CHAPTER XV
PATTY’S FUTURE
One day Patty was at a matinée with some of the girls, when Mrs. Van Reypen called at the Fairfield home. It being Saturday afternoon, Mr. Fairfield was at home, and the visitor asked to see him as well as his wife.
After greetings were exchanged, the straight-forward old lady went at once to her subject.
“I’ve come to see you about Patty,” she began, “and if you choose to tell me I’m a meddlesome old woman and concerning myself with what is none of my business, you will be quite within your rights.”
“I doubt we shall do that, Mrs. Van Reypen,” said Fred Fairfield, pleasantly. “What is it about Patty?”
“Only this. To put it in plain words, I want her to marry my nephew Philip.”
“I should make no objections to that. Indeed, I should be glad and proud to have my daughter become the wife of your nephew. He is a fine man. I feel that I know him well and there is no one to whom I would rather entrust Patty’s happiness.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fairfield. Philisa good boy, and I have yet to learn a mean or ignoble thing about him. What is your opinion, Mrs. Fairfield?”
“I quite agree with my husband,” returned Nan. “Philip has always been one of my favourites among Patty’s friends, and I, too, should hear of their engagement with pleasure. But, Mrs. Van Reypen, we cannot answer for Patty herself. She is, as you perhaps know, a self-willed young person, and not to be driven or even advised, against her will.”
“But that’s just it. Patty doesn’t know her own will. She takes for granted all the attentions and favours of the young men, and, goodness knows she gets enough of them, but it never seems to occur to her that it’s time she thought about making a choice of one in particular.”
“Oh, come, now, Mrs. Van Reypen, Patty is not yet climbing up on the traditional shelf.”
“I know that, Mr. Fairfield, but the point is, that she is heart-whole and fancy-free, and while she is, I desire to influence her mind toward Philip. Yes, just that. It is not wrong; on the contrary, it is a wise thing to do. In France the girls’ betrothals are always arranged by their elders. In England they frequently are. And there is no reason the plan shouldn’t obtain in our country. We all have Patty’s best interests at heart, and if we can help this thing along,—without letting the child know it, of course,—it is our duty as well as our pleasure to do it.”
“But how, Mrs. Van Reypen?” asked Nan. “Patty would quickly resent any interference or dictation in her affairs; and, too, any hint that we were helping Philip’s cause along, would, I assure you, react disastrously to our effort.”
“Oh, certainly, if sheknewit,” and Mrs. Van Reypen spoke impatiently; “but she needn’t know it.”
“How, then, shall it be done?”
“In lots of ways. Let us throw them together whenever possible. See to it that she accepts his invitations here and there. Place them next each other at dinners; in a word, make it clear to the other members of their circle, that they are definitelyforeach other, and it will shortly be recognized and accepted as a fact. I will give opera parties and dinner parties, and I will see to it, that they are conspicuously paired as partners.”
“That sounds plausible, Mrs. Van Reypen,” and Nan shook her head; “but it is not so easy. You, of course, see them together often, but Patty goes to many parties where Philip is not invited, or if heisthere, where she is escorted by some one else.”
“That’s just it!” and the old lady’s tone was vibrant with enthusiasm; “we must see to it that she is invited everywhere first by Philip, and then she can’t accept these other invitations.”
Nan smiled at the thought of thus ordering headstrong Patty’s engagement calendar, but she only said, “I’m sure if you can accomplish this, I shall be but too glad. For I, too, want to see Patty happily married. I am in no haste for the event to occur, but I would like to rest assured that her choice will be a wise one, and one that will mean her lifelong happiness.”
“All that would be insured by her betrothal to Philip,” and Philip’s aunt looked complacent. “And I am sure the dear girl would be willing to say yes to him, if she were convinced that it was time for her to make a choice. Will you not, both of you, do all you can to bring this about?”
“With pleasure,” said Mr. Fairfield, “but, as my wife says, it is not easy to force or coerce my daughter.”
“Oh, not force or coerce! Have you people no idea of diplomacy? Of strategy, even, if necessary?”
“Just how may diplomacy be directly employed?”
“Principally, perhaps, by inducing propinquity. The more they are together, the more they will care for one another. Though to be sure, Philip is deeply in love with Patty, now. He has, I am sure, asked her to marry him already.”
“Then if he has, and she has refused him,” said Nan, “what more can we do?”
“Refused him? Nothing of the sort! She hasn’t accepted him, of course, or we would know of it; but you know how girls, nowadays, play fast and loose with a man, if they are sure of his devotion. Indeed, if Philip could be persuaded to slight Patty a little, now and then, it would soon pique her into an acceptance. But he will never do that,—I know him too well. Philip is a dear boy, but a straightforward nature, with no thought of trifling or deception. No, we must devote our efforts toward Patty’s attitude, not Philip’s. He is all right as he is. If Patty will consent to marry my nephew, I am considering making her my heiress.”
“Mrs. Van Reypen!” Fred Fairfield exclaimed in indignation, “I beg you will not use any such argument or bribe in connection with my daughter’s name!”
“Hoity-toity, now! Don’t get excited. ’Tis no bribe. ’Tis but the fact; if so be that Patty will become my niece, I shall divide my wealth equally between her and my nephew. She shall have half in her own right. If she will not, half is still Philip’s and the other half will go to a charity. I don’t want to give it all to Philip. He is already a rich man, and I don’t approve of too big fortunes for young men.”
“Never mind about the money part of it,” said Nan. “I am quite willing to espouse Mrs. Van Reypen’s cause, irrespective of her will. And, too, if Patty does marry Philip, it is quite right and proper that she should inherit this wealth. If not, there is no question of her having it. So the fortune element settles itself. But what I can’t see is how we’re going about this thing. I’m somewhat practical, Mrs. Van Reypen, and I confess I can see no practical way to bring these two hearts to beat as one. If you can instruct me, I shall be glad to obey orders.”
Nan looked very pretty and sweet as she spoke in earnest on the subject. She meant just what she said. She would be very glad to have Patty marry Philip, very glad to do anything she could to help bring it about, but for the life of her she couldn’t see anything to do.
“Well,” Mrs. Van Reypen defended her stand, “when I took them on that motor trip together with me, that was a step in the right direction. They were thrown so much in one another’s company, that it became inevitable to them to be together. I always thought if that Mr. Farnsworth hadn’t joined us up at Lake Sunapee, the matter would have been settled then and there.”
“You think Mr. Farnsworth interfered?” asked Nan.
“I’m not sure. Do you think Patty cares for him?”
“No, I think not,” said Fred Fairfield. “They seem to have little tiffs when they’re together, and I doubt they are very congenial.”
“I used to like Bill Farnsworth,” said Nan, “but since I learned that he tried to bring about Patty’s going on the stage, I’ve not cared so much for him. You see, he’s a Westerner, and he has different ideas from ours. Imagine Patty on the stage! And it was unpardonable in him to put the idea in her head.”
“Did he do that?”
“Yes, Philip said he heard that Mr. Farnsworth took Patty over to the hotel where that actress was staying, to talk the matter over. And he says that Patty herself said that Bill said she was good-looking enough to go on the stage! Fancy!”
“It’s an outrage! That whole stage business makes my blood boil!” and Mrs. Van Reypen’s very bonnet strings shook in righteous indignation. “That’s what you get for letting her associate with a man like that.”
“Oh, come now,” said Mr. Fairfield, “Farnsworth is a good sort. I think he’s very much of a man.”
“A fine type of a man to try to get a nice girl like Patty to become a common actress!” The aristocratic visitor’s face expressed the deepest scorn of the theatrical profession as a whole. “But she’s all over that, isn’t she?”
“Yes, thank goodness!” answered Nan. “Well, all I can see to do, is, to incline Patty toward Philip in any subtle way we can. Praise him to her, judiciously, not too much. Compare him favourably with other men, especially Mr. Farnsworth, for I’m not sure that Patty doesn’t like him quite a little. Then let Philip come here often and we will make him very welcome, and the rest I think he will have to accomplish himself.”
“You have expressed it very well, Mrs. Fairfield,” and the visitor rose to go. “And I’m sure other ways and means will suggest themselves to you as time goes on. If you would sometimes ask him to dinner quiteen famille, I will do the same by Patty. Such things,—letting them be alone together of an evening now and then,—will do wonders.”
And so the plans were made, and the schemers, who were all actuated by an honest desire for Patty’s happiness, began to watch for opportunities.
As Mrs. Van Reypen had surmised, in her wise, canny mind, there were ways, unobtrusive and delicate, by which the two young people could be thrown together more frequently and none of these was neglected. Nothing insistent or noticeable was ever attempted, but after a time, Patty found herself relying on Philip’s advice and judgment, and unconsciously referring questions to him for settlement.
Mrs. Van Reypen and the elder Fairfields noted this approvingly, and the whole circle of young people came gradually to look on Philip as Patty’s special property.
Van Reypen was by no means averse to this, and he adopted an attitude of ownership, which, as it became definite, was quickly resented by Patty.
“Look here, Phil,” she said one day; “you needn’t act as if I belonged to you. Don’t decide things for me without my consent.”
“Forgive me, Patty. I’ve no wish to offend. But you will belong to me some day, and I suppose I’m too impatient for the day to come.”
“How do you know I will?”
“It’s written in the stars. We were made for each other. You’ll wake up to the fact some day, perhaps soon.”
“I ha’e me doots,” said Patty, in roguish mood, and her light laughter checked the more serious words that rose to Philip’s lips. He was content to bide his time.
One day he telephoned to Patty that Mrs. Van Reypen was not well and begged she would come over.
“Is she ill?” asked Patty in surprise, for the hale old lady was a valetudinarian.
“Not quite that, but she has a cold, and she wants cheering up.”
So Patty ordered the car and went right over. She found that Mrs. Van Reypen did, indeed, have a cold, and a severe one. Patty was alarmed and insisted on calling the doctor, who pronounced it a case of grip, and ordered the patient to bed.
Patty remained over night, for Mrs. Van Reypen was feverish and too nervous and worried about herself to be left to the care of servants. Late in the evening, however, she became quieter, and begged Patty to leave her to herself for a time, and go downstairs and sit with Philip and cheer up the poor boy.
So, having made the sick lady as comfortable as she could, Patty ran downstairs for a while.
She was garbed in a boudoir robe of Mrs. Van Reypen’s. She had discarded her street gown as being out of place in the sick room, and had rummaged in her hostess’ wardrobe until she selected one of the many house gowns and negligées that hung there.
It was utterly inappropriate for the girl, being made of purple silk, with a wide berthé of Duchess lace. But it made Patty look very quaint and sweet,—like a maid of olden time. She had twisted her curls up high, and added a large carved ivory comb, from the dressing table.
“The Puritan Maiden, Priscilla,” she had said, laughingly as she pirouetted before her hostess.
“A very fetching garb,” remarked the old lady. “You may have it to keep. You can use it in your amateur theatricals, or such dressings up, and the berthé is of valuable old lace.”
Patty thanked her kind friend, but to tell the truth, she was so accustomed to receiving gifts from Mrs. Van Reypen that one more was but as a drop in the bucket.
So, on being dismissed from the sick room, Patty ran lightly downstairs, and into the library. Only a shaded table light was turned on, and in the glow of the firelight Philip sat, in an easy chair, smoking. When he heard Patty enter, he threw his cigar in the fire, and holding out his arm, he drew her down to the broad tufted arm of the great chair he sat in.
“How goes it upstairs?” he asked, casually.
“Not very well,” said Patty, soberly. “I don’t want to be a ‘calamity howler,’ but I think Lady Van is more ill than she knows. This grip is a treacherous thing, and liable to take sudden turns for the worse. And, too, she is not as young as she once was, and so, Philip, I want you to take all precautions. I will look after her tonight, but tomorrow you must get a nurse.”
“Of course I will. Send for one now, if you say so.”
“No, I can manage for tonight. She is resting quietly now. She is bright and cheery, you understand, but she is weak, and the disease has a strong hold on her.”
“Patty, what a dear girl you are!” Philip spoke in a fine, honest, manly way, and Patty thrilled at his so sincere praise. “You are one in a thousand! Indeed, I’m sure there never was another like you.”
“Go ’way wid yer blarney,” laughed Patty, a least bit embarrassed because she knew it was not mere blarney.
“It’s the truth, dear, and you know it. Oh, Patty, wouldn’t it be nice if you lived here all the time?”
“So I could take care of Lady Van?” and her light laugh rang out.
“Yes, and so you could take care of me. I need taking care of,—that is, I need you to take care of me.”
“Why, Philip, you’re the most capable person I know. You can take care of yourself.”
“Well, then, I wish you lived here so I could take care of you. Would you like that, you little Colonial Dame?”
“I’m pretty independent. I’m not sure I’d take kindly to being taken care of.”
“You would like the wayI’dtake care of you, I promise you that!”
“Why, how would it be?”
Patty knew she was playing with fire. She knew that unless she meant to encourage Philip Van Reypen, she ought not to lead him on in this way. But Patty was very feminine, and the temptation to know just what he meant was very strong.
“Well,” Philip laid his warm hand gently on hers, “in the first place, you should never know a care or a trouble that I could bear for you.”
“H’m,” said Patty, “that’s comforting, but not so very entertaining.”
“You little witch! Do you want entertainment? Well, then, I’d make it my life work to invent new entertainments for you every day. How’s that?”
“That’s better,” and naughty Patty showed animated delight at the prospect. “What would the entertainments be like?”
“That’s telling. They’d be surprises, and I can’t divulge their secrets till you do come to live here?”
“I did live here once,” said Patty, smiling at the recollection. “As Lady Van’s companion.”
“And now won’t you come and live here as my companion?”
“Oh, are you getting old enough to need a companion?”
“I sure am! I’m twenty-six, and that’s the very exact age when a man wants a companion, or, at any rate, this man does. Will you, Patty Precious?”
“I dunno. Tell me more about these entertainments.”
“Well, they should comprise all the best ones that are to be found on the face of the earth. And when you tired of them, I would make up new ones.”
“Parties?”
“Yes, parties of every sort. Dances, theatre parties, motor parties, dinner parties,——”
“And little twosy parties,—just you and me all alone?”
“Patty! you witch! do you want to drive me crazy? Now, just for that, you’ve got to say yes, and live here with me, and have all the little twosy parties you want!”
“But, Philip,Iproposed them, you didn’t!” and Patty pouted until her scarlet lips looked like a cleft cherry.
“Because I didn’t dare. Do you suppose I let myself think that you would care for such?”
“Well, I don’t know as I do. I’ve never tried them!” And Patty ran out of the room.
CHAPTER XVI
THE PROMISE
On returning to Mrs. Van Reypen’s room, Patty found that lady sleeping quietly, so she herself went to bed on a couch in the dressing-room adjoining. Next morning, the patient was weak and ill, and when the doctor arrived he sent at once for two nurses. Patty went home, feeling sad, for she feared her kind old friend might not survive this illness.
But Nan cheered her up, saying that while grip was sometimes a serious matter, more often, it was light and of short duration.
“But it is contagious,” Nan went on, “and I don’t want you to catch it, Patty. Don’t go over there again, until Mrs. Van Reypen gets better.”
Patty agreed to this, but a few days later, there came such an imperative summons from Mrs. Van Reypen that Patty felt she must respond to the call.
“Well, don’t go very near her,” begged Nan, as Patty started. “You are susceptible to colds, and if you get grip, it will wear you out.”
Reaching the house, Patty was shocked at the appearance of Mrs. Van Reypen. She was emaciated and her face had a waxen pallor. But her dark eyes were feverishly bright, and she greeted Patty with an eager smile. Then she sent the nurse from the room, with peremptory orders not to return until called.
“Patty, I want to talk to you,” the old lady began.
“All right, Lady Van,” said Patty, lightly, “but you musn’t talk much. If it’s an important subject, you’d better wait till you are stronger.”
“I shall never be stronger, my dear. This is my last illness,——”
“Oh, now, don’t talk like that. Grip always makes its patients discouraged, but you are too sensible to be fooled by it. Brace up, and resolve to get well, and then you will get well.”
Patty was arguing against her own convictions, for she saw the ravages the disease had made, and she feared the worst. But she did all she could to cheer and encourage.
“It’s useless for you to talk like that,” the invalid went on, “for I know what I know. Now listen to me. I am going to die. I know it, and I am not afraid. I am seventy years old, Ihave had a happy life, and if my time has come, I am willing to die. Life is sweet, but we must all die, and it is only a coward who fears death. I am going to leave you a fortune, Patty. I have made my will and in it, I bequeath you a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Oh, Lady Van,” Patty gasped, “don’t,don’tleave me all that money! I should be overcome with the responsibility of it.”
“Nonsense! But listen to the plan. I want you to have half of it absolutely for yourself, and the other half, use to build a Children’s Home. I know you will enjoy doing this, and I trust you to do it well. Thus, you see, your own share of the money is, in a way, payment for your work and responsibility of the Home. You may build, rent, or buy a house for the purpose. Your father and Philip will help you as to the business matters. But the furnishing and house planning will be your work. Will you do this?”
“I’d love to do it!” and Patty’s eyes shone at the idea. “If I am capable.”
“Of course you’re capable. Not a big Home, you understand, but as large as the money will properly pay for. Then, have it bright and pretty, and if it only accommodates a dozen children, I don’t care. I know this is your favourite form of philanthropy and it is also mine. I wish we could have done it together, but it is too late for that now. But Philip will help you, and if more money is necessary, he will give it to you, from his own inheritance. Phil is a rich man, but I shall leave him all my fortune except what I give you. So don’t hesitate to ask him if you need more funds.”
“All right, but I shall put your whole bequest into the scheme. I don’t want to be paid for doing what will be a great pleasure.”
“Don’t be a little simpleton! You will take your own half for your individual use, and not a cent of it is to go toward the Home. There is money enough for that. And it isn’t payment. I give it to you, because I am really very fond of you. You have made sunshine in my life ever since I first found you, and I am glad to give you a small fortune. When you marry, as you will some day, you will find it very nice to be able to buy what you want for your trousseau. You can buy worth-while jewels with it, or, if you prefer, put it out at interest and have a stated income. But accept it you must, or I shall think you don’t love me at all.”
“Oh, yes, I do. Dear Lady Van, you know I do.”
“Then don’t upset my last hours by refusing what I offer.”
Patty almost laughed at the snappish tone, so incongruous in one who was making a splendid gift. But Mrs. Van Reypen was getting more and more excited. A red spot burned in either cheek, and her eyes blazed as she gesticulated from her pillows.
“And there’s another thing, Patty Fairfield, that you are to do for me. You are to marry my boy, Philip.”
“Well,” and Patty laughed lightly, “we won’t discuss that now.”
“But we will discuss it now. I want your promise. Do you suppose I got you over here just to tell you about my will? No. I want you to promise me that you will grant me this happiness before I die. Philip loves you deeply. He wants you for his wife and he has told you so. Where could you find a better man? A more honourable, a kinder, a more generous and loving heart? And he worships you. He would always be gentle and tender with you. He is of fine old stock, there is no better family tree in the country than the Van Reypens. Now, will you give me your promise?”
“Oh, Lady Van, I can’t promise offhand, like this. You must let me think it over.”
“You’ve had time enough for that. Tell me,—you care for Philip, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed I care for him a great deal,—as a friend. But I don’t think I love him as I ought to—as I want to love the man I marry.”
“Fiddlesticks! You don’t know your own mind, that’s all. You’re a foolish, sentimental child. Now, look here, you marry Philip soon,—and you’ll find out that you do love him. Why, who could help it? He’s such a splendid fellow. He would make you as happy as the day is long. Patty, he’s a man of a thousand. He hasn’t a bad trait or an unworthy thought in his mind. You don’t know how really fine he is. And he adores you so,—he would give you every wish of your heart.”
“I know he would. He has told me so. But I can’t feel sure that I care for him in the right way. And I can’t promise——”
“You mean you won’t! You are willing to trifle with Philip’s affections and lead him on and lure him with false hopes and then——”
“Stop, stop! That’s not fair! I never led him on! We have been good friends for years, but I never even imagined his wanting to marry me until he told me so last summer.”
“Last summer! And you haven’t given him a definite answer yet! You keep him on tenter-hooks without the least consideration or care as to his feelings. If he were not such a patient man, he would have given up all idea of wanting you. Do you know what you are, Patty Fairfield? You’re a little flirt, that’s what you are! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! How many other men have you on a string? Several, I dare say.”
“Lady Van, you have no right to talk to me like this? If you were not ill, I’d be very angry with you. But as you are, I ascribe your harsh speeches to the illness that is racking you. Now, let us drop the subject and talk of something pleasanter.”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort! I sent for you to get your promise, and I’m going to get it!” Mrs. Van Reypen sat upright in her bed, and shook her clenched hand at Patty. “You little fool!” she cried, “any girl in her senses would be only too glad to get such a man as my nephew! You are honoured by his wanting you. I am very fond of you myself,—you are so pretty and sunny-faced. But if you refuse me this wish of my heart, I shall cease to love you. I won’t leave you that money, I——”
The old lady’s voice rose nearly to a shriek, and she glared at Patty with a fairly malevolent gaze.
That last speech was too much for Patty.
“I don’t want your money,” she said, rising to go. “I cannot stay and listen to such unjust remarks as you have been making. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you the promise you ask, and as I can’t please you I think I’d better go.”
“Sit down,” begged Mrs. Van Reypen, and now her anger was gone, and her tones were wheedlesome. “Forgive me, dear, I have no right to force your will. But please, Patty Girl, think it over, here and now. You can easily learn to love Phil,—you’re not in love with anybody else, are you?”
“No,” replied Patty.
“Then, as I say, you can easily learn to love him, he is such a dear. And he would treat you like a princess. He would shower you with gifts and pleasures. You could live in this house, or he would buy you or build you whatever home you fancied. Then, together, you could carry out my project for the Children’s Home. Your life would be a heaven on earth. Don’t you think so, Patty,—dear Patty?”
When Lady Van chose she could be very sweet and ingratiating. And she seemed to hypnotize Patty. The girl looked at her with a hesitating expression.
“Say yes,” pleaded the old lady. “Please, Patty, say yes. You’ll never regret it, and you will be happy all your life. And you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you eased the last hours of a dying woman and sent her out of the world happy and contented to go. For I am dying, Patty. You do not know all of my ills. I may live a few days, but not longer. The doctor knows and so do the nurses. I haven’t told Philip, for I hate to cause him pain. But if I can tell him of your promise to marry him, it will mitigate his grief at saying farewell to me. Now you will say yes, won’t you, my dear little Patty Girl?”
“But——”
“No buts now. You couldn’t have the heart to refuse the dying request of one who has always loved you like a daughter. I would gladly have adopted you, Patty, had your people been willing to spare you. I went to see your parents not long ago. Your father said there is no man in the world he would rather see you marry than Philip. And Mrs. Nan said the same. Why do you fight against it so? Is it merely shyness? Just maidenly reserve? If that’s it, I understand and appreciate. But waive all that, for my time is short. You needn’t marry him at once if you don’t wish, but promise me that he shall be your choice. That he will be the man you will some day wed and make happy. Won’t you promise, Patty?”
“I—can’t——”
“Yes, you can!” Mrs. Van Reypen leaned out of her bed, and grasped Patty’s arm in a vise-like clutch. “You can and you shall! Now,—at once! Promise!”
The black eyes of the old lady bored into Patty’s own. Her firm, hard mouth was set in a straight line. And with both hands she gripped Patty’s arms and shook her slightly. “Promise, or I shall die on the spot!”
“I promise,” said Patty, faintly, urged on by the older woman’s force of intensity of will.
Mrs. Van Reypen fell back exhausted. She seemed unconscious, but whether in a faint, or stunned by sudden reaction, Patty did not know.
She flew to the door and called the nurse.
“Goodness! What happened?” inquired Miss French. “Has she had any sort of mental shock?”
“She has given me one,” returned Patty, but the nurse was busy administering restoratives, and paid no heed.
Patty went slowly downstairs and out into the street. She walked home in a daze. What had she done? For to Patty a promise was a sacred thing and not to be broken. She hoped Mrs. Van Reypen would get better and she would go and ask to be released from a promise that was fairly wrung from her. She was undecided whether to tell Nan about it or not, but concluded to wait a day or two first. And then, she thought to herself, why wasn’t she prepared to fulfill the promise? Why didn’t she want to marry Phil, big, kind-hearted Phil, who loved her so deeply? At times it almost seemed as if she did want to marry him, and then again, she wasn’t sure.
“I’ll sleep over it,” she thought, “and by tomorrow I’ll know my own mind better. I must be a very wobbly-brained thing, anyhow. Why don’t I know what I want? But I suppose every girl feels like this when she tries to make up her mind. Philip is a dear, that’s certain. Maybe I’m worrying too much over it. Well, I’ll see by tomorrow.”
But the next day and the next, Patty was equally uncertain as to whether she was glad or sorry that she had made that promise.
And after another day or two she went down herself with the grip.
“I told you you’d catch it from Mrs. Van Reypen,” scolded Nan. “You had no business to go there and expose yourself.”
“But I had to go when she sent for me,” said Patty.
“What did she want of you? you never told me.”
“Well, for one thing, she thinks she’s going to die, and she wants to leave me a hundred thousand dollars in her will.”
“A hundred thousand! Patty, you must be crazy.”
“Well, it isn’t all for me, only half.” And then Patty told about the plan for the Children’s Home, but she said nothing about the promise she had given.
Nan was greatly excited over the bequest. “But,” she said, “I don’t believe Mrs. Van is going to die. She’s better today. I just telephoned.”
“I hope she won’t die,” said Patty fervently. “I don’t want her money, and if she gets well she can run that Home project herself, and I’ll willingly help. Oh, Nan, I do feel horrid.”
Grip has the reputation of making people feel horrid. The doctor came and sent Patty to bed, and for several days she had a high fever, which was aggravated by her mental worry over the promise she had made to Mrs. Van Reypen.
CHAPTER XVII
THE CRISIS
And then the day came when the doctor said Patty had pneumonia. Rooms were darkened; nurses went around silently; Nan wandered about, unable to concentrate her mind on anything and Mr. Fairfield spent much of his time at home.
The telephone was continually ringing, as one friend after another asked how Patty was, and the rooms downstairs were filled with the gifts of flowers that the patient might not even see.
“What word, Doctor?” asked Mona Galbraith, as the physician came downstairs, one morning. The girls came and went as they chose. Always some one or more of them were sitting in the library or living-room, anxiously awaiting news.
“I think I can say she’s holding her own,” replied the doctor, guardedly; “if she had a stronger constitution, I should feel decidedly hopeful. But she is a frail little body, and we must be very, very careful.”
He hurried away, and Mona turned back to where Elise sat.
“I know she’ll die,” wailed Elise. “I justknowPatty will die. Oh, it seemssucha shame! I can’tbearit!” and she broke down in a tumult of sobbing.
“Don’t, Elise,” begged Mona. “Why not hope for the best? Patty isn’t strong,—but she’s a healthy little piece, and that doctor is a calamity howler, anyway. Everybody says so.”
“I know it, but somehow I have a presentiment Patty never will get well.”
“Presentiments are silly things! They don’t mean a thing! I’d rather have hope than all the presentiments in the world. Here comes Roger.”
Knowing his sister and his fiancée were there, Roger came in. They told him what the doctor had said.
“Brace up, girls,” he said, cheeringly. “The game’s never out till it’s played out. I believe our spunky little Patty will outwit the old pneumonia and get the better of it. She always comes out top of the heap somehow. And her holding on so long is a good sign. Don’t you want to go home now, Mona? You look all tired out.”
“Yes, do go, Mona,” said Elise, kindly. “But it isn’t tiredness, Roger, it’s anxiety. Go on, you two, I’ll stay a while longer.”
The pair went, and Elise sat alone in the library.
Presently, through the stilled house, she heard Patty’s voice ring out, high and shrill.
“I don’twantit!” Patty cried; “I don’twantthe fortune! And I don’t want to marryanybody! Why do they make mepromiseto marry everybody in the whole world?”
The voice was that of delirium. Though not really delirious, Patty’s mind was flighty, and the sentences that followed were disjointed and incoherent. But they all referred to a fortune or to a marriage.
“What can she mean?” sobbed Nan, who, with her husband, sat in an adjoining room.
“Never mind, dear, it’s her feverish, disordered imagination talking. If she were herself, she wouldn’t know what those words meant. Perhaps it is better that her mind wanders. Some say that’s a good sign. Keep up hope, Nan, darling, if only for my sake.”
“Yes, Fred. And we have cause for hope. Doctor is by no means discouraged, and if we can tide over another twenty-four hours——”
“Yes—if we can——”
“We will! Something tells me Patty will get well. The clear look in her eyes this morning——”
“Were they clear, Nan? Did they seem so to you?”
“Yes, dear, they did. And the nurse said that meant a lot.”
“But the specialist doctor—he said Patty is so frail——”
“So she is, and always has been. But that’s in her favour. It’s often the strong, robust people that go off quickest with pneumonia. Patty has a wiry, nervous strength that is a help to her now.”
“You’re such a comfort, Nan. But I don’t want Patty to die.”
“Nor I, Fred. She is nearly as dear to me as to you. You know that, I’m sure. And Patty is a born fighter. She’s like you in that. I know she’ll battle with that disease and conquer it,—Iknowshe will!”
“Please God you’re right, dearest. Let us hope it with all our hearts.”
Alone, Patty fought her life and death battle. Doctors, nurses, friends, all did what they could, but alone she grappled with the angel of death. All unconsciously, too, but with an involuntary struggle for life against the grim foe that held her. Now and again her voice cried out in delirium or murmured in a babbling monotone.
Now racked with fever, now shivering with a chill, the tortured little body shook convulsively or lay in a death-like stupor.
Once, when Kit Cameron was downstairs, they heard Patty shriek out about the fortune.
“Oh,” said Kit, awestruck; “can she mean that fortune-telling business we had? Don’t you remember I told her she’d inherit a fortune. Of course, I was only joking. Fortune-tellers always predict a legacy. I hopethathasn’t worried her.”
“No,” said Nan, shaking her head, “it isn’t that. She’s been worrying about that fortune ever since she’s been flighty. I know what she means. Never mind it.”
Glad that it was not an unfortunate result of his practical joke, Kit dropped the subject.
“I want her to get well so terribly,” he went on. “I justcan’thave it otherwise. I’ve always cherished a sort of forlorn hope that I could win her yet. Do you think I’ve a chance, Mrs. Nan?”
“When we get her well again, we’ll see,” and Nan tried to speak cheerfully. “But it’s awfully nice of you boys to come round so often. You cheer us up a good deal. Mr. Fairfield is not very hopeful. You see Patty’s mother died so young, and Patty is very like her, delicate, fragile, though almost never really ill. And here comes another of my boys.”
Nan always called Patty’s friends her boys; and they all liked the pleasant, lively young matron, and affectionately called her Mrs. Nan.
This time it was Chick Channing, and he came to inquire after Patty, and also to bring the sad news that Mrs. Van Reypen was dead.
Though not entirely unexpected, for the old lady had been very ill, it was a shock, and cast a deeper gloom over the household.
“I’m so sorry for Philip,” said Nan. “He was devoted to his aunt, and she idolised him. Of late, he practically made his home with her.”
“I suppose he is her heir,” observed Channing.
“I suppose so,” returned Nan, listlessly. And then she suddenly remembered what Patty had said about Mrs. Van’s bequest to her. But she decided to make no mention of it at present.
“She was a wealthy old lady,” said Cameron. “Van Reypen will be well fixed. He’s a good all-round man, I like him.”
“I don’t know him well,” said Chick, “I met him a few times. A thorough aristocrat, I should say.”
“All of that. They’re among the oldest of the Knickerbockers. But nothing of the snob about him. A right down good fellow and a loyal friend. Well, I must go. Command me, Mrs. Nan, if I can do the least thing for our Patty Girl. Keep up a good heart, and——”
Kit’s voice choked, and he went off without further words.
Channing soon followed, but all day the young people kept calling or telephoning, for Patty had hosts of friends and they all loved her.
Nan went to her room to write a note of sympathy to Philip. Her own heart full of sorrow and anxiety, she felt deeply for the young man whose home death had invaded, and her kindred trouble helped her to choose the right words of comfort and cheer.
The day of Mrs. Van Reypen’s funeral, Patty was very low indeed. Doctor and nurses held their breath as their patient hovered on the borderland of the Valley of Shadow, and Patty’s father, with Nan sobbing in his arms, awaited the dread verdict or the word of glorious hope.
Patty stirred restlessly, her breathing laboured and difficult. “I—did—promise,” she said in very low, but clear tones, “but I didn’t—oh, I didn’t—wantto—I didn’t——” her voice trailed away to silence.
“Whatisthat promise?” whispered the doctor to Nan. “It’s been troubling her——”
“I don’t know at all. She usually tells me her troubles, but I don’t know what this means.”
There was a slight commotion below stairs. The doctor looked at a nurse, and she moved noiselessly out to command quiet.
Patty’s eyes opened wide, they looked very blue, and their glance was more nearly rational than it had been.
“Sh!” she said, weakly. “Listen! Itis! Yes, itis. Tell him to come up, I want to see him.”
“Who is it?” asked the doctor. “She mustn’t see anybody.”
“I must,” whimpered Patty, beginning to cry; “it’s Little Billee; I want him now.”
“For heaven’s sake, she’s rational!” exclaimed the doctor. “Bring him up, whoever he is, if she says so! No matter if it’s an elephant, bring him at once!”
Half frightened, Nan went out into the hall. Sure enough, big Bill Farnsworth was halfway upstairs.
“I heard her!” he said, in a choked voice, “she said she wanted me——”
“Come,” said Nan, and led the way.
Softly Farnsworth stepped inside the door, gently as a woman he took Patty’s thin little hand in his two big strong ones, as he sat down in a chair beside her bed.
“Little Billee,” and Patty smiled faintly, “I want somebody to strong me—I’m so weak—you can——”
“Yes, dear,” and firmly holding her hand in one of his, Farnsworth softly touched her eyelids with his fingertips, and the white lids fell over the blue eyes, and with a contented little sigh, Patty sank into a natural sleep, the first in many days.
Released from his nervous tension, the doctor’s set features relaxed. He looked in gratified amazement at the sleeping girl, and at the two astonished nurses.
“She will live,” he said, softly. “But it is like a miracle. On no account let her be awakened; but you may move, sir. She is in a sound sleep of exhaustion.”
Farnsworth rose,—laying down Patty’s hand lightly as a snowflake,—and soundlessly left the room.
Nan and Mr. Fairfield followed, after a moment.
They found the big fellow looking out of the hall window. At their footsteps, he turned, making no secret of the fact that he was wiping the tears from his eyes.
“I didn’t know—” he said, brokenly, “until yesterday. I was in Chicago,—I made the best connections I could, and raced up here. Have I—is she—all right now?”
“Yes,” and Fred Fairfield grasped Farnsworth’s hand. “Undoubtedly you saved her life. It was the crisis. If she could sleep—they said,—and she is sleeping.”
“Thank God!” and the honest blue eyes of the big Westerner filled again with tears.
“Thankyou, too,” cried Nan, and she shook his hand with fervour. “Come into my sitting-room, and tell me all about it. How did Patty know you were here?”
“Didn’t you tell her?” Bill looked amazed.
“No; she must have heard your voice—downstairs——”
“But I scarcely spoke above my breath!”
“She heard it,—or divined your presence somehow, for she said you were there and she wanted you,—the first rational words she has spoken!”
“Bless her heart! Perhaps she heard me, perhaps it was telepathy. I don’t know, or care. She wanted me, and I was there. I am glad.”
The big man looked so proud and yet so humble as he said this, that Nan forgot her dislike and distrust of him, and begged him to stay with them.
“Oh, no,” he said. “That wouldn’t do. I’ll be in New York a few weeks now, at the Excelsior. I’ll see you often,—and Patty when I may,—but I won’t stay here, thanks. I’m so happy to have been of service, and always command me, of course.”
Farnsworth bowed and went off, and the two Fairfields looked at each other.
“What an episode!” exclaimed Nan. “Did he really save her life, Fred?”
“He probably did. We can never say for certain, but at that crisis, a natural sleep is a Godsend. He induced it, whether by a kind of mesmerism, or whether because Patty cares so much for him, I can’t say. I hate to think the latter——”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, you know that story Van Reypen tells, about Farnsworth trying to get Patty to go on the operatic stage——”
“I never was sure about that—we didn’t hear it so very straight.”
“Well, and Farnsworth is not altogether of—of our own sort——”
“You mean, not the aristocrat Phil is?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, all that doesn’t matter just now. If the doctor says Bill saved Patty’s life, I shall always adore him, and I shall erect a very high monument to his honour. So there, now!”
Nan was almost gay. The revulsion of feeling brought about by Patty’s improved condition made her so joyous she had to express it in some way.
First, she tiptoed to the door, and beckoned the nurse out. From her she demanded and received assurance that Patty was really past the present danger, and barring relapse or complication, would get well.
Then she flew to the telephone and told Mona, leaving her to pass the glad news on to the others.
She wanted to call up Van Reypen, but was uncertain whether to do so or not. He was but just returned from his aunt’s burial, and the time seemed inopportune. Yet, he would be so anxious to hear, and perhaps no one else would tell him.
So she called him, telling the servant who answered, who she was, and saying Mr. Van Reypen might speak to her or not, as he wished.
“Of course I want to speak to you,” Phil’s deep voice responded; “how is she?”
“Better, really better. She will get well, if there are no setbacks.”
“Oh,I amso glad. Mrs. Nan, I have been so saddened these last few days. I couldn’t go to you as I wished, because of affairs here. Now, dear old aunty is laid to rest, and soon I must come over. I don’t hope to see Patty, but I want a talk with you. May I come tonight?”
“Surely, Philip. Come when you will, you are always welcome.”
“But I don’t know,” Nan said to Fred Fairfield, “what Philip will say when he knows who it was that brought about Patty’s recovery.”
“Need he know? Need anybody know? Perhaps when Patty can have a say in the matter, she will not wish it known. The nurses won’t tell. Need we?”
“Perhaps not,” said Nan, thoughtfully.