CHAPTER XVIII
PATTY’S FORTUNE
Though Patty’s recovery was steady, it was very, very slow. The utmost care was taken against relapse; and so greatly had the disease sapped her strength, that it seemed well-nigh impossible for her to regain it. But skilled nursing proved effectual in the end, and the day came at last when Patty was allowed to see one or two visitors.
Adele was the first to be admitted to the presence of the convalescent. She had come down from Fern Falls as soon as the welcome word reached her that she might see Patty. She was to remain with her but a few moments, and then, if no harm resulted, the next day Mona was to be admitted.
Patty herself was eager to see her friends, and showed decided interest in getting arrayed for the occasion of Adele’s visit. This greatly pleased Nurse Adams for until now, Patty had turned a deaf ear to all news or discussion of the outer world, and had shown a listless apathy when Nan or her father told her of the doings of the young people of her set. This had been partly due to her weakened condition and partly to her brooding in secret over the promise she had given Mrs. Van Reypen. She had never mentioned this subject to Nan, nor had they yet told Patty of Mrs. Van Reypen’s death. The doctor forbade the introduction of any exciting topic, and this news of her dear old friend would surely startle her.
“I’ll wear my bluecrêpe de chinenegligée,” Patty directed; “the one with lace insets. And the cap with Empire bows and rosebuds.”
“Delightful!” said Miss Adams. “It will be a pleasant change to see you dressed up for company.”
“I haven’t been dolled up in so long, I ’most forget how to primp, but I daresay it will come back to me, for I’m a very vain person.”
“That’s good,” and Nurse Adams laughed. “It’s always a good sign when a patient revives an interest in clothes.”
“I doubt if I ever lost mine, really. It was probably lying dormant all through the late unpleasantness. Now, please, my blue brocade mules and some blue stockings,—or, no,—white ones, I think.”
Miss Adams brushed the mop of golden curls, that had been so in the way during the severe illness, and massed them high on the little head, crowning all with the dainty cap of lace and ribbons.
“Now, I will gracefully recline on my boudoir couch, and await the raising of the curtain.”
“You darling thing!” cried Adele, as she entered, “if you aren’t the same old Patty!”
“’Course I am! Who did you think I would be? Oh, but it’s good to see you! I haven’t seen a soul but the Regular Army for weeks and months and years!”
Patty had never referred to Farnsworth’s presence, and no one had spoken of it to her. They had concluded that she was really unconscious of it, or it had lapsed from her memory.
“And you’re looking so well. Your cheeks are quite pink, and, why, I do declare, you look almost pretty!”
“Ithink I look ravishingly beautiful. I’ve consulted a mirror today for the first time, and I was so glad to see myself again, it was quite like meeting an old friend. How’s Jim?”
“Fine. Sent you so many loving messages, I decline to repeat them.”
“Dear old Jim. Give him my best. Tomorrow I’m to see Mona. Isn’t that gay?”
“Yes, but I’d rather you’d be more interested in my call than to be looking forward to hers.”
“You old goose! Do you s’pose I’d had you first, if I didn’t love you most?”
“Now, I know you’re getting well. You’ve not lost your knack of making pretty speeches.”
“It’s a comfort to have somebody to make them to. The doctors were most unimpressionable, and I can’t bamboozle Miss Adams with flattery. She won’t stand for it!”
The white-garbed nurse smiled at her pretty patient.
“And,” Patty went on, “after Mona, I’m to see Elise and the other girls, and then if you please, I’m to be allowed to see some of my boy friends!”
“Oh, you coquette! You’re just looking forward with all your eyes to having Chick and Kit and all the rest come in and tell you how well you’re looking.”
“Yes,” and Patty folded her hands demurely. “It’s such pleasant hearing, after weeks of looking like a holler-eyed mummy, all skin and bone.”
“Patty, you’re incorrigible,” and Adele laughed fondly at the girl she loved so well. “But you’re certainly looking the part of interesting invalid, all right. Isn’t she, Mrs. Fairfield?”
“Rather!” said Nan, who had just appeared in the doorway. “And your visit is doing her a lot of good. Why, she looks quite her old self.”
“A sort of reincarnated version of her old self, all made over new. By the way, Patty, I saw Maude Kent yesterday.”
“Did you, Adele? What is she doing now?”
“Concerts as usual. I heard about her session with your father!” and Adele laughed. “The idea of her thinking you’d dream of the stage!”
“But think what a great tragedienne is lost to the world!” said Patty. “I know I have marvelous talent, but my stern parents refused to let me prove it.”
“The most outrageous ideal!” declared Nan. “Nobody but that Mr. Farnsworth would have suggested such a thing! I suppose Westerners have a different code of conventions from ours.”
“Bill Farnsworth suggest it!” cried Patty. “Why, Nan, you’re crazy! He’s the one who kept me from it. Wasn’t he, Adele?”
“Why, yes, Mrs. Nan. It was he who went over to Poland Spring with Patty——”
“Yes, that’s what I heard. Took Patty over there to see this Kent person about the matter.”
“Goodness, gracious me!” Patty exclaimed; “wherever did you get such a mixup, Nansome? Why, it was Little Billee who gave Maude whatfor, because she mentioned the idea! He told her never to dream of it, and made me go straight home.”
Nan looked puzzled. “Why,” she said, “Philip Van Reypen told me that Mr. Farnsworth put you up to it, and said you were good-looking enough——”
Patty laughed outright. “Oh, Nannie, I remember that!Isaid I was good-looking enough, and Bill said yes, I wasthat,—of course, he had to agree!—but he said that had nothing to do with the matter. And as to Phil, he knew nothing about it. He wasn’t there.”
“No. Somebody told him, that day he met you all in Boston.”
“Oh, fiddle-de-dee! Somebody said that somebody else heard that somebody—Now, listen here, Nan, nobody put me up to that stage business ’ceptin’ my own little self, and, of course, Maude, who told me about it. But she did nothing wrong in giving me the chance. And it’s all past history, only don’t you say Little Billee egged me on, because he most emphatically egged me off. Didn’t he, Adele?”
“Yes, he did. You told me all about it at the time. Bill Farnsworth was most indignant at Miss Kent, but she was a friend of Chick Channing’s and so Bill wouldn’t say anything against her.”
“There isn’t anything against her,” declared Patty, “and Little Billee wouldn’t say it if there were. But you just remember that he was on the other side of the fence. If anybody sort of approved of it, it was Chick. He thought it would be rather fun, but he didn’t take it seriously at all. So you just cross off that black mark you have against Big Bill!”
“I will,” promised Nan, and Adele said, “Where is Bill now? Have you seen him of late?”
“No,” said Patty; “not since before I was ill. I don’t know where he is.”
Nan looked at her closely, but it was evident she was speaking in earnest. As they thought, then, she had forgotten the incident of his appearance at her bedside. Perhaps she never really knew of it, as she was so nearly unconscious at the time.
“He is in New York,” said Nan, covertly watching Patty.
“Is he?” said Patty, with some animation. “After I get well enough to see men-people, I’d like to have him call.”
“Very well,” returned Nan, “but now I’m going to take Adele away. The nurse has been making signals to me for five minutes past. You mustn’t get overtired with your first visitor, or you can’t have others.”
But visitors seemed to agree with Patty. Once back in the atmosphere of gay chatter and laughter with her friends, she grew better rapidly, and the roses came back to her cheeks and the strength to her body.
And so, when they thought she could bear it, they told her of Mrs. Van Reypen’s death.
“I suspected it,” said Patty, her eyes filling with tears, “just because you didn’t say anything about her, and evaded my questions. When was it?”
They told her all about it, and then Mr. Fairfield said, “And, my child, in her will was a large bequest for you.”
“I know,” said Patty, and her fingers locked nervously together. “A hundred thousand million dollars! Or it might as well be. I don’t want the money, Daddy.”
“But it is yours, and in your trust. You can’t well refuse it. Half is for——”
“Yes, I know,—for a Children’s Home. But I can’t build a house now.”
“Don’t think about those things until you are stronger. The Home project will keep,—for years, if need be. And when the time comes, all the burdensome details will be in the hands of a Board of Trustees and you needn’t carry it on your poor little shoulders.”
“It isn’t that that’s bothering me, but my own half. You don’t knowwhyshe gave me that.”
“Why did she?” said Nan, quickly, her woman’s mind half divining the truth.
“She made me promise, the last time I saw her, that—that I would marry Philip. And when I said I wouldn’t promise, she was very angry, and said then she wouldn’t leave me the money. And I was madder than she was, and said I didn’t want her old money, and neither I don’t, with Philip or without him.”
“But what an extraordinary proceeding!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield. “She tried to buy you!”
“Oh, well, of course she didn’t put it that way, but she was all honey and peaches and leaving me fortunes and building Children’s Homes until I refused to promise,thenshe turned and railed at me.”
“And then——” prompted Nan.
“Then I was mad and I tried to start for home. Then she calmed down and was sweet again, and said she didn’t mean to balance the money against the promise, but, well—she kept at me until shemademe give in.”
“And you promised?”
“Yes.”
“You poor little Patty,” cried Nan; “you poor, dear, little thing! How could she torture you so?”
“It was, Nan,” cried Patty, eagerly; “it was just that,—torture. Oh, I’m so glad you can see it! I didn’t knowwhatto do. She said I mustn’t refuse the request of a dying woman, and she grabbed my arm and shook me, and she looked like a—oh, she just lookedterrifying, you know, and she—well, I guess she hypnotised me into promising.”
“Of course she did! It’s a perfect shame!” and Nan gathered Patty into her arms.
“Itisa shame,” agreed Mr. Fairfield, smiling at his daughter, “but it won’t be such an awfully hard promise to keep, will it, Little Girl? Of course you hated to have it put to you in that manner, but there are less desirable men in this world than Philip Van Reypen.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Patty, and she burst into tears on Nan’s shoulder.
“And you sha’n’t,” returned Nan, caressing her. “Go away, Fred. A man doesn’t know how to deal with a case like this. Patty isn’t strong enough yet to think of bothersome things. You go away and we’ll tell you later what we decide.”
Mr. Fairfield rose, grumbling, laughingly, that it was the first time he had ever been called down by his own family. But he went away, saying over his shoulder, “You girls just want to have a tearfest, that’s all.”
“Tell me all about it, dear,” said Nan, as Patty smiled through her tears.
“That’s about all, Nancy. But it was such a horrid situation. I do like Phil, but I don’t want to make any such promise as that. Of course, Phil has asked me himself, several times, but I’ve never said yes——”
“Or no?”
“Or no. I don’t have to till I get ready, do I? And I surely don’t have to give my promise to the aunt of the person most interested. Oh, I’m so sorry she died. I wanted to ask her to let me off. I dreamed about it all the time I was sick. It was like a continual nightmare. Has Phil been here?”
“Yes, two or three times. He wants to see you as soon as you say so.”
“How can I see him? Do you suppose he knows of my promise?”
“Very likely she told him. I don’t know. But, Patty, don’t blame her too much. You know, she was very fond of you, and she worshipped him. It was the wish of her heart,—but, no, shehadn’tany right to force your promise!”
“That’s what she did, she forced it. Nan, am I bound by it?”
“Why, no; that is, not unless you want to be. Or unless——”
“Unless I consider a promise made to a dying person sacred. Well, I’m afraid I do. I’ve thought over this thing, day in and day out, and it seems to me I’d bewickedto break a promise given to one who is gone.”
“Maybe Philip will let you off.”
“No, he won’t. I know Phil wants me to marry him,awfully, and he’d take me on any terms. This sounds conceited, but Iknow, ’cause he’s told me so.”
“Well, Patty, why not?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know why not. Sometimes I think it’s just because I don’t want to be made to do a thing, whether I choose or not. And then sometimes,——”
“Well?”
“Sometimes I think I don’t love Phil enough to marry him. He’s a dear, and he’s awfully kind and generous and good. And he adores me,—but I don’t feel—say, Nan, were youterriblyin love with father when you married him?”
“I was, Patty. And I still am.”
“Yes, I know you are now. But were you before the wedding day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m notterriblyin love with Phil. But he says that will come after we’re married. Will it, Nan?”
“It’s hard to advise you, Patty. I daren’t say the greater love will come to you,—for I don’t know. But don’t marry him unless you are sure he is the only man in the world you can love.”
“I’ve got to marry him,” said Patty, simply; “I promised.”
CHAPTER XIX
A DISTURBING LETTER
Then the days came when Patty could see anybody and everybody who called upon her. When she could be downstairs in the library or the big cheery living-room, and, as she expressed it, be “folks” once more.
Still flowers were sent to her, still candies and fruit and dainty delicacies arrived in boxes and baskets, and friends sent books, pictures, and letters. Her mail was voluminous, so much so that Nurse Adams who still tarried, was pressed into service as amanuensis and general secretary.
The men had begun to be allowed to call, and Patty saw Cameron and Channing, who happened to call first.
“My, but it’s good to gaze on your haughty beauty again!” said Chick; “I’ve missed you more than tongue can tell!”
“Me too,” said Kit. “I wanted to telephone, but they wouldn’t let me. Said I was too near and dear to be heard without being seen,—like the children, or whoever it is.”
“I wish you had,” and Patty laughed. “I was longing to babble over a telephone, as we used to do, Kit.”
“Yes, in the early days of our courtship, when we were twenty-one!”
“Speak for yourself, John! I’ll leave it to Chick,—doI look twenty-one!”
“I should say not! You look sweet sixteen, or thereabouts.”
He was right, for Patty did look adorably young and sweet. She had on a Frenchy tea-gown of pale green silk, bubbling over with tulle frills of the same shade, touched here and there with tiny rosebuds. A fetching cap of matching materials, was, Nan declared, a mere piece of affectation, but it accented her invalidism, and was vastly becoming. Her face, still pale from her illness, was of a waxen hue, but a warm pink had begun to glow in her cheeks and her blue eyes were as twinkling and roguish as ever.
“And what’s more,” Patty went on, “I won’t be twenty-one till next May,—and that’s ages away yet.”
“Yes, about half a year!” retorted Kit, “so I’m not so very far out, my little old lady! Did you get all the tokens I sent you?”
“Guess I did. I’m acknowledging ’em up as fast as I can. I had such oodles of stuff. I begrudge the flowers that came while I was too lost to the world to see them, but enough have come since to make up. You’ll get your receipts in due time.”
“Thanks. I was afraid mine were lost in the shuffle. I say, Patty, when can you go out for a spin?”
“Not this week. Next, maybe.”
“Go with me first?”
“No, me,” put in Chick. “I’ve a limousine, he has only a runabout.”
“Lots more fun in a runabout. Besides, I asked you first.”
“What fun!” cried Patty, clapping her hands. “It’s like a dance. I’m going to have a programme. Wait, here’s one.”
Patty found an old dance programme in the desk near her, and Kit kindly essayed to rub off the names. Then with his fountain pen he wrote over the dances, “Limousine Ride.” “Runabout Spin.” “Walk.” “Skate.” “Opera.” “Dance.” “Matinée,” and a host of other pleasures to which Patty might reasonably expect to be invited soon.
But she would only allow them one each, and after they had written their names after the motor-car rides, they were shooed away by ever watchful Nan, who would not allow Patty to become overtired.
Then, one morning, in the mail came a communication from Mrs. Van Reypen’s lawyer. It informed Patty of the legacy left her. As Mrs. Van Reypen had said, there was a bequest of fifty thousand dollars to Patty herself, and another fifty thousand in trust for a fund for a Children’s Home. The details of the institution were left entirely to Patty’s discretion, and she was instructed, if in need of more funds, to apply to Philip Van Reypen.
Also was enclosed a note which Mrs. Van Reypen had written and directed to be given to Patty after her death.
“I’m afraid to open it, Nan,” said Patty, trembling as she looked at the sealed epistle.
“I don’t wonder you feel so, dear. Let me read it first.”
Gladly Patty passed it over, for she had no secrets from Nan, and her nerves were not yet as strong as before her illness.
Nan read it, and then said. “You need have no fear, Patty, it’s a dear note. Listen:
“My Dear Little Patty:“I am afraid I made you sorrowful when I talked to you and urged you to promise the thing I asked of you. But don’t feel hard toward me. I have your interests at heart as well as Philip’s, and I know that what you have promised will mean your life’s happiness. Now, about the Children’s Home. If you feel that after all it is too great a tax on your time or strength to take it in charge, don’t do so. Turn it all over to some one else. You and Philip can decide on the right person for the work. But I trust you will have an interest in it, and see to it that the furnishings and little comforts are as you and I would choose were we working together. This note, dear, is to say good-bye. I shall not see you again, but I die content, knowing you will love and look after my boy. It seemed strange at first to your girl heart, but you will come to love him as your own, and your life together will be filled with joy and peace. Good-bye, my child, have a kindly remembrance in your heart for your old friend,“Lady Van.”
“My Dear Little Patty:
“I am afraid I made you sorrowful when I talked to you and urged you to promise the thing I asked of you. But don’t feel hard toward me. I have your interests at heart as well as Philip’s, and I know that what you have promised will mean your life’s happiness. Now, about the Children’s Home. If you feel that after all it is too great a tax on your time or strength to take it in charge, don’t do so. Turn it all over to some one else. You and Philip can decide on the right person for the work. But I trust you will have an interest in it, and see to it that the furnishings and little comforts are as you and I would choose were we working together. This note, dear, is to say good-bye. I shall not see you again, but I die content, knowing you will love and look after my boy. It seemed strange at first to your girl heart, but you will come to love him as your own, and your life together will be filled with joy and peace. Good-bye, my child, have a kindly remembrance in your heart for your old friend,
“Lady Van.”
Patty was crying as Nan finished. It so brought back the fine but eccentric old lady, and so renewed that dreadful promise, that the girl was completely upset.
“You see,” she sobbed, “I’ve got to marry him. This is like a voice from the grave, holding me to my vow. Isn’t it, Nan?”
“Patty, look here. Do you want to marry Phil, or don’t you?”
At the quick, sharp question, Patty looked up with a start.
“Honest, Nan, I don’t know.”
“Then you ought to find out. It’s this way, Patty. If you do want to marry him, or if you are willing to, there’s no use in fussing over this promise business. If you don’t, and if you are sure you don’t, then you must break that promise. But, you’ve got to be sure first.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Is there anybody else you care for?”
“N—no.”
“Kit Cameron is very much in love with you, Patty. He asked me when you were ill, if I thought he had a chance. Has he?”
“Not the ghost of a chance! Kit’s an old dear, and I like him a heap, but he’s a worse flirt than I am. Mercy, Nan, I wouldn’t marry him for a minute!”
“Chick Channing?”
“No. He’s a lovely boy to play around with, but not to take for a life partner. Oh, well, I s’pose it’ll have to be Phil, after all.”
“Your father and I would like that.”
“And Mrs. Van Reypen seemed to think she’d like it; and I feel quite sure Phil would like it; and it doesn’t matter about little old me!”
“Patty! stop talking like that! You know nobody wants you to do a thing you don’t want to do! And don’t get mad at your Nan, who has only your best interests at heart!”
“’Deed I won’t! I’m a brute! A big, ugly, horrid brute! Nansome, you’re my good angel. Now, let’s drop this subject for a time,—or I’ll get so nervous I’ll fly to the moon!”
“Of course you will! And you’re not going to be bothered out of your life, either. You put it all out of your mind, and come with me, out for a ridy-by. Then back and have a nice little nap. Then a ’normous big luncheon; and then dress yourself all up pretty for callers.”
“What an entrancing programme! Nan, sometimes I think you’re a genius! I sure do!”
The enticing programme was carried out, and that afternoon Van Reypen came to call. It was the first time he had seen Patty since her illness, and she rather dreaded the meeting.
But Philip was so cheery and kindly that Patty felt at ease at once.
“Dear little girl,” he said, taking both her hands, “how good to see you looking so well. I’ve beensoanxious about you.”
“Needn’t be any more,” said Patty, smiling up at him. “I’m all well now, and never going to be sick again. But I’ve been feeling very sorry for you, Phil.”
“Thank you, dear. It is hard, the old house seems so empty and lonely. But Aunty Van rather wanted to go, and she bade me think of her only with pleasant memories, and not with mourning.”
“She was always thoughtful of others’ feelings. And, Phil, how she did love you.”
“She did. And you, too; why, I never supposed she could care for any one outside our family as she cared for you.”
“She was awfully kind to me.”
“And you were to her. You were mighty good, Patty, to put up with her queer little notions the way you always did. And I say, do you know what she told me just before she died? She told me that you said you would learn to love me. Oh, Patty, did you? I don’t doubt her word, but sometimes she thought a thing was so, when really it was only her strong wish. So Imustask you. I didn’t mean to ask you today,—I meant to wait till you are strong and well again. But, darling, you look so sweet and dear, and I haven’t seen you for so long, I can’t wait. Tell me, Patty,didyou tell Aunty Van that?”
Patty hesitated. A yes or no here meant so much,—and yet she couldn’t put him off.
“Tell me,” he urged; “you must have said something of the sort. Even if she exaggerated, she wouldn’t make itallup. What did you tell her, dear?”
The two were alone in the library. The dusk was just beginning,—the lights not yet turned on. Patty, in a great easy chair, sat near the wood fire, which had burned down to a few glowing embers. Van Reypen, restless, had been stalking about the room. Now, he came near to her, and pushing up an ottoman, he sat down by her.
“You must tell me,” he said, in a low, tense voice. “I can’t bear it if you don’t. I won’t ask you anything more,—I’ll go right away, if you say so,—but, Patty, dearest, tell me if you told Aunty Van that you would learn to love me.”
Phil’s dark, handsome face looked into her own. With a feeling as of a tightening round her heart, Patty realised that his eyes were very like his aunt’s, that their impelling gaze would yet make her say yes. And, fascinated, she gazed back, until, coerced, she breathed a low “yes.”
Then, appalled at the look that came to his face she covered her eyes with her hands, whispering, “Go away, Phil. You said you’d go away if I wanted you to, and I do want you to. Please go.”
Van Reypen leaned nearer. “I will go, Little Sweetheart. I can bear to go now. You have made me so happy with that one little word. The rest can wait. Good-bye, you will call me back soon, I know.”
Bending down he dropped a light kiss on the curly golden hair, and went away, happy in the knowledge of Patty’s love, and almost amused at what he thought was her shyness in acknowledging it.
When she heard the street door close, Patty looked up. Her face was white, and she was nervously trembling.
“Tell me if you told Aunty Van that you would learn to love me”
“Tell me if you told Aunty Van that you would learn to love me”
“Nan,” she called; “Nan!”
Nan came in from another room. “What is it, Patty, dear? Where is Philip?”
“He’s gone. Oh, Nan, I kept my promise.”
“You did! What do you mean? Are you engaged to Philip? Then why did he go?”
Patty laughed, but it was a little hysterical. “I sent him away. No, we’re not engaged, that is, I don’t think we are. But I suppose we will be.”
“Patty, behave yourself. Brace up, now, and tell me what you’re talking about. Any one would think getting engaged was a funeral or some such occasion!”
Patty shook herself, and smiled at Nan.
“I am a goose, I suppose. I don’t know whether I’m glad or sorry, but I told Phil I’d learn to love him.”
“H’m, I don’t see as you’ve bound yourself to anything very desperate! You can doubtless learn, if you study hard enough.”
“Don’t tease me, Nan. I’m not sure I want to learn.”
“Then don’t! Patty, sometimes you’re perfectly ridiculous!”
“Huh! Just ’causeyouhappened to get a perfectly splendid man like my father, and didn’t have to think twice, you thinkeverybodycan decide in a hurry!”
Nan burst into laughter. “Oh, you aretoofunny!” she cried, and Patty had to laugh, too.
“I suppose I am,” she said, dolefully, “to you. But to me it doesn’t seem funny a bit.”
“Forgive me, dear,” said Nan, repentantly; “I won’t laugh any more. Tell me about it.”
“It’s that old promise thing. Mrs. Van told Phil I had told her I would learn to love him, and he asked me if I did. And I had to say yes. And of course I couldn’t tell him shemademe promise. Now, could I?”
“I don’t know. Itisa little serious, Patty, unless, as I said before, unless you want to learn to love him. Do you?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I wish to goodness he wouldn’t bother me about it!”
“He sha’n’t! Patty, it is a shame for you to be bothered if you don’t want to be. Now, I’ll help you out. I’ll tell Phil, myself, that you’re not well enough yet to be troubled about serious matters, and he must wait till you are. He won’t be angry, I can explain it to him.”
“I don’t care whether he’s angry or not. It isn’t that, Nan. It’s that just the little bit I said to him, he takes to mean—everything.”
“Of course he does, Patty. You can’t tell a man you’ll learn to love him unless you mean that you expect to succeed and that you’ll marry him. What elsecouldyou mean?”
“Of course, if I said it of my own accord. But, don’t you see, Nan, that I only said it because I promised her I would, and it doesn’t seem fair, that I should have to say it because she made me.”
“You’re right, Patty, itdoesn’t. And you ought not to be held by that infamous performance! I just begin to see it as it is, and I am not going to have you tortured. You don’t really love Phil, or you’d know it; and this ‘promise’ and ‘learning to love him’ is all foolishness. I’m going to tell him, or have Fred do so, of that promise business, and then if he wants to ask you again, and let you answer of your own will, and not by anybody’s coercion, very well.”
“Oh, Nan, what a duck you are! What would I ever do without you! Will you really do that? I tried to tell Phil how it was, but he was so—so——”
“Precipitate?”
“Yes, that; but I meant more that he was so glad to have me say thatyes, that it seemed too bad to tell him that awful story about his aunt.”
“Itisan awful story, but he ought to know it. Why, he’d rather know it. You two couldn’t live all your lives with that secret between you—could you?”
“Of course we couldn’t.”
“And then, too, it isn’t fair to him. If you’re answering his question under duress,—I never did know what duress meant,—but anyway, if you’re answering his questions at his aunt’s commands, he certainly ought to know it. It’s wrong to let him think it’s your own answer, if it isn’t.”
“That’s so,” and Patty looked greatly relieved. “Say, Nan, when can you tell him?”
“Oh, I can’t do it. I’ll get your father to. He’s the proper one, anyway.”
“Yes, I guess he is,” sighed Patty. “Oh, what do poor little girls do who haven’t such kind parents? And now I wonder if it isn’t time for my beef tea!”
CHAPTER XX
BETTER THAN ANYBODY ELSE
It was the next afternoon that Farnsworth called. He had not seen Patty since the day she was so very ill, but he had telephoned or called every day to inquire after her. Today he was allowed to see her, and as he entered the library, his face was radiant with sunny smiles.
Patty looked up, smiling too, and held out her hands in greeting. From the lace cap that crowned her hair, to the tips of her dainty slippers, she was all in white, and her pale face and waxen hands made her look so like an angel that big, strapping Bill held his breath as he looked at her.
“Are you really there?” he asked; “are you fastened to earth? I somehow feel afraid you’ll waft off into the ether, you look so ethereal.”
“No, indeed! I’m here to stay. I’ve a pretty strong liking for this old world and I’ve no desire to flee away just yet.”
“Good! It’s great to see you again,” and Farnsworth took a seat beside her. “I’m thinking you’ll be getting out of doors soon.”
“I hope so. But I’m having a beautiful time convalescing. Everybody is so good to me, and I’m showered with presents, as if I were—engaged!”
“And I hear that you are.” Bill looked at her steadily. “I’m told that you’re betrothed to Van Reypen, and I want to be among the first to wish you all the joy there is in the world.”
“Who told you?” and Patty looked startled.
“A little bird,” Farnsworth smiled at her gently. “I am very glad for you, dear. Philip is a big, strong-hearted chap, and he can give you all you want and deserve.”
“’Most anybody could do that,” said Patty, a little shortly, for it seemed to her that Farnsworth took the news of her engagement rather easily.
“No. I couldn’t. There are not many men like Van Reypen; rich, well-born, intellectual, and kind. Moreover, he has prestige and an acknowledged place in the best society; all of which goes to make up the atmosphere of life that best suits you,—you petted butterfly.”
Bill’s smile robbed the words of any effect of satire or reproof.
“Am I a feather-headed rattlepate?” and Patty treated the young man to her best and prettiest pout.
“Not entirely. But you like to have all about you in harmony and good taste. Nor are you to blame. You are born to the purple,—and all that that signifies.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I?” Farnsworth looked amazed. “No, Patty; I am what they call a self-made man. My people are plain people, and my childhood was one of rough experiences,—even hardships.”
“All the more credit to you, Little Billee, for turning out a polished gentleman.”
“But I’m not, dear. I’ve picked up enough of social customs not to make awkward mistakes, but I have not the innate breeding of the Van Reypens.”
Farnsworth was not looking at Patty, he was staring into vacancy, and looked as if he were talking more to himself than to her.
“Rubbish!” said Patty, gaily, annoyed at herself for feeling the truth of his words. “You’re a splendid old Bill, and whoever says a word against you is no friend of mine! So be careful, sir, what you say against yourself.”
“You’re a loyal little friend, Patty, and I’m more glad than you can realise to know that it is so. Now, you’re going to do all you can to grow stronger, aren’t you? It hurts me to see you so white and wan-looking. I wish I could give you some of my big strength,—I’ve more than I know what to do with.”
At this speech Patty blushed a rosy crimson, and Farnsworth’s remark about her wan looks lost its point.
“Why the apple blossoms in your cheeks, Little Girl?” and he smiled at her evident confusion.
“Would you give me of your strength, Bill,—if—if I were—were—dying——”
“Wouldn’t I! I’d snatch you back from old Charon, if you had one foot in his boat!”
Patty looked at him, with a queer uncertainty in her eyes. Twice she tried to say something, and couldn’t; and then Farnsworth said softly:
“As I did,—although I doubt if you knew it.”
“Did you, Billee?Really?I thought it was a dream,—wasn’t it?”
“You mean—that day——”
“Yes.”
“No, Patty, it was not a dream. I chanced to come in, and when I asked about you, you must have heard my voice, for you called out to me——”
“And you came.”
“Yes. And you wanted some of my strength,—I gave it to you by putting you to sleep. That was what you needed most.”
“Was that the crisis, Bill?”
“They said so, dear. I am glad I could help.”
“You saved my life.”
“I’m not sure of that, but I wish I had, for you know there is a convention that gives saved lives to the savers.”
“Take it, then,” said Patty, impulsively.
Farnsworth gave her a long look. “I wouldn’t want it because you thought yououghtto give it to me.”
“Yet that is why I’m giving it to Philip.”
“He didn’t save your life!”
“No, I mean I’m giving it to him because I think I ought to.”
“Whatdoyou mean?”
And then Patty told him the whole story of her promise to Mrs. Van Reypen, and her consequent enforced betrothal to Philip.
Farnsworth’s blue eyes opened wide. “And he takes you on those terms!”
“Oh, he doesn’t know about the promise. But what else can I do, Little Billee? I can’t break a promise made to a dying woman, and—too—I like Phil——”
“Like isn’t enough,” said Farnsworth, sternly. “Do you love him, Patty?”
“I—I guess so——” she stammered, a little frightened at his vehemence.
And at that very moment Philip Van Reypen appeared.
“Hello, Peaches,” he said gaily to Patty. “How do, Farnsworth? And how’s our interesting invalid today?”
“I’m fine,” returned Patty. “Getting better by the minute. ’Spect to go out coasting soon. Better get your sleds ready, we may have snow any day——”
Patty was babbling on to cover a certain constraint in the attitude of the two men. But almost immediately, Farnsworth took his leave, gently declining Patty’s plea to stay longer.
“Let him go,” said Philip, as the street door closed behind Bill; “I want to see you alone. See here, Patty, what’s this about a promise to Aunty Van?”
“Who told you?”
“Your father. Sent and asked me to come to his office, so I went, and he told me the whole story. You poor little girl! I’msosorry it happened, and I’ve come to ask you to forgive Aunty Van. She was all wrong to do such a thing, but honestly, she was actuated by right motives. She loved you so, and she loved me, and she was so sure we were made for each other. I’m sure of that, too,—but if you’re not, you’re to say so, and not think you’re bound by a promise toanybody.”
“But I did promise her——”
“Forget it! In your dealings with me, you’re to deal only with me. There’s no go-between or dictator or even adviser; only just our two selves. But before we begin on our affairs, I want this other matter settled for all time. Promise me that you will never again even think of that promise that she wrung from you. Youmust, or I can’t have loving memories of Aunty Van. Also, I want you to tell me truly, whether you want to look after the Children’s Home scheme or not. If it’s a burden, you’re not to have anything to do with it. See?”
“How kind you are, Phil. Yes, I do want to help with the Home project, but I don’t want to be at the head of the Board,—or whatever has charge of it. I want to tend to the furnishings and little comforty things for the kiddies, but can’t somebody else build it?”
“Of course they can! You dear Baby, do you think you’re to have all that on your poor little shoulders? It shall all be just as you say. And you are to do as much or as little as you like. Of course, you’re not even to think of it, till you’re all well and strong again. Now, as to your own bequest from Aunty Van. I can’t tell you how glad I am she left you a little pin-money——”
“A little pin-money!” exclaimed Patty, raising her eyes heavenward.
“Well, an enormous fortune,—if you like that better. But at any rate, it’s yours, to do as you please with. I don’t suppose you really need it, but——”
“I don’t need it for myself, Phil, but oh, I’m going to do such lovely things with it for my girls! I shall use it for their vacation trips and—that is, part of it. Part of it, I’m going to spend on myself—oh, I have the delightfullest plans!”
“All right, Pattykins, do what you will, as long as it pleases your own dear self. And now, we come to what interests me most. I decline to have you for my very own, if you consentonlybecause Aunty Van made you promise to do so. Cut that all out,—and let’s begin again. Will you promise me,—me, mind you,—not any one elseforme,—to learn to love me?”
And now Patty was her own roguish self again. The release from the bugbear promise was so great, that she considered gaily what Phil was asking now.
“Well,” she began, looking provokingly pretty, “suppose I say I’lltryto learn to love you——”
“Oh, try—to endeavour—to attempt—to make a stab at it! But, all right, I’ll take that crumb of a promise. You’lltryto learn to love me. Patty,I’mgoing to be the teacher, and if you’ll try,—and you’ll have to, since you’ve promised,—by Jove, I’llmakeyou learn!”
“Very well,” and Patty’s eyes danced; “when you going to begin?”
“Right off, this minute. And never stop, short of success?”
Van Reypen looked very handsome, his dark hair tossed back from his broad forehead, his dark eyes alight with love and determination. He was the sort of man who meets any circumstances with graceful un-selfconscious ease, and he sat back in his chair, looking at Patty with an air of assured proprietorship, that amused rather than irritated her.
“But I’m not engaged to you,” and Patty shook her lace-capped head till her curls bobbed.
“No? Oh,dobe! Let’s bethat, at least.”
“What! engaged before I’ve learned to love you! Nevaire!”
“All right, Sweetness. I’ll wait. But it won’t be long. The poet babbles of ‘love’s protracted growing,’ but ours won’t be so terribly protracted, I promise you! I’ll give you a week to decide in,—and that’s too long——”
“A week! I couldn’t begin to get ready to think about it in that time! Give me a month, and I’ll go you.”
“All right, your wish is law. A month from today, then, you’re to complete your lessons, and graduate a full-fledged ladylove of your humble servant.”
“I don’t think you’re so awfully humble, Philip.”
“Can’t be, while I have you to be proud of! Oh, Patty, do decide quicker’n a month! That seems a century! Say a fortnight.”
“Nope. A month it is, before I need to say yes or no to your question. One more month of gay girlish freedom. Oh, Phil, I couldn’t be tied down to any one man! I want to flirt with all of them!”
“Do it in this month, then. For I warn you, after thirty-one more days, your flirtations must be laid aside, with your wax doll and Britannia teaset.”
“You seem pretty positive!”
“Faint heart never won fair lady. I’ve lots of faults, but a faint heart isn’t one of them. You’re the girl for me, but you don’t quite know it for sure,—yet. So I’m going to show you the truth, and gently but firmly lead you to it!”
Philip kept the conversation in this light key, and when he went away, Patty retained the impression of a very charming afternoon with him.
“Heisnice,” she said to Nan, after telling her all about it; “You feel so sort of sure of him all the time. He always does the right thing.”
“Yes,” said Nan.
Next day brought many visitors, but among the most welcome was Baby Milly, or Middy, as she called herself, and as Patty always called her.
“Such a booful Patty!” the child exclaimed, delighted at seeing her again after so long a time. “Middy loves you drefful! See, Middy b’inged lot o’ Naws!”
“She means Noahs, ma’am,” explained the nurse who had Milly in charge. “They’re the dolls from her Noah’s Ark.”
Sure enough, the baby had the four straight-garmented puppets that represent in painted wood, the patriarch and his three sons.
They were up in Patty’s boudoir and the little one gaily stood her cherished toys round among the small ferns in the window-box.
Suddenly Patty grabbed her up and carried her off to have a feast of bread and jam and milk.
“Nice party,” the guest remarked. “Des Patty an’ Middy. Ve’y nice party.”
After the party, the little one was taken home, and so it was not until she went to her room that night, that Patty discovered the four “Naws” still marching through her ferns.
“Blessed baby!” she said to herself, as she collected the illustrious quartette, and laid them on the table to be returned to their owner the next day.
Then Patty threw herself in a big chair, to think over her problems. She hadn’t told Farnsworth that she was not now engaged to Philip, and she didn’t quite like to tell him, though why, she couldn’t say.
“I wonder who I like best of anybody in all the world,” she mused, as she played idly with Middy’s toys. “I’m as uncertain of that, as I am which of these four statuettes I prefer.”
She looked critically at the Noah, and at Shem, Ham and Japheth; a little undecided as to which was which, so similar were they in every respect save as to the colours of their long one-piece gowns.
She stood them in a row on the table. “That’s Philip,” looking at one of them; “that’s Little Billee; that’s Kit, and the yellow one is Chick Channing. I’ve come to like Chick a lot,—more’n Kit, I believe. Now, let’s see. S’pose I had to lose one of these four forever; which could I best spare.”
The game grew exciting. Patty, sitting on one foot, leaned toward the table, middle finger-tip caught against her thumb, ready to snap the least desirable into limbo.
“Sorry,” she said, “but old Kit must go.” She snapped her fingers, and luckless Kit flew across the room.
Patty’s face fell. “It’s a hard world! But I’m going to fight this thing to a finish. And there’s no use mincing matters, if another had to go—it would, of course, be Chick.”
Another flick of her slender fingers, and Channing flew up in the air and landed on the high mantel.
“Now then,” and Patty knew that a momentous decision lay before her. There remained Philip and Bill Farnsworth.
Patty clasped her hands, rested her chin upon them and stared at the brown and red-coated gentlemen still standing before her.
“Phil is such a dear,” she reasoned, as if trying to convince herself; “and he certainly does worship the ground I walk on. But there’s something about Bill—dear Little Billee! I wonder what it is about him—And hedidsave my life—I think I like him for his strength. I never saw anybody so strong—he always makes me think of Sir Galahad;—‘His strength was as the strength of ten because his heart was pure.’ Little Billee’s heart is pure,—pure gold. I—somehow, I know it by a sort of intuition. And yet, Phil—oh, Philip is a gentleman, of course, I know that, but Bill is nature’s nobleman—well any way, just at this minute, I like Little Billee better than anybody in the world! So, there now!”
With a well-aimed flick of her fingertips, Patty set Philip spinning, and it was a week later that she found him in her work-basket.
She had the grace to look a little ashamed of herself, but the fire of determination was in her eye, and a rosy flush tinted her cheeks.
Then a mischievous smile came to the corners of her mouth, and on an impulse she caught up the telephone from the stand, and called the Excelsior Hotel.
In a few moments Farnsworth’s “Hello” sounded in her ear.
“It’s Patty,” she said, in a small, timid voice.
“Well, I’m glad. Are we to have a little chat?”
“No,—I just wanted to tell you—to tell you——”
“Yes; dear Little Girl,—what is it?”
“I can’t seem to tell you after all.”
“Shall I come over there?”
“Oh, no, it’s too late. I only wanted to say that—that I’m not really engaged to anybody—now.”
“Thank heaven! and,—do you want to be?”
“Oh, no! Not for a month. I’ve got that long to make up my mind in.”
“Good! May I see you in the meantime?”
“Not unless you take that laugh out of your voice! I do believe you’re making fun of me.”
“I can’t help a laugh in my voice when the dull world has suddenly turned to rosy sunlight! Tell me, Apple Blossom, is that all you called up to say?”
“No,” and Patty’s eyes grew luminous; “Iwasgoing to say something else——”
“What was it,—tell me,—Patty-sweet,——”
“Only—that at this present moment,—just forone little minute, you know, I like—you—better—than—anybody else in all the world!”
And with a sudden click, Patty hung up the receiver, and buried her burning face in her hands.
Transcriber’s Note:
Hyphenation and spellings have been retained as in the original.
Punctuation and type-setting errors have been corrected without note.
Other errors have been corrected as noted below: