth used to be one of our favourite suitors, until he persuaded Christine to marry him; but we have lots of them left.”

“Is that big one coming to the wedding?” asked Mrs. Allen.

“She means Bill Farnsworth,” said Patty to the others. “She always calls him ‘that big one.’ I don’t know whether he’s coming or not. He said if he possibly could get here, he would.”

“He’ll come,” said Elise, wagging her head, sagely. “He’ll manage it somehow. Why, Mrs. Allen, he worships the ground Patty walks on!”

“So do all my suitors,” said Patty, complacently. “They’re awful ground worshippers, the whole lot of them! But so long as they don’t worship me, they may adore the ground as much as they like. Now, you people must excuse me, for I’m going to get into that flummery bridesmaid’s frock,—and I can tell you, though it looks so simple, it’s fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Patty ran away to her own room, but paused on the way to speak to Christine, who was already being dressed in her bridal robes.

“You sweet thing!” cried Patty, flinging her arms round her friend’s neck. “Christine dear, you know I’m not much good at sentimental expressions, but I do want to wish you such a heap of joy that you’ll just almost break down under it!”

Christine smiled back into Patty’s honest eyes, and realised the loving friendship that prompted the words.

“Patty,” she said, “I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me this past year, but I thank you most,”—here she blushed, and whispered shyly,—“because you didn’t want him, yourself!”

“Oh, Christine!” said Patty, “I do want him, something dreadful! I shall just pine away the rest of my sad life because I can’t have him! But you wrested him from me, and I give him to you with my blessing!” And then Patty went away, and Christine smiled, knowing that Patty’s words were merely jesting, and knowing too, with a heart full of content, that Gilbert Hepworth really wanted her, and not the radiant, mischievous Patty.

Promptly at four o’clock, the old, well-known music sounded forth, and Patty came slowly downstairs. Her gown was of white chiffon, over pink chiffon, and fell in soft, shimmering draperies, that looked like classic simplicity, but were in reality rather complicated. Christine had designed both their gowns, and they were marvels of beauty. On Patty’s head was perched a coquettish little cap of the style most approved for bridesmaids, and she carried a clustered spray of pink roses. As she entered the drawing-room, intent on walking correctly in time to the music, she chanced to glance up, and saw Bill Farnsworth’s blue eyes fixed upon her. Unthinkingly, she gave him a radiant smile, and then, with the pink in her cheeks deepened a little, she went on her way toward the group of palms, where the wedding party would stand.

Not even the bride herself looked prettier than Patty; though Christine was very sweet, in her soft white chiffon, her misty veil, and her shower bouquet of white flowers, which she had expressly requested should be without ribbons.

Only the more intimate friends had been invited to the ceremony, but immediately after, the house was filled with the reception guests. Patty was in gay spirits, which was not at all unusual for that young woman. She fluttered about everywhere, like a big pink butterfly, but ever and again hovering back to Christine, to caress her, and, as she expressed it, “To keep up her drooping spirits.” Christine had never entirely overcome her natural shyness, and being the centre of attraction on this occasion greatly embarrassed her, and she was glad of Patty’s gay nonsense to distract attention from herself.

Kenneth Harper was best man, and, as he told Patty, the responsibility of the whole affair rested on himself and her. “We’re really of far greater importance than the bride and groom,” he said; “and they depend on us for everything. Have you the confetti all ready, Patty?”

“Yes, of course; do you have to go to the train with them, Ken?”

“No; my duties are ended when I once get them packed into a motor at the door. But Christine looks as if she couldn’t survive much longer, and as for old Gilbert, he’s as absent-minded as the conventional bridegroom.”

“Christine’s all right,” said Patty. “I’m going to take her off, now, to get into her travelling clothes. Oh, Ken, she has the loveliest suit! Sort of a taupe colour, you know, and the dearest hat–”

“Patty! Do you suppose I care what she’s going to wear away? But do see to it that she’s ready on time! You girls will all get to weeping,—that’s the way they always do,—and you’ll spin out your farewells so that they’ll lose their train! Run along with Christine, now; Hepworth is fidgeting like the dickens.”

So the pretty bridesmaid took the pretty bride away, and Patty begged Christine to make haste with her dressing, lest she might lose the train.

“And Mr. Hepworth will go away without you,” Patty threatened. “Now, you do always dawdle, Christine; but this time you’ve got to hustle,—so be spry,—Mrs. Hepworth.”

Christine smiled at Patty’s use of the new name, and she tried to make the haste Patty demanded. But she was slow by nature, and Patty danced around her in terror, lest she should really be late.

“Here’s your coat, Christine,—put your arms in, do! Now the other one. Now sit down, and I’ll put your hat on for you. Oh, Mrs. Hepworth, do hold your head still! Here, stick this pin in yourself, or I may jab it through your brain,—though I must confess you act as if you hadn’t any! or if you have, it’s addled. And Ken says that husband of yours is acting just the same way. My! it’s lucky you two infants had a capable and clever bridesmaid and best man to get you off! There! take your gloves,—no, don’t hold them like that! put them on. Wake up, Christine; remember, the show isn’t over yet. You’ve got to go downstairs, and be showered with confetti, and, oh, Christine, don’t forget to throw your bouquet!”

“I won’t do it!” and Christine Hepworth woke up suddenly from her dreaming, and clasped her bridal bouquet to her heart.

“Nonsense! of course you will! You’ve simply got to! I’m not going to run this whole wedding, and then have the prima donna balk in the last act. Now, listen, Christine, you throw it over the banister just as you start downstairs! Will you?”

“Yes,” was the meek response; “I will.”

“And wait a minute; don’t you throw it till I get down there myself, for I might catch it.”

“Do catch it, Patty, and then you can give it back to me. I want to keep it all my life.”

“Well, you can’t, Christine; it isn’t done! You’ll have to direct your sentimentality in some other direction. Or, here, I’ll give you a flower out of it, and that’s plenty for you to keep for a souvenir of this happy occasion.”

“Why do I have to throw it, anyway?” persisted Christine, as she tucked the flower away for safe keeping.

“First and foremost, because I tell you to! and, incidentally, because it’s the custom. You know, whoever catches it will be married inside of a year. Now, I’m going on down, and then you come along with Nan, and I expect you’ll find Mr. Hepworth down there somewhere,—if Ken hasn’t lost him.”

Patty cast a final critical glance at Christine, and seeing that she was all right in every respect, she gave her one last kiss, and hurried downstairs. She found a group of laughing young people standing in the hall, all provided with confetti, and the girls all looking upward to watch for the descending bouquet.

“Here’s a good place for you, Patty Pink and White,” and Farnsworth guided her to a place directly under the banister.

At that moment Christine appeared at the head of the stairs. She stood a moment, her bouquet held at arm’s length, and looked at it as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to part with it.

“There, now she’s going to toss it! Quick, Patty, catch it!” Big Bill whispered in her ear, and Patty looked upward. Then, seeing the direction in which the flowers fell,—for Christine really tossed them straight at her,—Patty whirled round and sprang aside, so that the bouquet was picked up by a girl who stood next to her.

“Oh, Patty! you muffed it!” cried Farnsworth; “and what’s more, you did it on purpose!”

“’Course I did!” declared Patty. “I don’t want to be married this year, thank you. But it was all I could do to dodge it!”

And then the confetti was showered on the departing couple, Kenneth tucked them into the motor car, Patty jumped in too, for a last rapturous hug of Christine, and Kenneth almost had to pull her out.

“Come, come, Patty,” he cried. “Let them make their getaway! I think they’ve missed the train as it is. There, now, they’re off! My, a best man’s lot is not a happy one! But our trials are over now, Patty girl, and we can take a little rest! Let’s go back and receive the congratulations of the audience on our good work.”

They went back to the house, laughing, and Patty succeeded in obtaining a few more blossoms from the bridal bouquet to save for Christine until she came back.

“Why didn’t you catch it, Patty?” said Kenneth. “Do you want to be an old maid?”

“‘Nobody asked me, sir, she said,’” and Patty dropped her eyes, demurely.

“You mean there’s nobody that hasn’t asked you!” returned Kenneth. “I’m going to ask you, myself, some day; but not to-night. I’ve had enough to do with matrimonial alliances for one day!”

“So have I,” laughed Patty. “Let’s put it off for a year, Ken.”

“All right,” was the laughing response, and then they rejoined the other young people.

After the reception was over, a few of Patty’s more intimate friends were invited to remain to dinner with the Fairfields.

“Can you stay, Little Billee?” asked Patty, dancing up to him, as he seemed about to leave.

“I have to take a midnight train,” he said, “and I have some business matters that I must attend to first. So if I may, I’ll run away now, and come back this evening for a dance with you.”

“All right; be sure to come,” and Patty flashed him a smiling glance, and danced away again.

It was after eleven before Farnsworth returned, and Patty had begun to fear he would not come at all.

“What are you looking at?” asked Philip Van Reypen, as Patty continued to glance over her shoulder toward the hall, while they were dancing.

“Nothing,” was the non-committal answer.

“Well, then, you may as well look at me. At least, I’m better than nothing.”

“Much better!” said Patty, with exaggerated emphasis; “ever so much better! Oh, say, Philip, take me over to the hall, will you?”

“What for? This dance has just begun.”

“Never mind!” said Patty, impatiently. “Lead me over that way!”

Patty turned her own dancing steps in that direction, and when they reached the hall, there was Big Bill Farnsworth, smiling at her.

“This is what I was looking for!” said Patty, gaily. “Run away now, Philip. Little Billee can only stay a minute, and we’ll finish our dance afterward.”

Van Reypen was decidedly annoyed, but he didn’t show it, for he knew Patty’s caprices must be obeyed. So he bowed politely, and walked away.

“He’s mad as hops,” said Patty, calmly; “but I had to see you for a few minutes, if you’re really going on that midnight train. Are you, Little Billee?”

“Yes, Apple Blossom, I am. I’ve time for just one turn round the room. Will you dance?”

For answer, Patty put her hand in his, and they waltzed slowly round the room.

“You are the busiest business man I ever saw,” Patty said, pouting a little.

“Yes, I am very busy just now. Indeed, matters are rapidly coming to a crisis. It was only because I suddenly found that I must be in Boston to-morrow, that I could stop here to-day. And if matters turn out to-morrow as I hope they will, I must start back immediately to Arizona. But some day I hope to be less hurried, and then–”

“And then?” asked Patty.

“Then I hope to live in New York, and learn good manners and correct customs, and make myself fit to be a friend of yours.”

“Oh, Little Billee, you are a friend of mine.”

“Well, something more than a friend, then. Patty,—I must ask you,—are you engaged to Van Reypen?”

“Goodness, no!” and Patty flashed a glance of surprise.

“Then, Patty, mayn’t I hope?”

“That’s a question I never know how to answer,” said Patty, demurely; “if you mean that I’m to consider myself bound by any sort of a promise, I most certainly won’t!”

“No, I don’t mean that, dear, but,–well, Patty, won’t you wait?”

“Of course I’ll wait. That’s exactly what I mean to do for years and years.”

“You mean to,—but you’re so capricious.”

“Oh, no! not that, of all things! And, anyway, what does capricious mean?”

“Well, it means like a butterfly, hovering from one flower to another–”

“Oh, you think you’re like unto a flower?”

“I’ll be any kind of a flower you wish, if you’ll hover around me like a butterfly.”

“Well, be a timid little forget-me-not,—that will be lovely.”

“I’ll forget-you-not, all right; but I can’t be timid, it isn’t my nature.” And now they had stopped dancing, and stood in the hall, near the door, for it was almost time for Farnsworth to go.

“It isn’t because I’m timid,” and the six feet three of humanity towered above her, “that I don’t grab you up and run away with you, but because–”

“Well, because what?” said Patty, daringly.

“Because, Apple Blossom,” and Bill spoke slowly, “when I see you here in your rightful setting, and surrounded by your own sort of people, I realise that I’m only a great, big–”

“Bear,” interrupted Patty. “You are like a big bear, Bill! But such a nice, gruff, kind, woolly bear,—and the best friend a girl ever had. But I wish you’d be more of a chum, Little Billee. I like to be good chums with every one of my suitors! It’s all very well for Christine to marry; she doesn’t care for society, she just only loves Mr. Hepworth.”

“Some day you’ll forget your love for society, because you’ll get to love just only one man.”

“‘And it might as well be you,’” hummed Patty, to an old tune.

“Patty!” cried Farnsworth, his blue eyes lighting up with sudden joy; “do you mean that?”

“No, I never mean anything! Of course, I don’t mean it,—but if I did, I’d say I didn’t.”

“Patty Pink and White! you little scamp! if you tease me like this, how do you suppose I’m ever going to tear myself away to catch that midnight train to Boston?”

“Why, you can’t get that, Little Billee! it’s too late, now!”

“No, it isn’t; and beside, I must make it.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve just exactly two minutes longer to stay with you.”

“Two minutes is a long time,” said Patty, flippantly.

“Yes, it is! it’s just long enough for two things I have to do.”

“What have you to do?” asked Patty, wonderingly, looking up at him, as they stood alone in the hall.

Farnsworth’s strong face wore a determined look, but his blue eyes were full of a tender light, as he answered:

“Two very important things,—Apple Blossom,—this,—and this!”

He kissed her swiftly on one pink cheek and then on the other, and then, like a flash, he was gone.

“Oh!” said Patty, softly, to herself, “Oh!”