Patty decided to do nothing in the matter of meeting Kit Cameron. She dearly loved a joke, and this seemed to her a good one. But she thought it would spoil it, if she made any move in the game herself. So she bided her time, and it was perhaps a week later that Marie Homer came to call on her.
As Marie hadn't the slightest notion that Patty was the girl her cousin had in mind, the subject was not mentioned until just before Marie left, when she asked Patty if she would come to her home the next week to a little musicale.
"Not a big party," said Miss Homer, "just a dozen or so really musical people to spend the evening. And I want you to sing, if you will. My cousin will be there,—the one who plays the violin."
"I thought he detested society," said Patty, her eyes twinkling a little.
"I don't know what's come over Kit," returned Marie, looking perplexed."He's been the funniest thing of late. He has some girl in his mind—"
"A girl!" exclaimed Patty; "I thought he scorned them."
"Well, I can't make this out. It's awfully mysterious. I think I'll tell you about it."
"Do," said Patty, demurely.
"Two or three weeks ago,—in fact, it was the day after my valentine party,—Kit asked me which of my friends had telephoned me late the night before. You know he lives in the apartment just above ours, and it seems the wires were crossed or something, but he heard this girl's voice, and now he insists he wants to meet her. I don't think Elise Farrington has such a fascinating voice, do you?" "Elise!" exclaimed Patty, in pretended surprise; "what has SHE to do with it?"
"Why," explained Marie, "Elise did call me up that night, to say she had left her scarf. But how Kit discovered that she was a red-cheeked brunette, is more thanIcan understand. You can't know that from a voice, now, can you?"
"No," said Patty, decidedly, "you CAN'T!"
"Well, then, a week or two went by, and I told Elise about this, but somehow I couldn't manage to get them together. Every time Elise came to our house, Kit would be away somewhere. But a few days ago I did manage to have them meet."
"Did you?" exclaimed Patty; "for gracious sake, WHAT happened?"
Marie looked a little surprised at Patty's excited interest, but she went on: "Oh, it was AWFULLY funny. Elise looked lovely that day. She had just come in from skating, and her cheeks were red and her eyes sparkled, and her furs were SO becoming! I introduced Kit, and I could see he admired her immensely. There were several people there, so I left these two together. They were getting on famously, when Kit said to her, 'Are you still a Captive Princess?'
"I didn't know what he meant, and Elise didn't either, for she looked perfectly blank, and asked him why he said that. And Kit told her she knew well enough why he said it, and Elise thought he must be crazy. However, they got along all right until Kit asked me to get Elise to sing. Now, you know Elise doesn't sing much; she has a nice little contralto voice, but she never sings for people. But do you know, she was perfectly willing, and she sang a little lullaby or something like that, rather sweetly,Ithought. But such a change came over Kit's manner! I don't know how to express it. He was polite and courteous, of course; but he seemed to have lost all interest in Elise."
"But your cousin IS a sort of a freak, isn't he?" said Patty, who was deeply interested in Marie's story.
"Why, no, he isn't a freak. He's a musician, but he's an awfully nice chap, and real sensible. He hates society as a bunch, but he often likes an individual here and there, and when he does he can be awfully nice and friendly. But this whole performance was so QUEER. He wanted to meet Elise, and when he did, he admired her, I could see that; but when she sang, the light all went out of his face, and he looked terribly disappointed. The girl isn't a great singer, but why in the world should he expect her to be, or care so much because she isn't?"
"It IS strange!" murmured Patty; "how did Elise take it?"
"Oh, I don't think she minded much; she thinks the boy half crazy, anyway; asking her if she was a captive princess! And, of course, he didn't let HER see that he was disappointed in her voice. But I know Kit so well, that I can tell the moment he loses interest in anybody. I'm awfully fond of Kit,—we've grown up more like brother and sister than cousins."
"What's he like? Has he any fun in him?"
"Well, he loves practical jokes,—that is, if they're not mean. He couldn't do a mean or unkind thing to anybody. But he likes anything out of the ordinary. Escapades or cutting up jinks. He and Beatrice,—that's my younger sister,—are always playing tricks on us, when she's at home. But it's always good-natured fun, so we don't mind. Oh, Kit's a dear; but you never can tell whether he's going to like people or not. He likes so very few."
"But he liked Elise?"
"Oh, yes; in a general way. But, for some reason I can't make out, he was terribly disappointed in her."
"And he's going to play at your musicale?"
"Yes; and I want you to sing. We have two or three other musicians, and it will really be rather worth while."
Patty hesitated. If she went to this party, and met Kit, all the mystery of her little romance with him would be ended. He would be more disappointed in her than he had been in Elise, for at least she conformed to his favourite type of beauty, and Patty was quite the reverse. She could sing, to be sure, but probably her voice would not charm him, when robbed of the glamour lent by the telephone.
"Oh, DO say yes," Marie urged; "it will be a nice party, and if I've left out any people you specially want, I'll invite them."
But Marie's list included all of Patty's set, and as she rather wanted to go, she finally decided to say yes.
"Good for you!" exclaimed Marie; "now I know the party will be a success!"
"You always say that to me," said Patty, laughing. "Idon't make parties a success."
"Yes, you do," said Marie, in a tone of firm conviction; "you're so nice, and pretty, and smiling, and always seem to have such a good time, that it makes everybody else have a good time."
"What do you want me to sing?"
"I don't care at all. Make your own selections. I like you best, I think, in some of those sweet, simple ballads."
"I rarely sing anything but ballads or simple music," said Patty, "my voice isn't strong enough for operatic soaring."
"Well, sing what you like, Patty, if you only come," and Marie went away, greatly elated at having secured Patty's consent to sing at her musicale.
Patty at once went to the piano, and began to look over her music. She smiled as she came across "Beware," but she concluded that would not do for a regular program, though she might use it as an encore.
She made her selections with care, as she honestly wanted to do credit to Marie's musicale, and then, taking several pieces of music, she ran up to Nan's room to ask her final judgment in the matter.
"You'll have a lot of fun out of this, Patty," said Nan, laughing, as she heard the whole story. "When is it to be?"
"Friday night. Do you know, Nan, I'd like to play a joke on that boy, between now and then."
"I think you are playing a joke on him,—and, besides, he isn't a boy."
"No; Marie says he's about twenty-four. He's a civil engineer, besides being a musician. But, anyway, I've got him guessing. I'm glad Elise didn't take it to heart, that she wasn't the right girl,—but Marie says Elise thinks he's a freak, anyway. And, too, I believe he's not very nice to girls as a rule, so of course Elise won't want him. Oh,I'M the only girl in the world for him!"
Patty pirouetted about the room on the tips of her toes, waving a sheet of music in either hand.
"What a silly you are, Patty, with your foolishness!"
Patty dropped on one knee at her stepmother's side, and clasping her hands, looked up beseechingly into the smiling face over her.
"But you love silly, foolish little girls, don't you, Nancy Nan?"
"Yes, when they're you," and Nan patted the shining head at her knee.
"Well, very few of them ARE me!"
"Thank goodness for that! I don't know what I'd do if you were a half a dozen!"
"You'd have just six times as much fun in your life!" and Patty jumped up and began to sing the songs she had brought.
Then together they decided on the ones she should sing at the musicale.
Although Patty's voice was not very strong, it was sweet and true and had been carefully cultivated. She sang with much charm, and her music always gave pleasure. She never attempted anything beyond her powers, and so her songs, while selected with good taste, were not pretentious.
That evening, while Patty was fluttering around her room, pretending to get ready for bed, but really dawdling, she was moved to telephone once again to the young man who was fond of jokes.
"It's you, is it?" he almost growled, in response to her call.
"Yes," said Patty, in a meek little voice; "shall I go away?"
"Great jumping cows! NO! Don't go away, stay right where you are!"
"But I'm going away for ever," said Patty, moved by a dramatic impulse; "my captors have found out that I'm holding communication with you, and they're going to take me away to another castle, and imprison me there."
"Stop your fooling; I want to know who you are, and I want to know it quick! Do you hear THAT?"
"Yes, I hear," returned Patty, saucily, "but I don't have to answer!And if you talk to me like that, I shall hang up this receiver."
"I won't talk like that any more. But, do you know, I thought I had found you, and you turned out to be somebody else."
"But I can't be anybody else. I'm only myself."
"Be serious a minute, won't you? I went to my cousin's and met a beautiful, poppy-cheeked princess; but she wasn't you."
"How do you know she wasn't?"
"Because she couldn't sing a LITTLE bit! And you can."
"I can sing a LITTLE bit! Oh, thank you!"
"Now, I want to ask you something. You know my cousin, don't you?"
"Have you sisters and cousins, whom you reckon up by dozens?"
"It doesn't matter if I have. I mean my cousin, Marie Homer, to whom you telephoned, or tried to, on the fourteenth of February. But you got me, instead, and that means we're each other's valentine. See?"
"No, I don't see at all. I only like pretty valentines."
"Oh, I'm as pretty as a picture! That part is all right. Now, I've tried my best to find out who you are, from Marie. But either she can't or won't tell. But I've found out one thing, for certain. You're NOT Miss Farrington."
"No, I'm not; but I never said I was."
"I know you didn't, but you told me you were a pretty brunette, with poppy cheeks,—and Miss Farrington is that."
"Did I tell you I was PRETTY? Oh, I'm SURE I didn't!"
"You didn't have to. I know that myself. Now, if you'll keep still a minute,I'D like to speak."
"If I can't talk, I may as well hang up this receiver, for I'm sure I don't want to sit here and listen to you."
"Chatterbox! Now, listen; Marie is having a musicale next Friday night, and I want you to come."
"Without an invitation!" Patty's voice sounded horrified.
"Yes;" impatiently. "Marie would invite you fast enough if she knew who you were."
"Perhaps she HAS invited me."
"No, she hasn't; I saw her list. It's a small party, not more than twenty. And I asked her about each one, and not one of the ladies seemed to correspond to your description."
"Who's going to sing?" asked Patty, calmly.
"Only two ladies; a Miss Curtiss and a Miss Fairfield."
"Perhaps I'm one of those."
"No; I asked Marie, and she says Miss Fairfield is a pretty little blonde, and Miss Curtiss is a tall, brown-haired young woman."
"Don't you know either of these ladies?"
"No; that is, I've never seen Miss Curtiss, but Marie says I met MissFairfield one day, for a moment."
"Don't you remember her?"
"Hardly; she seemed an insignificant little thing."
"Pretty?"
"How do I know! She was all wrapped up in motor togs, and acted like a gawky schoolgirl."
"She did! Why,Iknow that Fairfield girl, and she isn't gawky a bit!She's a fascinating blonde."
"No blonde can fascinate ME! MY girl is a poppy-cheeked brunette, and I'm going to catch her before long. Ah, DO come to Marie's party,—won't you?"
"I've never yet gone where I wasn't invited, and I don't propose to begin now. But if you can get Marie to invite me, I'll go."
"Don't be so cruel! I can't do more than I have in the matter. I've teased Marie to death over this thing, and she can't think who you can be, unless you're a Miss Galbraith. You're not, are you?"
"Gracious, no! I'm not Mona Galbraith!"
"I knew you weren't; Marie says SHE can't sing. Oh, dear, you're a perfect torment! Pretty princess,—pretty Princess Poppy-cheek, WON'T you take pity on your humble slave and adorer, and tell me your name?"
"No; but I'll tell you what I will do. I'll send you my photograph."
"Oh, you heavenly angel! You dear, beautiful princess! When will you send it? Don't wait for the morning; call a messenger, and send it to-night!"
"I'll do nothing of the sort. I'll send it to-morrow morning,—by messenger, if you like,—and if you'll promise not to ask the messenger who sent it."
"I'll promise that if you so ordain. I guess I can play cricket!"
"All right then; now listen, yourself. I shall send you three pictures. You pick out the one you think I am, and take it to Marie, and if you are right, she'll invite me. She knows me well enough, but she can't recognise me from your description."
"I don't think it's fair for you to play that way; but I'm dead sure I can pick out your picture from the three."
"All right then; good-night!" And Patty hung up the receiver with a snap.
Then she lay back in her big chair and indulged in a series of giggles.
"Sam Weller says," she said, to herself, "that the great art of letter writing is to break off suddenly and make 'em wish they was more,—and I expect that applies equally well to telephoning."
And she was quite right, for the impatient young man at the other end of the wire was chagrined indeed when the connection was cut off. He was too honourable to use any forbidden means of discovering Patty's identity, and so would not ask to see any telephone records, and was quite willing to promise not to quiz a messenger boy. And so, he could do nothing but wait impatiently for the promised photograph.
Meanwhile Miss Patricia Fairfield was looking over her portrait collection to see what ones to send. She had a box full of old photographs, but she wanted to select just the right ones.
But at last she tumbled them all on the table in a heap, and wisely decided to leave the decision till morning.
And so it happened, that when Nan came to Patty's room next morning, as she often did, she found that coquettish damsel, sitting up in bed, wrapped in a blue silk nightingale, and with a flower-decked lace cap somewhat askew on her tumbled curls.
Her breakfast tray sat untouched on its little stand, while on the counterpane were spread out some twoscore portraits of more or less beautiful maidens.
"What ARE you doing?" said Nan; "playing photograph solitaire?"
"I'm playing a game of photographs," said Patty, raising a pair of solemn blue eyes to Nan, "but it isn't exactly solitaire."
"You needn't tell ME! You're cutting up some trick with that new man of yours." And Nan deliberately brushed away some pictures, and sat down on the side of the bed.
"You're a wizard!" and Patty gazed at her stepmother. "You could have made your fortune, Nan, as a clairvoyant, telling people what they knew already! But since you're here, DO help me out." And Patty told Nan the scheme of the three photographs.
Now, Nan was only six years older than Patty herself, and she entered into the joke with almost as much enthusiasm as the younger girl.
"Shall you send one of your own, really?" she inquired.
"No; I think not. But I want to get three different types, just to fool him."
After much consideration the two conspirators selected a picture of a dark-eyed actress, who was pretty, but of rather flashy effects. Next they chose a picture of an intellectual young woman, with no pretension to beauty or style, and whose tightly drawn black hair and stiff white collar proclaimed a high brow. It was a picture of one of the girls in Patty's class, who had been noted for her intellect and her lack of a sense of humour.
"He'll know that isn't you, Patty," said Nan, objecting.
"No," said Patty, sapiently; "he's pretty clever, that young man, and probably he'll think I'm just that sort. Now for the third, Nancy."
It took a long time to select a third one, for Nan was in favour of a pretty girl, while Patty thought it would be more fun to send a plain one.
At last they agreed on a picture of another of Patty's school friends, who was of the willowy, die-away kind. She was a blonde, but of a pale, ashen-haired variety, not at all like Patty's Dresden china type. The pose was aesthetic, and the girl looked soulful and languishing.
"Just the thing!" cried Patty. "If he thinks I look like THAT, I'll never speak to him again!"
And so, amid great glee, the three pictures were made into a neat parcel, and addressed to Mr. Christopher Cameron.
"Now, for goodness' sake, Patty, eat your breakfast! Your chocolate is stone cold. I'll go down and call a messenger and despatch this precious bundle of beauty to its destination."
"All right," returned Patty, and, with a feeling of having successfully accomplished her task, she turned her attention to her breakfast tray.
It was Tuesday morning that Patty had sent the pictures, and that same evening she was invited to dine and go to the opera with Mrs. Van Reypen.
Patty was a great favourite with the aristocratic old lady, and was frequently asked to the Van Reypen home. It is needless to say that Mrs. Van Reypen's nephew, Philip, usually managed to be present at any of his aunt's affairs that were graced by Patty's presence. And, indeed, it was an open secret that Mrs. Van Reypen would be greatly pleased if Patty would smile on the suit of her favourite and beloved nephew.
But Patty's smiles were uncertain. Sometimes it would suit her caprice to smile on Philip, and again she would positively snub him to such an extent that the young man was disgruntled for days at a time.
"But," as Patty remarked to herself, "if I'm nice to him, he takes too much for granted. So I have to discipline him to keep him where he belongs."
The dinner at the Van Reypen mansion was, as always, long and elaborate, and perhaps a trifle dull.
Mrs. Van Reypen's affection for Patty was of a selfish sort, and it never occurred to her to invite guests of Patty's age, or who could be entertaining to the girl.
And so to-night the other guests were an elderly couple by the name of Bellamy and a rather stupid, middle-aged bachelor,—Mr. Crosby. These with the two Van Reypens and Patty made up the whole party.
Patty found herself assigned to walk out to dinner with Mr. Crosby, but, as Philip sat on her other side, she had no fear of being too greatly bored.
But to her surprise the elderly bachelor turned out to be exceedingly interesting. He had travelled a great deal, and talked well about his experiences, and it was soon discovered that he and Patty had mutual friends in Paris, where Patty had spent the winter several years before.
"I do love to hear you talk," Patty declared, ingenuously, after Mr. Crosby had given her a thrilling and picturesque description of an incident in his trip to the Orient.
"Oh, thank you," Mr. Crosby returned, a little bewildered by this outright compliment, for he was unaccustomed to talking to young girls.
"But, you see," Patty went on, "I mustn't monopolise you. You know, it's etiquette to talk fifteen minutes to your neighbour on one side and then turn to your neighbour on the other."
"Bless my soul! you're quite right,—quite right!" and Mr. Crosby stared at Patty over his glasses. "How do you know so much, and you such a young thing?"
"Oh, I'm out," returned Patty, smiling, "and of course, when a girl comes out, she has to learn the rules of the game."
So Mr. Crosby turned to talk to the lady on his other side, and Patty turned to Philip, who looked a trifle sulky.
"Thought you were going to talk to that chap all evening," he growled, under his breath.
"I should like to," said Patty, sweetly, "he's SO interesting. But I can't monopolise him, you know. As I don't want to talk to a growly bear, I think, if you'll excuse me from polite conversation, I'll meditate for awhile."
"Meditate on your sins; it'll do you good!"
Patty opened her blue eyes wide and stared at the speaker. "Why," she said, "to meditate, one must have something to meditate on!"
"And you think you haven't any sins! Oh, would some power the giftie gi'e us!"
"To see ourselves as ithers see us," Patty completed the rhyme. "But you see, Philip, as I don't see any sins in myself, I can't meditate on the sins that ithers see in me, if I don't know what they are."
"Well, I'll tell you a big, black one! You simply ignored me for half an hour, while you jabbered to that duffer on the other side! Now meditate on THAT!"
Patty obediently cast down her eyes, and assumed a mournful expression.She continued to sit thus without speaking; until Philip exclaimed:
"Patty, you little goose, stop your nonsense! What's the matter with you to-night, anyway?"
"Honestly, Philip," said Patty, very low, "your aunt's parties always make me want to giggle. They're heavenly parties, and I simply ADORE to be at them, but her friends are so—well, so aged, you know, and they seem to—well, to be so interested in their dinner."
"I'm my aunt's guest, andI'm not a bit interested in my dinner."
"Well, you may as well be, for I'm going to talk to Mr. Crosby now."
Seeing that Mr. Crosby's attention was unclaimed for the moment, Patty turned to him, saying, with great animation: "Oh, Mr. Crosby, MAY I ask you something? I'm AWFULLY ignorant, you know, and you're so wise."
"Yes, yes, what is it?" And the great Oriental scholar looked benignly at her over his glasses.
Now naughty Patty hadn't any question to ask, and she had only turned to her neighbour to tease Philip, so she floundered a little as she tried to think of some intelligent enquiry.
"What is it. Miss Fairfield?" prompted Mr. Crosby.
Patty cast a fleeting glance toward Philip, as if appealing for help, and that young man, though engaged in a desultory conversation, whispered under his breath, "Ask him about the Aztecs."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Crosby," said Patty, "it's about the—the Aztecs,—you know."
"Ah, yes, the Aztecs,—a most interesting race, MOST interesting, indeed. And what do you want to know about them, Miss Fairfield?"
Patty was tempted to say ALL about them, for her knowledge of the ancient people was practically nothing.
"Did they—did they—"
"Eat snails," said Philip, in a whisper.
"Did they eat snails, Mr. Crosby?" And Patty's big blue eyes were innocent of anything, save an intense desire to know about the Aztec diet.
"Snails?—snails?—well, bless my soul! I don't believe I know.Important, too,—most important. I'll look it up, and let you know.Snails—queer I DON'T know. I made a study of the Aztecs, and they aremost interesting,—but as to snails—"
Apparently Mr. Crosby's mind was wrestling with the question.
"He's gone 'way back and sat down with the Aztecs," Philip murmured toPatty, "so you ask questions of me."
"You don't know anything that I want to know."
"ThenI'll ask a question of YOU."
Philip's voice was full of meaning, so Patty said hastily: "No, no; it isn't polite to ask questions in society; one should make observations."
"All right, observe me. That's what I'm here for. Observe me early and often, and I'll be only too well pleased."
"But that isn't whatI'm here for. Your aunt invited me to be a pleasant dinner guest and so I have to make myself entertaining to my Aztec friend."
And then Patty turned again to Mr. Crosby, and by a few skilful hints she soon had him started on another description of his travelling experiences, and this time it proved so thrilling that all at the table were glad to listen to it.
After dinner the whole party went to the opera and occupied Mrs. VanReypen's box.
Patty was passionately fond of music, and never talked during a performance. Between the acts, she was a smiling chatterbox, but while the curtain was up, she behaved in most exemplary fashion. Mrs. Van Reypen knew this, or she would not have asked her, for that lady was old-fashioned in her ways, and had no patience with people who chattered while the great singers were pouring forth their marvellous notes.
[Illustration: After dinner the whole party went to the opera]
When the final curtain fell, Mrs. Van Reypen invited her guests to return to her house for supper, but Patty declined.
"Very well, my dear," said her hostess, "I think, myself, you're too young to be out any later than this. We will set you down at your own door, and you must hop right into bed and get your beauty sleep. Young things like you can't stay young unless you take good care of your pinky cheeks."
"But I don't want Patty to go home," Philip grumbled, to his aunt.
"Your wishes are not consulted, my boy; this is my party. You're merely my guest, and, if you don't behave yourself, you won't get invited again."
"That scares me dreadfully," and Philip lightly pinched his aunt's cheek. "I will be good, so I'll be asked again."
The big limousine stopped at Patty's door, and Philip escorted her up the steps.
"I think you might have come to supper," he said, reproachfully, as he touched the bell.
"It's too late," said Patty, decidedly; "and, besides, I have other plans for the rest of the evening."
And with this enigmatical announcement Philip was forced to be content, for Patty said good-night and vanished through the doorway.
"And, indeed, I HAVE other plans," Patty said, to herself. "I'm simply consumed with curiosity to know which of those three beauties that ridiculous Kit man likes the best. I'm going to call him up and see. I wish he could call me up,—it would suit me far better. But I suppose nobody can call anybody else up if nobody knows anybody else's name."
"Do you want any supper, Miss Patty?" asked Louise, as she unhookedPatty's frock.
"No, thank you, I'm not a bit hungry. You might bring me a cup of milk and a biscuit, and then give me a kimono. I'm not going to bed just yet."
So Louise arranged everything just as Patty wanted it, and finally went away.
"May as well be comfortable," said Patty, as she tucked herself into a favourite big chair, with the telephone on a little stand beside her. "I suppose I'll run up a fine bill for extra time, but, after all, it's less extravagant than a good many other things. Wonder how much they charge for overtime. I must ask Daddy."
With a smile of anticipation Patty picked up the telephone.
"Hello!" said Mr. Cameron's eager voice. "I thought you'd never come.I've been waiting since ten."
"I've been to the opera," said Patty, nonchalantly. "And you've NO reason to sit and wait for me! I'm not a dead certainty, like the sunrise or the postman."
"You're more welcome than either."
"Now that's a real pretty speech. Are you a poet?"
"Only to you."
"Did you get the pictures?" Patty was unable longer to restrain her impatience.
"Of course I got the pictures. I knew yours at once! You needn't think you can fool ME."
"Which was mine? The girl with the black curls?"
"Mercy, no! I know you're not THAT type. She looks like an actress, and hasn't a brain in her silly head. And you're not that lackadaisical lily-like one, either. Oh, I know YOU! You're that delightful, sensible, really brainy girl with the smooth black hair."
"Oh, I AM, am I?"
"Yes; and I'm SO glad you're not a rattle-pated beauty! What's a pretty face compared to real mind and intellect!"
Patty was furious. She didn't aspire to nor desire this great mind and intellect, and she was quite satisfied with the amount of brains in her pretty, curly head.
"I don't think much of your taste!" she exclaimed.
"Why! you don't want me to be disappointed because you're not pretty, do you?"
"But I AM pretty."
"Yes; as I said, the beauty of deep thought and education shines from your clear eyes. That is far better than dimples and curls."
Patty shook her curls at the telephone and her dimples came and went with her varying emotions.
"Why, I shouldn't like you half as well if you were pretty," Mr. Cameron went on. "The only things I consider worth while are seriousness and scholarship. These you have in abundance, as I can see at once from your picture."
"And how do you like the way I dress?"
"It suits your type exactly. That large black-and-white check denotes a mind far above the frivolities of fashion, and that stiff white collar, to my mind, indicates a high order of mentality."
"I think you're perfectly horrid!" And this exclamation seemed wrung from the depths of Patty's soul.
A ringing laugh answered her—a laugh so hearty and so full of absolute enjoyment that Patty listened in astonishment.
"Poor little Princess Poppycheek! It's a shame to tease her! WAS she maligned by a bad, horrid man that she doesn't even know? There, Little Girl, don't cry! I know perfectly well that stiff old schoolmarm isn't you! Now, will you tell me who you are, and what you really look like?"
Patty had to think quickly. She had supposed that Cameron meant what he said, but after all he was fooling her. And she had thought she fooled him!
"Which is me, then?" she said, in a small, low voice.
"None of 'ern! You goosie! To think you could fool ME. In the first place, I knew you wouldn't send your own photograph; and when I saw those three charming specimens, in out-of-date clothes, I knew you had ransacked your album to find them. However, I took the whole bunch down to Marie, and she vowed she had never laid eyes on one of them before. So there, now!"
"Then we're just back where we started from," said Patty, cheerfully.
"Yes; but, if you'll come to the musicale on Friday night, we can make great progress in a short time."
"I told you I'd go, if you would persuade Marie to invite me."
"Nonsense! I believe she HAS invited you. I believe you're MissCurtiss. SHE has dark hair."
"Why not that other singer, Miss Fairfield?"
"Oh, Marie says she's a blonde. The 'raving beauty' sort. I detest that kind. I know she's vain."
"Yes, she is. I hate to speak against another girl, but I know thatPatty Fairfield, and she IS vain."
"Well, never mind about Patty Fairfield She doesn't interest me a bit.But what about you? Will you come to the party? Oh, DO-ee,DO-ee,—now,—as my old Scotch nurse used to say. Come to your waitingknight!"
Kit's voice was very wheedlesome, and Patty was moved to encourage him a little.
"Do you know,—I almost think—that maybe—possibly—perhaps, I WILL go."
"Really? Oh, Poppycheek, I'm SO glad! I do want to see My Girl!"
"YOUR girl, indeed!"
"Yes; mine by right of discovery."
"But you haven't discovered me yet."
"But I will,—on Friday night. You'll TRULY come, WON'T you?"
"Honest, I've never been where I wasn't invited—"
"But this is different——"
"Yes,—it IS different——"
"Oh, then you will come! Goody, GOODY! I'm so glad!"
"Don't break the telephone with your gladness! Suppose I DO come, how will you know me? How will you know that it is I?"
"Oh, I'll know! 'I shall know it, I shall feel it, something subtle will reveal it, for a glory round thee hovers that will lighten up the gloom.'"
"Oh, you ARE a poet."
"I am a poet, but I didn't write that. However, it was only because the other fellow got ahead of me."
"Who was he? Who wrote it?"
"I'll tell you Friday night. Come early, won't you?" "No; I always get to a party late."
"Don't be too late. I want to play to you. And will you sing?"
"Mercy, gracious! I might go to a party without being invited, but I can't SING without being asked. You tell Marie I'm coming, will you?"
"You bet I will. What shall you wear?"
"What's your favourite colour?"
"Red."
"Red is becoming to brunettes; but I haven't any red evening gown. How about yellow?"
"All right, wear yellow. I shall adore you in any colour."
"Well; perhaps I'll come, and perhaps I won't. Good-night."
Patty hung up the receiver with a sudden click, and Mr. Kit Cameron was left very much in doubt as to whether the whole thing was a joke or not.
On the night of the musicale at Marie Homer's, her talented cousin arrived long before any guests were expected.
"I couldn't wait, Aunt Frances," he said, as Mrs. Homer greeted him."I'm so impatient to see My Girl."
Kit had told the Homers of the telephone conversations, because he was so anxious to find out his lady's name. Of course, he had not told all they said, and from his incoherent ravings about a black-haired beauty Marie never guessed he could mean Patty.
"You're a foolish boy, Kit," said his Aunt.
"I don't believe that girl is any one we know, but is some mischievous hoyden who is leading you a dance. You won't see her to-night,—if you ever do."
"Then I shall think up the easiest death possible, and die it," declared Kit, cheerfully. "Why, you know, Aunt Frances, I never took any interest in a girl before, except of course Marie and Bee, but this girl is so different from everybody else in the world. Her voice is like a chime of silver bells,—and her laugh——"
"There, there, Kit, I haven't time to listen to your rhapsodies! You're here altogether too early, and you'll have to excuse me, for I have some household matters to look after. Marie isn't quite dressed yet, so you'll have to amuse yourself for awhile. Play some sentimental music on your violin, if that fits your mood."
With a kindly smile at her nephew, Mrs. Homer bustled away, and Kit was left alone in the music-room.
He played some soft, low music for a time, and then Marie came in.
"You're an old goose, Kit," she remarked, affectionately, "to think that mysterious girl of yours will be here to-night. There isn't anybody who knows me well enough to come without an invitation, that I haven't already invited. I've added to my list of invitations until it now numbers about thirty, and that's all the really musical friends I have. If this girl of yours sings as well as you say, she's probably a soubrette or a chorus girl."
"Nothing of the sort!" Kit exclaimed. "She's the sweetest, daintiest, refinedest, culturedest little thing you ever saw!"
"How do you know? You haven't seen her."
"No, but I've talked with her. I guess I know." And Kit turned decidedly sulky, for he began to think it WAS rather doubtful about his seeing his girl that evening.
And then the guests began to arrive, and Mr. Kit put on a smiling face and made himself agreeable to his cousin's friends.
Patty came among the latest arrivals. She looked her prettiest in a filmy gown of pale-blue chiffon, with touches of silver embroidery. An ornament in her hair was of silver filigree, with a wisp of pale-blue feather, and her cheeks were a little pinker than usual.
Kit glanced at her as she came in, and, though he noticed that she was an extremely pretty girl, he immediately glanced away again and continued his watch for the black-eyed girl he expected. The room was well filled by this time, and Patty took a seat near the front, where sat a group of her intimate friends. They greeted her gaily, and Kit, on the other side of the room, paid no attention to them.
The programme began with a duet by Kit on his violin, and his CousinMarie at the piano.
The man was really a virtuoso, and his beautiful playing held the audience spellbound. Patty watched him, enthralled with his music, and admiring, too, his generally worth-while appearance.
"He does look awfully jolly," she thought, to herself, "and it's plain to be seen he has brains. I wonder if he will be terribly disappointed in me, after all. I've a notion to run away."
For the first time in her life Patty felt shy about singing. Usually she had no trace of self-consciousness, but to-night she experienced a feeling of embarrassment she had never known before. She realized this, and scolded herself roundly for it. "You idiot!" she observed, mentally, to her own soul; "if you want to make a good impression, you'd better stop feeling like a simpleton. Now brace up, and do the best you can, and behave yourself!"
Miss Curtiss sang before Patty did. She was a sweet-faced young woman, with a beautiful and well-trained contralto voice. Patty cast a furtive glance at Kit Cameron, and found that he was looking intently at the singer. She knew perfectly well he was wondering whether this might be the girl of the telephone conversations, and she saw, too, that he decided in the negative, for he shook his head slightly, but with conviction.
Suddenly the humour of the whole situation struck Patty. The incident was not serious, but humorous, and as soon as she realised this her shyness disappeared, and the spirit of mischief once again took possession of her. She knew now she would do herself credit when she sang, and when her turn came she rose and walked slowly and gracefully to the platform which had been temporarily placed for the musicians.
Marie was to play her accompaniment, and Patty had expected to sing first a somewhat elaborate aria, using "Beware" as an encore.
But as she reached the platform, and as she noticed Kit Cameron's face, its expression politely interested, but in no wise enthusiastic, she suddenly changed her mind. She put the music of "Beware" on the piano rack, and murmured to Marie, "This one first."
Marie looked puzzled, but of course she couldn't say anything as Patty stood waiting to begin.
For some reason Patty was always at her prettiest when she sang. She thoroughly enjoyed singing, and she enjoyed the evident pleasure it gave to others. She stood gracefully, her hands lightly clasped before her, and the added excitement of this particular occasion gave a flush to her cheek and a sparkle to her blue eyes that made her positively bewitching.
And then she sang the foolish little song, "Beware," just as she had sung it over the telephone, coquettishly, but without artificiality or forced effect.
She scarcely dared look at Kit Cameron. A fleeting glance showed her that he was probably at that moment the most nonplussed young man in existence.
She looked away quickly, lest her voice should falter from amusement.
Luckily, all the audience were regarding Patty attentively, and had no eyes for the astonished face of Kit Cameron. He had taken no special interest in the blonde singer, but when her first notes, rang out he started in surprise. As the voice continued he knew at once it was the same voice he had heard over the telephone, but he couldn't reconcile the facts. He caught the fleeting glance she gave him, he saw the roguish smile in her eyes, and he was forced to believe that this girl was his dark-eyed unknown.
"The little rascal!" he said, to himself. "The scamp! the rogue! How she has tricked me! To think she was Patty Fairfield all the time! No wonder Marie didn't know whom I was talking about! Well!"
As the song finished no one applauded more enthusiastically than KitCameron.
But Patty would not look toward him, and proceeded to sing as an encore the aria she had intended to sing first.
She was in her best voice, and she sang this beautifully, and, if the audience was surprised at the unusual order of the selections, they were unstinted in their applause.
Leaving the stage, instead of returning to her seat, Patty stepped back into the next room, which was the library.
Cameron was there to receive her. He had felt sure she would not return to the audience immediately, and he took the chance.
He held out both hands and Patty laid her hands in his.
"Captive Princess," he murmured.
"My Knight!" Patty whispered, and flashed a smile at him.
"Can you EVER forgive the things I said?" he asked, earnestly, as he led her across the room and they sat down on a divan.
"There's nothing to forgive," she said, smiling; "you detest blondes, I know, but I'm thinking seriously of dyeing my hair black."
"Don't! that would be a sacrilege! And you MUST remember that I told you I always adored blondes, until you told me you were brunette."
"But I didn't," said Patty, laughing. "Somehow you got the notion that I was dark, and I didn't correct it. Are you TERRIBLY disappointed in me?"
Naughty Patty raised her heavenly blue eyes and looked so like a fair, sweet flower that Kit exclaimed:
"Disappointed! You are an angel, straight from heaven!"
"Nonsense! If you talk like that, I shall run away."
"Don't run away! I'll talk any way you like, but now that I have found you I shall keep you. But I am still in depths of self-abasement. Didn't I say most unkind things about Miss Fairfield?"
"No unkinder than I did. We both jumped on her, and said she was vain and horrid."
"Inever said such dreadful things! I'm sure I didn't. But, if I did, I shall spend the rest of my life making up for it. And I called you Poppycheek!"
Cameron looked at Patty's cheeks in such utter dismay that she laughed outright.
"But you know," she said, "there are pink poppies as well as scarlet.Incidentally there are white and there are saffron yellow."
"So there are," said Cameron, delightedly. "How you DO help a fellow out! Well, yours are just the colour of a soft, dainty pink poppy that is touched by the sunlight and kissed by a summer breeze."
"I knew you were a poet," said Patty, smiling, "but I don't allow even a summer breeze to kiss my cheeks."
"I should hope not! A summer breeze is altogether too promiscuous with its kisses. I hope you don't allow any kisses, except those of your own particular swansdown powder puff."
"Of course I don't!" laughed Patty, and then she blushed furiously as she suddenly remembered how Farnsworth had kissed both her cheeks the night of Christine's wedding.
"I see you're blushing at a memory," said Cameron, coolly; "I suppose the powder puff was too audacious."
"Yes, that's it," said Patty, her liking for this young man increased by the pleasantry of his light banter. "And now we must return to the music-room. I came here a moment to catch my breath after singing; but how did you happen to be here?"
"I knew you'd come here; ostensibly, of course, to catch your breath, but really because you knew I'd be here."
"You wretch!" cried Patty. "How dare you say such things! I never dreamed you'd be here; if I had, I shouldn't have come."
"Of course you wouldn't, you little coquette! It's your nature to be perverse and capricious. But your sweet good-humour won't let you carry those other traits too far. Oh, I know you, My Girl!"
"I object to that phrase from you," Patty said, coldly, "and I must ask you not to use it again."
"But you ARE my girl, by right of discovery. By the way, you're not anybody else's girl, are you?"
"Just what do you mean by that?"
"Well, in other words, then, are you engaged, betrothed, plighted, promised, bespoke——"
Patty burst out laughing. "I'm not any of those things," she said, "but, if ever I am, I shall be bespoke. I think that's the loveliest word! Fancy being anybody's Bespoke!"
"Of course, it's up to me to give you an immediate opportunity," said Cameron, sighing. "But somehow I don't quite dare bespeak you on such short acquaintance."
"Faint heart——"
"Oh, it isn't that! I'm brave enough. But I'm an awfully punctilious man. If I were going to bespeak you, now, I should think it my duty to go first to your father and correctly ask his permission to pay my addresses to his daughter."
"Good gracious! How do you pay addresses? I never had an address paid to me in my life."
"Shall I show you how?" And Cameron jumped up and fell on one knee before Patty, with a comical expression of a make-believe love-sick swain.
Patty dearly loved fooling, and she smiled back at him roguishly, and just at that moment Philip Van Reypen came into the room.
In the dim half-light he descried Patty on the divan and Cameron kneeling before her, and, as Mr. Van Reypen was blessed with a quick temper, he felt a sudden desire to choke the talented Mr. Cameron.
"Patty!" Philip exclaimed, angrily.
"Yes, Philip," said Patty, in a voice of sweet humility.
"Come with me," was the stern command.
"Yes, Philip," and Patty arose and walked away with Van Reypen, leavingKit Cameron still on his knee.
"Well, I'll be hammered!" that gentleman remarked, as he rose slowly and deliberately dusted off his knee with his handkerchief; "that girl is a wonder! She's full of the dickens, but she's as sweet as a peach. I always did like blondes best, whether she believes it or not. But if I hadn't, I should now. There's only one girl in the world for me. I wonder if she is mixed up with that Van Reypen chap. He had a most proprietary manner, but all the same, that little witch is quite capable of scooting off like that, just to tease me. Oh, I'll play her own game and meet her on her own ground. Little Poppycheek!" With a nonchalant air, Mr. Cameron sauntered back to the music-room, and seated himself beside Miss Curtiss, with whom he struck up an animated conversation, not so much as glancing at Patty.
Patty observed this from the corner of her eye, and she nodded her head in approval.
"He's worth knowing," she thought; "I'll have a lot of fun with him."
The programme was almost over, but Kit was to play once again. With Marie, he played a fine selection, and then, as he was tumultuously encored, he went back to the platform alone. Without accompaniment he played the little song, "Beware," that Patty had sung, and, improvising, he made a fantasia of the air. He was clever as well as skilled, and he turned the simple little melody into thrilling, rollicking music with trills and roulades until the original theme was almost lost sight of, only to crop up again with new intensity.
Patty listened, enthralled. She loved this sort of thing, and she knew he was playing to her and for her. The strains would be now softly romantic, now grandly triumphant, but ever recurring to the main motive, until one seemed fairly to see the fickle maiden of the song.
When it was ended, the room rang with applause. Cameron bowed simply, and laying aside his violin, went straight to Patty and sat down by her, coolly appropriating the chair which his cousin Marie had just left.
"I made that for you," he said, simply. "Did you like it?"
"Like it!" exclaimed Patty, her blue eyes dancing; "I revelled in it!It was wonderful! Was it really impromptu?"
"Of course. It was nothing. Any one can play variations on an old song."
"Variations nothing!" remarked Patty. "It was a work,—a chef d'oeuvre,—an opus!"
"Yes; Opus One of my new cycle." "What are you two talking about?" saidMarie, returning. "Have you found your girl, Kit? What do you think,Patty?—Kit's crazy over a black-eyed girl whom he doesn't know!"
"Is he?" said Patty, dropping her eyes demurely.
"I found My Girl, Marie," Cameron announced, calmly; "I find I made a trifling mistake about her colouring, but that's a mere detail. As it turns out, the lady of my quest is Miss Fairfield."
"Good gracious, are you, Patty?" said Marie, impetuously; "are youKit's girl?"
"Yes; I am," and Patty folded her hands with a ridiculous air of complacency.
"Patty!" growled Van Reypen, who was sitting behind her.
"Yes, Philip," said Patty, sweetly, turning partly round.
"Behave yourself!"
"I am behaving, Philip," and Patty looked very meek.
"Of course you are," said Marie; "you're behaving beautifully. And you look like an angel, and you sang like a lark, and if you're Kit's Girl, I'm glad of it. Now come on, everybody's going to supper."
"You come along with me," said Philip Van Reypen, as he took Patty by the arm.
"Why?" And Patty looked a little defiant at this command.
"Because I want you to. And I want you to stop making up to thatCameron man."
"I'm not, Philip; he's making up to me."
"Well, he'd better stop it! What was he doing on his knees before you in the library?"
"I don't remember," said Patty, innocently. "Oh, yes, he was telling me my cheeks were red, or some foolishness like that."
"And your eyes were blue, I suppose, and your hair was yellow! Didn't you know all those things before?"
"Why, Philip, how cross you are! Yes, I've known those things for nineteen years. It's no surprise to me."
"Patty, I'd like to shake you! Do you know what you are? You're just a little, vain, silly, babbling coquette!"
"I think that's a lovely thing to be! Do you want me to babble to you,Philip, or shall I go and babble to somebody else?"
"Don't babble at all. Here's a chair. You sit right down here, and eat your supper. Here's another chair. You lay your shawl and bonnet on that, to keep it for me, and I'll go and forage for some food."
Patty laid her scarf and fan on the chair to reserve it for Philip, but she was not unduly surprised when Mr. Cameron came along, picked up her belongings, and seated himself in the chair.
"That's Mr. Van Reypen's chair," said Patty; "if he finds you there, he'll gently but firmly kill you."
"I know it," said Kit, placidly; "but a Knight is always willing to brave death for his Lady."
"But I don't want you killed," said Patty, looking sad, "I wouldn't have anybody to telephone to."
"If I run away then, to save my life, will you telephone me to-night?"
"Indeed I won't! that's all over. But please, Mr. Cameron, run away, for here comes Philip, with both hands full of soup, and I know he wouldn't hesitate to scald you with it."
Mr. Cameron arose, as Mr. Van Reypen came in, and with an air of willingly relinquishing his seat to Philip, he said, "My Girl's Orders."
Philip didn't hear it, but Patty did, and she blushed, for Cameron's departure that way showed greater deference to her wishes than if he had stayed with her.
"What did he say?" Philip asked, as he offered Patty a cup of bouillon, and then sat down beside her.
"He said you were such a sweet-tempered man, he didn't wonder I liked you," and Patty beamed pleasantly.
"I would be sweet-tempered, Patty, if you didn't tease the very life out of me!"
"Now, Philip, you wouldn't be much good if you couldn't stand a little teasing."
"Go ahead, then; tease me all you like," and Van Reypen looked the personification of dogged endurance.
"I will!" said Patty, emphatically, and then some others joined them, and the group began to laugh and talk together.
"Your cousin is stunning, Marie," said Mona Galbraith; "why have we never met him before?"
"He's a freak," Marie said, laughingly. "I couldn't persuade him to come to my valentine party, and to-night I couldn't keep him away! All musicians are freaks, you know."
"He's a musician, all right," said Kenneth Harper. "The things he did to that simple little song must have made some of the eminent composers turn in their graves!"
"He's awfully clever at that sort of thing," said Marie; "sometimes when we're here alone, he'll take a simple little air and improvise the most beautiful melodies from it."
"Is he amiable?" asked Mona, casually.
"Not very; or rather, not always. But he's a dear fellow, and we're all fond of him. How did you like him, Patty?"
"I thought he was lovely," said Patty, and Van Reypen glared at her.