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“That was dear of you! But don’t you think for a minute that’s all I’m going to have! There’ll be an extra or two, and I claim them all!”
“Hear the man talk!” exclaimed Patty. “Why, I do believe they’re beginning an extra now! Mr. Van Reypen, won’t you dance it with me?” Patty jumped up and stood before him, lightly swaying in time to the music.
Philip sat looking at her, entranced by the pretty vision; and even before he could rise, Kenneth Harper came to Patty, and obeying a sudden coquettish impulse, she put her hand lightly on Kenneth’s shoulder and they danced away.
Philip Van Reypen sat looking after them, smiling.
“What a transparent child she is,” he thought to himself. “Her pretty little coquetries are like the gambols of a kitten. Now, she thinks I’m going to be annoyed at losing this dance with her. Well,—I am,—but I don’t propose to quarrel with her about it.”
And then Patty and Kenneth came dancing back again; and Patty calmly told Mr. Van Reypen it was his turn now.
Philip took her hand and they started off, and when that dance was finished it was supper-time.
As usual, Patty and her most especial friends grouped in some pleasant corner for supper. But, looking about, she missed a familiar face.
“Where is Christine Farley?” she said. “She always has supper with us. Do you know where she is, Mr. Hepworth?”
Gilbert Hepworth drew near Patty, and spoke in a low voice: “I think she has gone to the dressing-room,” he said. “I wish you’d go up and see her, Patty.”
A little startled at his serious face, Patty ran upstairs, to Elise’s room, where she had taken off her wraps.
There was Christine, who had thrown herself on a couch, and buried her face in the pillows.
“Why, Christine, what is the matter, dear?” and Patty laid her hand gently on Christine’s hair.
“Oh, Patty, don’t speak to me! I am not fit to have you touch me!”
“Good gracious, Christine, what do you mean?” and Patty began to think her friend had suddenly lost her mind.
“I’m a bad, wicked girl! You were my friend, and now I’ve done an awful, dreadful thing! But, truly, truly, Patty, I didn’t mean to!”
“Christine Farley, stop this foolishness! Sit up here this minute, and tell me what you’re talking about! I believe you’re crazy.”
Christine sat up, her pale hair falling from its bands, and her eyes full of tears.
“I’ve—I’ve—stolen–” she began.
“Oh, you goose! do go on! What have you stolen? A pin from Elise’s pin cushion,—or some powder from her puff-box? Another dab on your nose would greatly improve your appearance,—if you ask me! It’s as red as a beet!”
“Patty, don’t giggle! I’m serious. Oh, Patty, Patty, do forgive me!”
“I’ll forgive you anything, if you’ll tell me what’s the matter, and convince me that you haven’t lost your mind. Now, Christine, don’t you dare ask me to forgive you again, until you tell me what for!”
“Well, you see, you were away all summer.”
“Yes, so I was,” agreed Patty, in bewilderment.
“And you have been so busy socially this fall and winter, I haven’t seen much of you.”
“No,” agreed Patty, still more deeply mystified.
“And—and—Gil—Mr. Hepworth hasn’t either–”
“Oh!” cried Patty, a great light breaking in upon her; “oh,—oh!—OH!! Christine, do you mean it? Oh, how perfectly lovely! I’m so glad!”
“You’re glad?” and Christine opened her eyes in amazement.
“Why, of course I’m glad, you silly! Did you think I wanted him? Oh, you Blessed Goose!”
“Oh, Patty, I’m so relieved. You see, I thought you looked upon him as your especial property. I know he cared a lot for you,—he still does. But–”
“But he and I are about as well suited as chalk and cheese! Whereas, he’s just the one for you! Oh, Christine, darling, I’m delighted! May I tell? Can we announce it to-night?”
“Oh, no! You see, he just told me to-night. And I felt guilty at once. I knew I had stolen him from you.”
“Oh, Christine, don’t! Don’t say such things! He wasn’t mine to steal. We’ve always been friends, but I never cared for him that way.”
“That’s what he said; but I felt guilty all the same.”
“Well, stop it, right now! Mr. Hepworth is lovely; he’s one of the best friends I ever had, and if I have any claim on his interest or affection, I’m only too glad to hand it over to you. Now, brace up, powder your nose, and come down to supper. And you needn’t think you can keep this thing secret! I won’t tell,—but your two faces will give it away at once. Don’t blame me if people guess it!”
“Don’t let them, Patty; not to-night. Keep me by you, and right after supper I’ll go home.”
“All right, girlie; just as you like. But don’t look at G. H. or you’ll betray your own dear little heart.”
However, they reckoned without the other interested party.
When the two girls came downstairs, smiling, and with their arms about each other, Mr. Hepworth went to meet them, and drew Christine’s arm through his own with an unmistakable air of proprietorship. Christine’s blushes, and Patty’s smiles, confirmed Hepworth’s attitude, and a shout of understanding went up from their group of intimates.
“Yes, it’s so,” said Patty; “but I promised Christine I wouldn’t tell!”
And then there were congratulations and good wishes from everybody, and the pretty little Southern girl was quite overcome at being so suddenly the centre of attraction.
“It’s perfectly lovely,” said Patty, holding out her hand to Hepworth, “and I’m as glad for you as I can be,—and for Christine, too.”
“Thank you, Patty,” he returned, and for a moment he held her eyes with his own. Then he said, “Thank you,” again, and turned away.
CHAPTER VIII
A DELIGHTFUL INVITATION
Patty was singing softly to herself, as she fluttered around her boudoir at a rather late hour the next morning. Robed in a soft blue silk négligée, with her golden curls tucked into a little lace breakfast cap, she now paused to take a sip of chocolate or a bit of a roll from her breakfast tray, then danced over to the window to look out, or back to her desk to look up her calendar of engagements for the day.
“What a flutter-budget you are, Patty,” said Nan, appearing at the doorway, and pausing to watch Patty’s erratic movements.
Patty flew across the room and greeted her stepmother with an affectionate squeeze, and then flew back and dropped comfortably on the couch, tucking one foot under her, and thereby dropping off a little blue silk boudoir slipper as she did so.
“Oh, Nan!” she began, “it was the most exciting party ever! What do you think? Christine and Mr. Hepworth are engaged!”
“Christine! and Gilbert Hepworth!” and Nan was quite as surprised at the news as Patty could desire.
“Yes, isn’t it great! and oh, Nan, what do you think? Christine was all broken up,—crying in fact,—because,—did you ever know anything so ridiculous?—because she thought she was taking him away from me!”
Nan looked at Patty a little curiously. “Well; you must know, Patty, he certainly thought a great deal of you.”
“Of course he did! And of course he does!—You speak as if he were dead!—and I think a great deal of him, and I think a heap of Christine, and I think they are perfectly suited to each other, and I think it’s all just lovely! Don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Nan, slowly. “Then, you didn’t care for him especially, Patty?”
“Good gracious, Nan, if you mean was I in love with him, I sure was not! Little girls like me don’t fall in love with elderly gentlemen; and this particular little girl isn’t falling in love anyway. Why, Nan, I’m only just out, and I do perfectly adore being out! I want three or four years of good, solid outness before I even think of falling in love with anybody. Of course I shall marry eventually, and be a beautiful, lovely housekeeper, just exactly like you. But, if you remember, my lady, you were some few years older than nineteen when you married my revered father.”
“That’s true enough, Patty, and I can tell you I’m glad I didn’t accept any of the young men who asked me before Fred did.”
“I’m jolly glad, too; and father was in luck when he got you. But you’re not going to be rid of me yet for a long time, I can tell you that much. Well, more things happened last night. Philip and I made up our quarrel,—which wasn’t much of a quarrel anyway,—and Roger and Mona are pretty much at peace again; though, if Mona keeps on with that Lansing idiot, Roger won’t stand it much longer. And I’m going to the opera to-night in the Van Reypen box, and I’m going skating to-morrow,—oh, there’s the mail!”
Patty jumped up and ran to take the letters from Jane, who brought in a trayful.
“Quite a bunch for you, Nansome,” and Patty tossed a lot of letters in Nan’s lap. “And a whole lot of beautiful, fat envelopes for me. ’Most all invitations, as you can see at a glance. Two or three requests for charity,—they show on the outside, too. A few bills, a few circulars and advertisements, and all the rest invitations. Isn’t it gorgeous, Nan, to be invited to such heaps of things?”
“Don’t wear yourself out, Patty,” returned Nan, a little absent-mindedly, being absorbed in a letter from her mother.
Having weeded out the more interesting looking letters, Patty returned to her sofa, and curled up there with both feet under her, looking like a very pretty and very civilised little Turk. With a slender paper cutter she slashed all the envelopes, and then went through them one by one, making running comments of delight or indifference as she read the various contents.
But suddenly a more excited exclamation broke from her. “Oh, my goodness, gracious, sakes alive!” she cried. “Nan, will you listen to this!”
“Wait a minute, honey, till I finish this letter,” and Nan went on reading to herself.
Patty dashed through eight pages of sprawly penmanship, and as soon as she finished she read it all over again.
“Now, Miss Fairfield, what’s it all about?” and Nan folded her own letter and returned it to its envelope.
“Well, in a nutshell, it’s a Christmas Country House Party! Could anything be more delightfuller?”
“Who, where, what, when?” And Nan patiently awaited further enlightenment.
“Oh, Nan, it’s too gorgeous!” And Patty’s eyes ran through the letter again. “You know Adèle Kenerley, who was down at Mona’s last summer,—well, she and Jim have bought a place at Fern Falls,—wherever that may be,—somewhere up in Connecticut,—in the Berkshires, you know. Heavenly in summer, dunno what it’ll be in winter. But all the same that’s where the house party is, Christmas,—stay two or three weeks,—all our crowd,—oh, Nan! isn’t it beatific!”
Patty bounded to her feet, and gathering up the sides of her accordion-pleated gown, she executed a triumphant dance about the room, winding up by kicking her little blue silk slipper straight over Nan’s head.
“Moderate your transports, my love,” Nan said, calmly. “I don’t want concussion of the brain, from being hit by a French heel.”
“Not much of a compliment to my skilful ballet dancing,” and Patty flung herself into the cushions again. “But, Nan, you don’t understand; everybody’s going! Elise and Mona and the boys, and oh, gracious, do show some enthusiasm!”
“Don’t have to,” said Nan, smiling, “when you show enough for a dozen.”
“Well, I’ll call up Mona, she’ll have something to say.”
Patty reached for the telephone, and in a few moments both girls were talking at once, and the conversation ran something like this:
“Yes, I did, and, Patty–”
“Of course I am! Oh, I don’t know about that! If I–”
“But of course if Daisy is there–”
“Well, we can’t help that, and anyway–”
“Tuesday, I suppose; but Adèle said–”
“No, Monday, Mona, for us, and the boys–”
“I’m not sure that I’ll go. You see–”
“Now, stop such nonsense! Of course he isn’t invited, but I’ll never speak to you again if–”
“Oh, of course I will, but I’ll only stay–”
“Yes, all our best frocks, and lots of presents and, oh, Mona, come on over here, do. There’s oceans of things to talk about!”
“All right, I will. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” And Patty hung up the receiver. “She’s coming over here, Nan; there’s so much to plan for, you know. Do help me, won’t you? A regular Christmas tree, and all that, you know; and presents for everybody, and a dance at the country club, and I don’t know what all.”
“Yes, you will have a lovely time.” And Nan smiled with sympathy at the excited girl, whose sparkling eyes and tumbled hair betokened her state of mind.
Mona came over and spent the rest of the day, and plans were made and unmade and remade with startling rapidity.
Mona began to voice regrets that Mr. Lansing was not invited to the house party, but Patty interrupted at once:
“Now, Mona Galbraith, you stop that! Adèle has a lovely party made up, and you’re not going to spoil it by even so much as a reference to that man! Roger will be there for Christmas, and if that isn’t enough for you, you can stay home!”
“Isn’t Elise going?”
“No, she can’t. She’s going South next week with her mother, and I doubt if Philip Van Reypen will go. His aunt won’t want him to leave her at the holidays. Do you know, I’m a little sorry Daisy Dow is up there.”
“You don’t like her, do you, Patty?”
“I would, if she’d like me. But she’s always snippy to me.”
“’Cause she’s jealous of you,” observed Mona, sapiently.
“Nonsense! She has no reason to be. I never interfere with her.”
“Well, never mind, don’t let her bother you. Hal Ferris will be there. You don’t know him, do you? He’s Adèle’s brother.”
“No, I never met him. She wrote that he’d be there.”
“He’s the dearest boy. Well, he’s older than Adèle, but he seems like a boy,—he’s so full of capers. Adèle says it’s a beautiful big house, just right for a jolly, old-fashioned Christmas party.”
The days simply flew by as Christmas drew nearer. There was so much to do socially, and then there were the Happy Saturday Afternoons to be planned and carried out, and the Christmas shopping to be done.
This last was greatly added to because of the house party, for Patty knew the generosity of her hosts, and she wanted to do her share in the presentation festivities.
She undertook to dress a huge doll for baby May. Nan helped her with this or she never could have finished the elaborate wardrobe. She selected a beautiful doll, of goodly size, but not big enough to be cumbersome to little two-year-old arms. With her knack for dressmaking and her taste for colour, she made half a dozen dainty and beautiful frocks, and also little coats and hats, and all the various accessories of a doll’s outfit.
She bought a doll’s trunk and suit-case to contain these things, and added parasol, furs, jewelry, and all the marvellous little trinkets that the toy shop afforded.
“I spent so much time and thought on this doll,” said Patty, one day, “that I shall have to buy things for the others. I can’t sew any more, Nan; my fingers are all like nutmeg graters now.”
“Poor child,” sympathised Nan. “You have worked hard, I know, but Adèle will appreciate it more than if you had made something for herself. By all means buy the rest of your gifts.”
So Patty bought a beautiful luncheon set of filet lace and embroidery for Mrs. Kenerley, and an Oriental antique paper cutter for her husband.
She bought a handsome opera bag for Mona and a similar one for Daisy Dow, that there might be no rivalry there. She bought a few handsome and worth-while books for the men who would be at the party, and attractive trinkets for the house servants.
Of course, in addition to these, she had to prepare a great many gifts for her New York friends, as well as for her own family and many of her relatives. But both Patty and Nan enjoyed shopping, and went about it with method and common sense.
“I can’t see,” said Patty, as they started off in the car one morning, “why people make such a bugbear of Christmas shopping. I think it’s easy enough.”
“Perhaps it’s because you have plenty of money, Patty. You know, not every one has such a liberal father as you have.”
Patty looked thoughtful. “I don’t think it’s that, Nan; at least, not entirely. I think it’s more common sense, and not being fussy. Now, I give lots of presents that cost very little; and then, of course, I give a lot of expensive ones, too. But it’s just as easy to buy the cheap ones, if not easier. You just make up your mind what you want to spend for a certain present, and then you buy the nicest thing you see for that amount. It’s when people fuss and bother, and can’t make up their minds among half a dozen different things, that they get worried and bothered about Christmas. I do believe most of their trouble comes from lack of decision, which is only another way of saying that they haven’t common sense or even common gumption!”
“Well, Patty, whatever else you may lack, you certainly have common sense and gumption; I’ll give you credit for them.”
“Thank you, Nan; much obliged, I’m sure. I wish I could return the compliment, but sometimes I think you haven’t much of those things yourself.”
Nan flashed a smile at Patty, entirely unmoved by this criticism; for she knew that she was vacillating and sometimes undecided, as compared to Patty’s quick-witted grasp of a subject and instantaneous decision.
“Have I told you,” said Patty, “what we’re going to do next Saturday afternoon? I do think it’s going to be lovely. And I do hope it won’t make the girls mad, but I don’t think it will. You know, Nan, what an awful lot of things we all get every Christmas that we don’t want and can’t use, although they’re awfully pretty and nice. We just lay them away in cupboards, and there they stay. Well, on Saturday, we’re going to take a lot of these things and give them to people.”
“For Christmas presents? Why, Christmas is two weeks off yet.”
“That’s just it! Not for presents to themselves, but presents for them to give to other people.”
“Oh, I begin to see.”
“Yes; it isn’t the least bit charity, you see. Why, one of the people I’m going to give things to, is Christine. With her work, and being engaged and all, she hasn’t any time to make things, or even to go shopping, and she can’t afford to buy much, anyway. So I’m going to give her one or two beautiful silk bags that were given to me two or three years ago. They’re perfectly fresh, never been out of their boxes. And I’m going to give her one or two beautiful, fine handkerchiefs in boxes, and two or three lovely books, and two or three pieces of bric-a-brac, and a Japanese ivory carving. Don’t you see, Nan, she can give these to her friends for Christmas, and it will save her a lot of trouble and expense. And dear knows, I don’t want them! My rooms are chock-a-block with just such things, now. And I know she won’t feel offended, when I tell her about it straightforwardly.”
“Of course she won’t be offended with you, Patty; and I think the idea is lovely. I’ve a lot of things put away I’ll give you. I never thought of such a thing before.”
“The girls thought at first that maybe it might not work, but I talked them around and now they’re all in for it. I’m going to take some things to Mrs. Greene. I’ve quite a lot for her, and I’ll tell her she can give them all away, or keep some herself, just as she likes. And I’ve things for Rosy, that freckled-faced boy, you know. I have games and picture-puzzles and books that I used to have myself. Of course they’re all perfectly new. I wouldn’t give anything that had been used at all. And we’re going Saturday afternoon to take these things around. Mona has lovely things, and so has Elise. You see, we get so many Christmas and birthday presents, and card party prizes, and such things, and I do think it’s sensible to make use of them for somebody’s pleasure instead of sticking them away in dark cupboards. And, Nan, what do you think?—with each lot of things we’re going to give a dozen sheets of white tissue paper and a bolt of holly ribbon and some little tags so they can fix up real Christmassy presents to give away.”
“Patty, you’re a wonder,” said Nan, looking affectionately at the girl beside her. “How do you think of all these things?”
“Common sense and general gumption,” returned Patty. “Very useful traits, I find ’em. And here we are at our first shopping place.”
Assisted by Patty’s common sense and expeditious judgment, they accomplished a great deal that morning, and returned home with their lists considerably shortened.
“It does seem funny,” said Patty, that same afternoon, “to be tying up these things almost two weeks ahead of time. But with all the newspapers and magazines urging you to do your shopping early, and send off your parcels early, you can’t really do otherwise.”
Patty was surrounded by presents of all sorts, boxes of all sizes, pieces of ribbon, and all sorts of cards and tags.
“I’m sick and tired of holly ribbon and red ribbon,” she said, as she deftly tied up her parcels. “So, this year, I’m using white satin ribbon and gilt cord. It’s an awfully pretty combination, and these little green and gilt tags are lovely, don’t you think?”
Her audience, which consisted of Elise and Mona, were watching her work with admiration. They had offered to help, but after an ineffectual attempt to meet Patty’s idea of how a box should be tied up, they abandoned the effort, and sat watching her nimble fingers fly.
“You ought to get a position in some shop where they advertise, ‘only experienced parcel wrappers need apply,’” said Elise. “I never saw such neat parcels.”
“You’re evidently going to be an old maid,” said Mona, “you’re so fussy and tidy.”
“I do like things tidy,” admitted Patty, “and if that interferes with my having a husband, why, of course I’ll have to give him up. For I can’t stand not having things neat about me.”
“Do you call this room neat?” asked Elise, smiling as she looked about at the scattered boxes and papers, cut strings, and little piles of shredded tissue.
“Yes, I do,” declared Patty, stoutly. “This kind of stuff can be picked up in a jiffy, and then the room is all in order. This is temporary, you see. By untidiness, I mean dirt and dust, and bureau drawers in a mess, and desks in disorder.”
“That’s me,” confessed Mona, cheerfully. “Not the dirt and dust, perhaps,—the maids look after that. But I just can’t keep my belongings in their places.”
“Neither can I,” said Elise. “I don’t see how you do it, Patty.”
“Oh, pshaw! it’s no credit to me, I just can’t help it. I’d have a fit if they weren’t all nice and in order. And if that means I’m going to be an old maid, I can’t help it,—and I don’t care!”
“Hoo-hoo!” said Elise.
