"But you're going to be engaged to him, aren't you, Patty?"
"No, I don't think so. Not after last night. Why, he was horrid,Mona, after I came home. He scolded me, and I wouldn't stay to listen.I ran upstairs."
"Oh, Patty, I wish you'd make up with him, and be friends again, and be engaged to him, and announce it at my wedding."
"Did he say all that to you last night? Did he make those delightful plans, and talk them over with you and Roger?"
"Don't look so furious. It just came about, you see. We were sitting there, waiting for you to come home, and Phil was saying how he adores you, and how he wanted your promise, but he had to wait a certain time before you would say positively. And, of course, we were talking about my wedding, and I said it would be nice to announce your engagement then, it's always so picturesque to announce one wedding at another——"
"I'm sorry I can't oblige you, Mona, but if you want an engagement announced at your wedding I'm afraid you'll have to get some other girl. You can keep the same man, if you like!"
"Oh, Patty, don't be cross with me! It wasn't my fault!"
"That's so, Mona,—I'm a pig! Forgive me, dear. Now, to make up, I'll tell you just how it is. I have told Philip that I'd give him my answer in about two weeks. And that will be your wedding day. But my answer is to be yes, only if he succeeds in teaching me to love him by that time. And I don't mind telling you, that the way he talked to me last night doesn't exactly further his cause!"
"But, Patty, he was angry, you know, and jealous of those foolishBlaney people."
"They're not foolish,—and I can't bear men who are jealous. Now, Mona, girlie, you 'tend to your own suitor. You've quite enough to do in the next two weeks, without dipping your pretty little fingers in my pie."
"Yes," sighed Mona, "I have."
When Patty entered the dining-room, she found the rest already at breakfast.
"'Scuse me for being late," she said, as she took her place, "but I was up late last night."
She smiled gaily at Philip, whose somewhat frowning face relaxed into an answering smile.
"Never mind that, Patty," said Mona, "listen to what we're planning.Philip thinks it would be a good idea to buy Red Chimneys for theKiddies' Home, and we're going to motor over to Spring Beach today tolook at it."
"Fine! but why go to look at it? We all know exactly what it looks like——"
"Yes, Patty," said Philip, "but there are several matters to see about. I know the house, generally speaking, but I want to look it over with the idea of a Home in mind. Count up the rooms, get measurements and so forth, to present in my report to the Board of Managers."
"All right, I'd like to go. I think it would be fun. Lunch at the hotel, I suppose."
"Yes, or take something with us and picnic at the house."
"Oh, that's lots nicer, don't you think so, Elise?"
"Well, you see, Patty, it doesn't matter to me which you do, as I'm not going. I'm sorry, but I've some engagements today that I must keep, so, if you don't mind, I'm going to ask to be left at home."
"All right, then it's up to us. What say, Mona? Picnic sandwiches?"
"Yes, and some Thermos stuff,—soup and chocolate. That will give us more time to look over the house. There are some things I want to see about, if it's to leave my possession forever."
"Why don't you keep it, Mona? Why wouldn't you and Roger like it for a summer home?"
"We talked it over, and I'm rather tired of the place. And Roger prefers going to different places each year. Father told me I could have the house, and do what I liked with it, sell it or keep it. But if they want it for this Home arrangement, I think I'll be rather glad to let it go."
The quartet started off in high spirits at the prospect of a jolly day. The big limousine was most comfortable and well equipped. An ample luncheon was stowed away in hampers, and a skilful and careful chauffeur drove them at a speedy gait. It was a glorious, clear, cold, sunshiny day, and the open windows gave them plenty of fresh air.
Patty, enveloped in furs, nestled in one corner of the wide back seat, and Mona was in the other. The two men faced them. Not a word had passed between Patty and Philip about the night before, and Patty wondered if he intended to let the matter go by without further reference.
"You see it's this way," Philip began, addressing Patty; "I haven't really had an opportunity of telling you about it yet. We don't want to do anything much in the matter of the Home before Spring. But as Mona's house is in the market, and as it seems like an ideal place to have for the children, I thought we'd better look into it, and, if advisable, buy it and then wait a few months before doing anything further."
"I think so, too, Phil," Patty agreed. "I counted up the rooms and it will easily accommodate twenty or twenty-five kiddies, and that's as many as we can take care of, isn't it?"
"I think so; for the present, anyway. And you know, Patty, all you have to do is to approve or disapprove of the purchase, and what you say, goes."
"What an important personage you are, Patty," said Roger. "Your lightest word is law."
"It won't be a light word," and Patty looked serious. "I shall consider the matter carefully, and with all the wisdom and forethought I can find in my brain. This matter was left to me as a trust, and I'm not taking it lightly, I can tell you. This purchase of a house is a permanent move, not a trifling, temporary question. And unless the place is the very right place,—righter than any other place,—why, we don't want it, that's all."
"Bravo, Patty!" and Philip looked at her, admiringly. "You've got a lot of good sense and judgment under that fur headpiece of yours."
"Fur headpiece!" cried Patty; "my new chinchilla toque! This is my dearest possession, if you please."
"It looks dear," observed Roger. "I believe that chinchilla animal is quite expensive."
"It is indeed," declared Mona, "my travelling suit is trimmed with it."
"Travelling suit?" asked Patty, innocently, "are you going away?"
"She says so," Roger answered for her. "She says she's going to——"
"Hush!" cried Mona, "isn't that just like a man! Why, you mustn't tell where you're going on your wedding trip! It isn't done."
"No, of course not," chimed in Patty; "but, all the same, after you reach Palm Beach, let us know, won't you?"
"I will," declared Roger, "but, do you know, it seems as if the time would never come!"
"Nice boy," said Mona, approvingly; "doesn't he make pretty speeches,Patty?"
"Lovely. You'll have a beautiful time on your trip. I 'most wish I was going with you?"
"Come on, Patty," said Philip, "let's make it a double affair. How about it?"
"No, thank you. I haven't any suit trimmed with chinchilla."
"You've a whole chinchilla coat on now," said Mona. "You could wear that."
"What! get married in old clothes! No-sir-ee! The best part of a wedding is the trousseau. That's the only thing that would ever persuademeto take the fatal step."
"It is fun," agreed Mona. "Oh, Patty, my green velvet came home yesterday! It's simply wonderful! The tunic, you know——"
"Help! help!" cried Roger. "You girls have got us penned in here where we can't get away, but if you're going to talk about bias ruffling and side gores, I shall jump out the window! I warn you."
"You can't stop 'em, old man," said Van Reypen, gravely, "they've got to go through with that green velvet, now they've begun on it. Proceed, Mona. The tunic was trimmed with peplum, wasn't it? and the bodice was cuten train——"
"You don't deserve to know," Mona told him, "and as for Roger, he'll see enough of that green velvet, poor man! It's so beautiful, I expect to wear it on every possible occasion."
"All right, dear," said Roger, rolling his eyes in mock devotion."Whatever you say, goes, my queen, my—y que—ee—n!"
"Even if I wear a rig like Alla Blaney wore last night?" asked Mona, laughing.
"Well, I must draw the line somewhere, and I should say that was the very place! If you elect to appear in a scarecrow costume of that type, I shall send you back to your father."
"No danger," and Mona shook her head. "Why do people want to make themselves such frights?"
"Their dress interprets their souls," said Van Reypen, sarcastically, "and their souls are frights."
"Nothing of the sort, Phil," flared out Patty; "I'd like you to remember those people are my friends."
"Well, my dear, if you choose to have friends with souls like frights, it is, of course, your privilege; but you must allow me to express my opinion of them."
"And so you may,—but not to me."
"Very well; consider I was talking to Mona,—which I really was."
"Then continue to talk to her, for I don't want to talk to you."
"All right, pretty Patty,—pretty little sunny-faced Patty,—all right."
Philip's voice was teasing and his smile was irritating, and Patty was angry at him anyway, yet she couldn't help laughing at his speech, for she looked as cross as a thunder cloud, and she knew it. That is, as near to the crossness of a thunder cloud as Patty Fairfield could manage. Her cheeks were reddened by the cold wind and her blue eyes always looked bluer in a frosty atmosphere. And now, as an uncontrollable smile parted her scarlet lips, and her white teeth gleamed, and her dimples came into view, Patty justified Philip's term of "pretty Patty," but she quickly concealed her smile by sinking her chin deep into the great fur collar of her coat.
"Wasn't it a crazy party?" Mona went on, not realising she was on a dangerous subject. "They all took themselves so seriously."
"Why shouldn't they?" said Patty, coming up out of her fur cave; "it might be better if we all took ourselves more seriously,—such a lot of triflers and sillyheads as we are!"
"And such a lot of piffle-peddlers and hard-boiled eggs as they are!" said Philip, fairly snorting in disgust.
"Oh, very well!" and Patty sank again into the chinchilla cavern.
Roger touched Mona's foot with his own, and gave her an urgent, significant glance, as he said, with a determination to change the subject, "We'll just about get to Red Chimneys in time for luncheon. Shall we have our picnic before we explore the house? I'm as hungry as three bears and a hunter."
"So'm I," agreed Van Reypen, taking the cue. "What's in the hampers?Unless something pretty substantial, I vote we go to a hotel to feast."
"No," said Mona, "that wouldn't be half as much fun. It's the picnicking that's so jolly. If you agree, Patty," she added, for if Patty had any intention of sulking, there would be little fun in a picnic.
But Patty Fairfield was no spoilsport. She was annoyed at Philip, but that was no reason for her to make the others uncomfortable, and she responded gaily, "Oh, yes, the picnic is lots more fun. But will the house be warm enough?"
"Yes," Mona answered, "we telephoned down last night for Mr. Bates, the caretaker, to make some fires, and we can pile logs in the big hall fireplace till we roast alive. We can have the feast in the hall, if the dining-room is chilly."
But they found the whole house fairly warm and distinctly cheery and homey-looking. Bates had aired and dusted it, and had built fires and altogether the beautiful rooms looked so attractive, that Mona declared she was half inclined not to give it up, after all.
"We could rent it some years, Roger," she said, "and live in it some years, if we wanted to."
"Just as you say, Mona," he replied; "it's your house. Wait until spring to decide, if you prefer."
"All right," said Van Reypen, "but I fear we must decide on the house we buy before that. For we want to get the place we're to have in order as soon as Spring pokes her nose in."
"We'll have luncheon first," Mona decided, "and then discuss the matter."
The men opened the hampers, and the girls set the table in the great hall, near the roaring wood fire that filled the enormous fireplace. Salads and sandwiches, carefully packed, were in faultless condition, and the numerous Thermos bottles held hot soup, coffee, and chocolate. A small freezer of ice cream appeared from somewhere, and a box of confectionery contented the girls while the men smoked after the repast.
"It's this way," said Roger, at last, when they had talked over the whole thing thoroughly, "Mona and I are considering our future,—yes, even our old age! And, so, there are some points that we want to discuss alone. Therefore, and wherefore, my friends,—my future wife and I will, if you please, go apart by ourselves for a bit of confidential chat."
"Good gracious, Roger," said Patty, "anybody would think you two were married already!"
"Same as," Roger retorted; "especially in matters of real estate, and future dwelling-houses and such things. But, really, what I'm going to do, is, to try to persuade, cajole, or coerce Mona into selling the place; for I know she doesn't really want it, only today, in the glamour of this firelight glow, it seems attractive to her. So, I must needs convince her of my superior judgment."
The two went off, laughing, and Philip sat down again beside Patty.
"How happy they are together," he said, musingly.
"Yes; I'm thoroughly glad for them. I never saw a pair better suited to one another. Roger adores the ground Mona walks on, yet he knows just how to manage her——"
"Do you think a man ought to 'manage' the woman he loves?"
"If necessary, yes. At least he should know how to."
"And do you think I know how to manage you?"
"I don't want to be managed,—I can manage myself," Patty smiled, roguishly. "But since you ask me, Phil, no, I don't think you do know how to manage me,—not the least little mite!"
"Teach me then, dear. I'll do just what you say."
"All right. First, you must not scold me if I like people whom you don't like."
"Oh, hang! I had forgotten all about those bumptious lumps! Why remind me?"
"Because it's a case in point. If you care for me, you must care for the things or people that I care for."
"But, Patty,—since you've brought up the subject, let's have it out. Youcan'tlike those humbugs,—those fake brainsters,—those sap-head pharisees——"
"Phil, suppose you stop calling them names, which mean nothing, and tell me just what it is you have against them."
"There's everything against them, Patty, and nothing for them. They pretend to wisdom, knowledge, and genius that they don't possess. They fake up a lot of patter talk and pass it off for philosophy, or psychology, or lord knows what! And there isn't an ounce of brains in the whole fool bunch of them! That's what makes me mad! They fool you into believing their drivel is wisdom, and it isn't!"
"How do you know? You haven't such a lot of that sort of knowledge yourself."
"What sort of knowledge?"
"Soul lore——"
"Patty! Don't you ever use the wordsoulin the silly way they do! You have a soul, of course,—an immortal soul. But they don't mean that. By soul, they mean a puffball of hifalutin ideas, of nonsense about the occult and psychic, and all that balderdash. Oh, Patty, my little girl,don'tlet those idiot people carry away your common sense and your plain everyday sanity! Don't, I beg of you!"
"Look here, Phil," and Patty stared at him, thoughtfully; "I'm to give you an answer to a certain question in about a fortnight, I believe."
"You are, my Blessed Darling! To be exact, on the fifteenth of December, this present month, you are to admit,—blushingly, if you like, but unequivocally,—that I'm the one man in the world for you."
"Don't be too sure. Do you suppose Icanlove a man who differs so in opinion on this matter of—of psychology——"
"Yes, you blessed goose! You sure can! For, you see, this poppycock,—I beg your pardon,—this poppychology is but a flash in the pan, a rift in the lute, a fly in the ointment. Ahem, I'm getting poetical now! Well, in a short space of period, you will have forgotten all this rubbish,—er,—soul-rubbish, you know,—and you'll be thinking only of how glad you are that you love me and I love you,—just as Mona and Roger are, in these blissful days before their marriage. Oh, Patty, you are going to marry me, aren't you, dear? I can't stand it, if you say no."
Patty looked at him, and a troubled expression filled her blue eyes.
"I don't know, Philip. Honestly, I don't know. But it seems to me if I am going to love you such a lot two weeks from now, I ought to care more than I do now."
"Oh, that's all right, darling. It'll come all at once. Why, some day, you'll suddenly discover you love me with every bit and corner of your dear little blessed heart, and you'll wonder that you only just realised it."
"I don't know, Philip. I hope itwillbe like that—but I don't know."
"Don't worry about it, dear, it will be all right," and Van Reypen smiled into the anxious eyes upraised to his.
"Of course I could do it," Patty agreed, "and I will, if you say so, Elise. I don't care a lot about it, but if everybody is going in for the game, I am, too."
"Yes, do, Patty; it's just in your line, and you can do it a whole lot better than that girl did last year,—you know whom I mean, Ethel."
"Yes, Ray Rose——"
"Ray Rose," said Patty, "what a pretty name!"
"Pretty girl, too," said Ethel Merritt, who was calling at Pine Laurel. "Also, she isn't going to like it any too well to have Miss Fairfield take her part."
"Oh, is it her part?" asked Patty; "then I won't take it."
"Yes, you will. It's all right. Nobody wants her and everybody wants you."
The subject under discussion was a "Society Circus" to be performed by the young people of Lakewood, and of great interest to all concerned.
It was a few days after the Spring Beach trip. Mona had gone back home and Philip also, and Roger was in New York. Elise was greatly enthusiastic over the circus plan, and was managing committees, and arranging details in her usual capable fashion. The affair was a charity benefit under the auspices of a philanthropic society that gave some such entertainment every winter. Patty, always ready for any gaiety, was preparing to take part, though the scheme was a new one to her. She had never been in a society circus, and wanted the matter thoroughly explained.
"It isn't much to explain, Miss Fairfield," Ethel said; "you see, everybody is an animal or a clown or a bareback rider, or something that belongs to a circus. Bob Riggs is ringmaster, and they all obey him. He's awfully funny, and whatever he has to do with, is sure to be a success."
"Tell me more about my part," said Patty; "how do I dress?"
"Well, you see, you're Mlle. Hooperino, and you do fancy dancing and jump through paper hoops——"
"What! Oh, I can't do that!"
"Yes, you can; Bob will show you how. Why, anybody who dances as you do, can do anything of that sort. And your costume is anything you like, in the way of tulle skirts, lots of 'em, and a satin bodice, laced up, you know, and a dinky little cap, and,—oh, anything you think fetching and attractive."
"It sounds fun," Patty agreed, "but what about Miss Rose? I don't want to disappoint her; will she feel annoyed?"
"She sure will! But never mind that. As soon as Bob saw you dance the other night, he said you were the one for the part. You must do it."
"And Ray Rose hasn't been asked this year," put in Elise. "She can't resent your taking what she never had."
"She will, though," declared Ethel. "She looks upon that part as hers, and she won't like Miss Fairfield's having it one bit. But that doesn't matter. What Bob says, goes; and that's all there is about that!"
They talked over the costumes and dances until every question was settled, and Ethel went away with Patty's promise to do what was requested of her.
"But I don't like it," Patty demurred, "on account of that Rose girl.What is she like, Elise?"
"Oh, she's the jolliest thing in the world. She won't get mad at you,—she isn't that sort. But I know what she will do. She'll try to 'get even,' you know,—do something to pay you out for stealing her glory."
"What'll she do?"
"Oh, I don't know. Some practical joke, like as not. She's a sort of kid, although she's nineteen years old."
"All right, if she's that sort, I'm not afraid of her. I thought she was haughty and sarcastic."
"Oh, no, nothing like that. She's full of mischief and awfully good-natured. But she'll resent Bob's putting you in her place. Don't think of it, Patty. It's all a trifle. She'll have some other part, just as good."
"Very well, I'll turn me thinks toward me frock. What say to pale blue tulle, with silver lace by way of trimmin's?"
"Fine! And after you get yours all planned will you help me with mine?"
"Will I! I live but for that! You, my Elise, must wear corn colour, or, say, maize colour, and poppies."
"Yes, now that you speak of it, that's just what I want. Shall us askPhilip down, Patty?"
"No; I'd like to have one time of my life without his revered presence."
"Look here, Patty, between you and me and the circus, aren't you expecting to be the eventual Mrs. Philip?"
"Oh, Elise, don't bother me about such far-away eventualities."
"All right, I won't, 'cause I know all about that. You're trying him out, and if he passes his exams, you're going to say yes, pretty soon, now."
"Good gracious! I believe my loving friends know more about my affairs than I do myself!"
"If we didn't we wouldn't know much! You are the most wabbly-hearted person I ever knew! Say, Pats, what did you do to big Bill Farnsworth to send him flying off out West again?"
"I?" and Patty opened her blue eyes wide at Elise.
"Yes, you, you saucer-eyed doll! One day, he was shining brightly all over the place, and the next, he was like a thunder cloud, and departed straightway for the wild and woolly."
"Oh, well, Elise, I can't feel sure that it's precisely your affair; but, as you show a polite interest, I don't mind telling you that we quarrelled."
"About Philip Van Reypen."
"Clairvoyant! Well, if you will have it so,—yes."
"Oh, Patty, then you do like Phil better than Mr. Farnsworth!"
"Do I?"
"You must! or you never would have sent one away because of the other. And, Patty, you did just right. Phil Van Reypen is worth a dozen of that Western giant. He's nice, Mr. Farnsworth is, but Philip is so much more—oh,—aristocratic and—and smart-looking, you know."
"Bill is smart enough," said Patty, thoughtfully.
"I don't mean smart in the sense of clever, but——"
"I know; you mean well-dressed and fashionable."
"Yes, and correct-mannered, and generally all round a gentleman."
"Bill Farnsworth is a gentleman."
"Of course. But not the polished type Philip is. He's an aristocrat."
"Oh, fiddlestrings. I'm sick and tired of hearing that Phil Van Reypen is an aristocrat! If I were an aristocrat, I'd try to hide it! Anyway, I wouldn't advertise it all the time!"
"Patty! you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Phil doesn't advertise it!"
"Well, he doesn't employ you to do it for him, either, so you may as well stop it. I know all about Phil's aristocracy. And it's all right. I never said it wasn't. But a man has got to be something more than an aristocrat before I can fall desperately in love with him. And I must be desperately in love with the man I promise to marry."
Patty spoke seriously, and her blue eyes took on a violet light as she looked out of the window and far away to the sky beyond the pine trees.
"Of course, you must, Patty. Every girl feels that way. But when Phil adores you so, how can you resist him?"
"Now, now, Elise, don't ask leading questions. And, also, let's turn the tables. When a certain nice young man that I wot of, so adores you, how can you resist him?"
"I don't know that I shall," replied Elise, blushing.
"Oho! Bad as that, eh? Now I see why you're so interested in my affairs of the heart. Misery loves company."
"But I'm not miserable."
"No, of course not. Howsumever, if you insist on asking Philip Van down to the circus, I shall advise asking one Mr. Kit Cameron."
"You're a day behind the fair! I've asked him and he can't come."
"Too bad. But, just for that, I won't have Phil, either. Then we can both be heart-whole and fancy free."
"All right. Bob Riggs has taken a large and elegant notion to you, and I am engaged in the pleasant pastime of subjugating Hal Merritt, so we shan't want for rustic swains."
"As if we ever had! But as for me, this circus business seems a piece of work, and I must apply myself to it, or rejoice in a failure at the eventful moment."
"You're right. Let's go over to Mme. Beauvais' and see about her making our costumes."
"Come on, we'll go now."
The next few days the girls devoted all their time to their costumes and to rehearsals for the circus. It was a more elaborate affair than Patty had anticipated, and the men who were to represent animals had marvellous suits of fur that closely imitated the real thing in wild beasts.
A bear, who was ordinarily Jack Fenn, captivated Patty from the first, and when she proposed to dance with him, Bob Riggs caught at the idea.
"Capital!" he cried, "just the thing, Miss Fairfield. Hit of the evening, I assure you. Come, begin your rehearsal at once."
It was not easy, for the bear costume made its wearer clumsy and he awkwardly tripped and nearly upset Patty. But she good-naturedly tried the steps over and over until they began to do better.
"It'll right itself after a few more rehearsals," she said, encouragingly. "Come over to the Farringtons' mornings, and we'll get a little extra practice."
Fenn did so, and, as they perfected the dance, all who saw it prophesied it would be the hit of the whole affair.
And everybody was pleased save and except Ray Rose. She had taken quietly enough the substitution of Patty for herself aspremière danseuse, and had even said she preferred the part that had been assigned her. But when the Bear dance began to be talked about with such enthusiasm, she commenced to find fault.
"How did you happen to worm yourself into my place, Miss Fairfield?" she said at a rehearsal. "Did you make up this Bear foolery?"
"I'm afraid I did, Miss Rose," returned Patty, smiling. "You've no criticism to make, have you?"
"None, except that I wanted that part that Mr. Riggs saw fit to give you, and I'm madder'n hops 'cause I haven't got it."
"Why, I'll give it to you," and Patty smiled at the pouting girl.
"Oh, you can't do that now, it's too late."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner that you wanted it?"
"Never s'posed you'd give it up, or I would have. But I'll get even with you!"
"Now, don't talk like that, for it wasn't my fault that Mr. Riggs selected me for the part."
"Well, it was your fault that you took it, and it will be my fault if I don't make you pay for it!"
"Is this a threat?"
"It most certainly is. What are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing at all,—unless it is carried out. Then I shall defend myself to the best of my ability. I'm good-natured,—and I am told you are,—but I've no intention of being annoyed unjustly, and you'll find that out, Miss Ray Rose! By the way, what a pretty name you have."
"Do you like it? It's really Ramona, but I've always been called Ray. I like you a lot, Miss Fairfield, and I'd be sorry to annoy you, but,—well, perhaps because I do like you so much,—I warn you, I'm going to get ahead of you on this circus program, if I can."
"You're a little goose," said Patty, laughing outright at the determined face and snapping black eyes of Ray Rose. "I do believe you want to cut up some trick on me, because I stole your part, or it seems to you I did, and yet, you rather like me, and hate to do it, after all."
"How did you know?" cried Ray Rose, astonished. "That's exactly what was in my mind! Well, honest, if I can conquer my desire to get even with you, I'll let you alone. But I feel pretty sure I shall do your act myself."
"You are the queerest girl I ever saw!" and Patty looked her astonishment. "Your frankness and your slyness together are the funniest combination! Just for your queer cleverness, I give you permission to get my place from me if you can! But don't forget I offered it to you."
"That's nothing. Bob Riggs wouldn't let me take it. But if I get it in some way that he can't help himself, remember that you told me I might."
Patty was greatly amused at this conversation, but as other and more important matters quickly demanded her attention, she promptly forgot the whole matter.
The circus proper was to be an evening entertainment, but in the afternoon of the same day, the entire cast of characters marched up and down the streets as an advertisement, hoping to attract attention and rouse curiosity to such an extent that the attendance at the evening performance would be large.
The animals presented a fearsome sight. Lions, bears, tigers, monkeys, a giraffe and a donkey, were followed by clowns, acrobats, trapeze performers, and jugglers.
Patty, aspremière danseuse, rode in a gilded chariot drawn by four gaily caparisoned white horses. She sat enthroned on a high seat, and waved smiling greetings as she passed.
Ray Rose, in Pierrette costume, was gay and good-natured, and chummed up with Patty, in evident forgetfulness of any ill-feeling.
"She's all right," Patty said to Elise, as they went home after the parade, and prepared to rest up a little before the evening performance.
Patty had no sooner reached her room than she was called to the telephone. The speaker was Ray Rose.
"Excuse me, Miss Fairfield, but I do want to speak to you a minute. I think my Pierrette act would be a whole lot prettier, if I had a few Highland Fling steps in it, don't you?"
"I do," Patty replied, after a moment's consideration. "Put them in after the one-step movement."
"Yes, that's what I meant. May I run over to your house a minute, and will you show me about the Fling? It won't take a jiffy."
"Yes, of course. Will you come right away?"
"I will. But, oh, pshaw,—I'm all dressed in my Pierrette rig; wouldn't you,—couldn't you come here instead? I'll send the car, it won't take any time at all."
"Why, yes, I can come over, and I will, if you want me to so much." Patty ran to tell Elise she was going, but Elise was not in her room, so Patty went downstairs to look for her. Before she saw Elise, or indeed any one else, the Rose car came, a little runabout, with only the chauffeur.
Flinging a motor coat from the hall-rack around her, Patty ran out the door and jumped into the car.
In a moment she was at Ray Rose's house, and the girl herself stood smiling in the doorway.
"Good for you!" she cried, "you're a duck! Come right up to my room."
Patty followed Ray, who ran lightly up stairs, and threw open the door of her bedroom.
"What a lovely room!" Patty exclaimed, as she entered a dainty nest all pink and white.
"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Ray, and they stepped inside. "Sit down a minute," she went on, "I want to get another scarf. I'll be right back."
Patty threw herself into a low wicker chair, and, gently closing the door behind her, Ray disappeared.
Patty waited, thinking over the coming performance and mentally rehearsing her part. It was not really difficult, but it was tricky, for unless she sprang through the paper-covered hoops at just the right moment, it would be an awkward blunder. However, after many rehearsals, she felt pretty sure of herself, and looked forward with pleasure to the fun.
She glanced round Ray's room. It was full of attractive odds and ends in addition to its furniture and regular appointments, which were of the most elaborate description. Rising, Patty examined some of the pictures and ornaments, and became so engrossed, that the minutes flew by unnoticed. On the dressing-table was a silver-framed clock, and a tinkling chime rang out from it, before Patty had given a thought to the hour. Quarter-past seven! And the performance was scheduled for half-past eight. She had waited there for Ray nearly fifteen minutes. It was very queer. What could have detained her?
Patty waited restlessly for five minutes longer, and then determined to go in search of Ray. She turned the doorknob, but the door would not open! Like a flash the explanation came to her. She was locked in! Ray had done it, in fulfilment of her threat to "get even" with Patty.
The summons over there had been a blind, to trick her into the room, and now she was locked in!
Patty smiled at the silly ruse. The matter couldn't be serious,—she could certainly get out some way, and get home in time to don her costume and get to the circus, even if a little late. Unwilling to cause unnecessary disturbance, she looked round the room to note the exits. There was but one other door and that led to a dressing-room, which in turn had a door opening into a bathroom. That was all. No more doors were to be seen. The windows had no balconies, and being on the second floor, there was no chance of escape thereby.
Patty looked around for a telephone, but saw none. She thought such an elaborate household would have many of them, but realised that Ray probably had a sitting-room or boudoir in addition to these rooms and her telephone would be there. Patty knew the girl was an only child of doting parents, and that she was spoiled and pampered to an inordinate degree.
Patty considered. Doubtless Mr. and Mrs. Rose were not at home, or, if they were, they would not answer a call, for Ray would have looked after that. The servants, likewise, must have been ordered not to release Patty, for Ray Rose was not one to do anything by halves, and if she had planned to get Patty over there, she had also planned to keep her there.
It was ridiculous, it was maddening,—but it was true. Patty was locked in a room and could not get out. She hadn't heard a key turn, but it must have done so. Peeping in the keyhole, she could see that the key was in the lock, from the hall side.
Endeavouring to use her ingenuity, Patty tried to turn the key from her side by means of a button-hook, a nail file, a hairpin, and a glove stretcher. Needless to say her attempts were unsuccessful.
"I've heard of turning a key in its own lock," she mused, but she found the feat impossible of achievement.
Again the chiming little timepiece reminded her that another quarter hour had flown.
"Half-past seven!" she thought. "My dear Miss Fairfield, you have got to do something pretty quick! Get busy! What would your favourite heroes of wild romance do to get out of such a fix as this?"
When Patty was baffled, she always talked to herself. But her appeals to herself or her ingenuity did no good, and after a thorough search for a means of exit, she concluded to call out. She felt it was an undignified thing to do, and, too, she felt it would do no good, but there was no other course to pursue, that she could see.
So she called, gently at first, and then more loudly, but, as she had anticipated, there was no response. Going close to the door, she called again and again, and then concluded it was useless.
She threw herself into an easy chair, thoroughly angry with Ray Rose, and chagrined at herself for being led into such a trap.
"I might have known there was some trickery," she thought, "when that girl called me over here at the last minute. And she was so sweet and friendly today, it should have put me on my guard. Elise warned me, but I never dreamed of anything like this. However, now is no time to worry over that, I must get out,—that's what I must do, get out!"
But it seemed hopeless. The case was so simple, that there was no opportunity for ingenious schemes. There she was, in the beautiful room, with the only exit to the house, the hall door, securely locked. The door was of solid mahogany, the knob and lock of a most secure firmness. Had it been a light or flimsy door, Patty would have rattled and shaken it, but this door was solid as a rock. Either, she would have to think up some clever plan, and that quickly, or spend the entire evening there in solitude. Her quick mind took in these alternatives, and she thought that if no idea presented itself soon, she would succumb to the inevitable, and quietly settle down for the evening. There were pleasant-looking books about, soft couches and pillows, convenient reading-lamps, and even a box of chocolates on a table. Matters might be worse, thought philosophical Patty. But she hated to give up,—to acknowledge herself beaten.
Once again she opened a window, and looked out. It was on the side of the house, and toward the rear.
The house was not set back far from the street; indeed, the sidewalk was not more than forty feet from the window out of which Patty leaned. An idea came to her, and going quickly to the table she found a sheet of paper and a pencil. There was no desk in the room, and she felt herself lucky to find these things at all. She hastily scribbled a note, but she made it urgent and definite. Then she looked around for a missile which she could throw to the street. There were few things that were available, and she finally selected a heavy hairbrush as the best. It was of ivory and bore a bold monogram, as did the rest of Ray's toilet appointments, but Patty took it unhesitatingly, as she had reached the limit of her patience and consideration.
She tied the note firmly to the brush, and leaning far out of the window, waited for a promising passer-by. At last, a young man came along, and Patty deftly threw the brush so that it landed at his very feet. Practice at basketball and other such sports had made her accurate of aim and as the astonished man saw the brush, he naturally picked it up.
Patty watched him take off the note and read it, by the light of the street electric, and after a swift gaze at the house, he started off at a brisk pace.
"H'm," said Patty to herself, "not so worse, Miss Fairfield, not so worse! The axe is laid at the root of the tree!"
Glancing at the clock, she sat down to wait. It was twenty minutes to eight, but her heart beat high with hope. If she could outwit Ray Rose it would be great fun, and she would "pay back" the mischievous girl in her own coin.
At ten minutes to eight, the door of the room opened a little way. A servant of the Rose household put her head in, and said, "This woman wishes to see you, Miss Fairfield," and Sarah, a maid from the Farringtons', stood in the doorway.
"Come in, Sarah," said Patty. "Close that door!" she said to the Rose servant, so peremptorily, that the order was obeyed at once.
"Quick!" whispered Patty, and Sarah tore off her long cloak and bonnet and veil, and Patty as quickly put them on. Then she took the small basket Sarah had brought, and standing near the door, said, in a clear voice: "You may go now, Sarah. Tell Miss Elise not to look for me this evening."
"Yes, Miss Patty," Sarah responded, and then, as the servant outside opened the door, Patty slipped through, turning her face so that it might not be seen. The Rose servant, thinking Sarah had come out, relocked the door quickly, that the prisoner might not escape, and Patty went demurely downstairs, and out at the back door, without let or hindrance. Once in the street, she fairly flew to the hall where the circus performance was to be given, for she well knew that Ray Rose had probably already secured her dancing costume from Elise by some plausible bit of trickery.
It was but a few moments after eight when Patty walked into the dressing-room of the amateur performers.
"For gracious' sake, Patty, wherehaveyou been?" cried Elise, who was sitting before a mirror, making up her face. "Nobody could find you anywhere!"
"Here I am, all right," said Patty, blithely. "Where's Ray Rose?"
"In the next room. Where's your costume? Ray came over and got it from the house."
"Oh, she did, did she? All right."
Patty went into the next room, where several girls sat in their stage costumes, and all with warm wraps around them. Ray Rose was completely enveloped in a long cloak that covered her from neck to feet.
"Hello, Ray," said Patty, pleasantly; "I'll take my costume now, as I want to get dressed in it."
If ever there was a surprised looking girl it was Ray at that moment.She stared at Patty as at an apparition.
"Where—where did you come from?" she stammered.
"Oh, I ran over from your house. Your room is lovely, Ray, but I got awfully tired of it. Now, you get yourself out of my skirts, and hand them over to me. But first, you go and telephone to your household to let Sarah, the Farringtons' maid, out of your room, where she may yet be locked in, for all I know."
Ray looked bewildered, and Patty, whose eyes were shining with righteous indignation, took her by the arm, and marched her to the telephone. Patty herself called up the Rose house, and then, thrusting the receiver into Ray's hand, said, "Give your order, and be quick about it."
"Let the girl out of my room," said Ray, through the transmitter. "It isn't Miss Fairfield in there now, it's one of the Farrington maids. Let her go home."
Patty took the receiver from Ray and hung it up, and then marched her to the dressing-room, and divested her of her long cloak.
"Why, Ray Rose!" cried Elise, "if you haven't got Patty's dress on, yourself! What are you up to?"
"Never mind, Elise," said Patty, "help us change, there isn't much time. Ray made a mistake."
Without a word, Ray took off Patty's voluminous tulle skirts in which she was arrayed, and handed them over to their rightful owner. As fast as she received them, Patty put them on, and in ten minutes, was herself clothed in her rightful property.
Meantime Ray had no costume to wear.
"Where's your Pierrette rig?" asked Patty.
"Over home," said Ray, disconsolately.
"Go and telephone for them to send it over, if you want it," saidPatty. "Put on your long cloak, and telephone."
Ray looked at her dubiously for a moment, and then said, "No, I won't.I'll go home and stay home,—that's what I'll do!"
"Go ahead," said Patty, blithely, who didn't feel she really owed the girl any further consideration. "And next time you try to get even with anybody, pick out some one who'll let youstayeven!"
"You're a hummer!" said Ray, in unwilling admiration. "How did you do it?"
"I'll tell you some other time," and Patty laughed in spite of herself at the admiration on Ray's countenance. "If you're going to get your costume over here and get into it, you want to hustle."
"Time enough," returned Ray, carelessly. "My stunt is the sixth on the program, so there's lots of time."
This was true, so Patty turned all her attention to reddening her pink cheeks, while the other girls gathered around in desperate curiosity.
"What does it all mean?" asked Ethel Merritt. "Do tell us, MissFairfield. Why did Ray wear your dress?"
"Ask her," said Patty, smiling. "It was a whim of hers, I guess. It made me a little bother, but all's well that ends well."
"You are the good-naturedest old goose!" cried Elise, who had an inkling of what was inexplicable to the others.
"Might as well," said Patty, serenely. "She's a hummer, Ray Rose is.She sure is a hummer!"
And then Patty pronounced herself finished and turned from the mirror for inspection.
"Lovely!" approved Elise, "if you admire strongly-marked features!"
Patty's cheeks and lips were very red, her eyebrows greatly darkened, and her face thickly coated with powdered chalk.
"It's awful, I know," she agreed, "but in the strong lights of the stage and the footlights too, you have to pile it on like that."
"Of course you do," said Ethel. "Mine looks the same."
Laughingly gaily, the girls went to take their places on the stage.Bob Riggs, the ringmaster, was there and assigned them their places.
Patty's performance was near the beginning of the program. She did a solo dance, first, a lovely fancy dance that she had learned in New York, and then she did the grotesque and humorous dances called for by the occasion. The one that necessitated springing, head first, through hoops covered with light, thin paper, she did very prettily, striking the taut paper with just the right force to snap it into a thousand shreds.
Her act was wildly applauded by the enthusiastic audience, and would have been several times repeated but for the scarcity of hoops.
Later came her grotesque dance with Bruin Boru, the wonderful dancing bear. Jack Fenn was very funny in his bear-skin costume, and he pawed and scraped as he ambled ludicrously about, and kept time to the music with mincing steps or sprawling strides.
This number was the hit of the evening, and Ray Rose had longed to perform it herself. But her plan fell through, and in her pretty Pierrette costume she did a very pleasing song and dance, but her eyes rested longingly on Patty's frilly skirts.
The last number was a chariot race. The chariots were of the low, backless variety, peculiar to circus performances, indeed they had been procured from a real circus.
Patty and Ethel Merritt drove two of these, and Bob Riggs and Jack Fenn the other two.
But there was no such mad race as is sometimes seen at the real circuses. The two men drove faster, but Patty and Ethel were content to fall behind and bring up the rear. In fact, it was in no sense of the word a race, but merely a picturesque drive of the gorgeous chariots by the gay drivers.
As Patty swept round the small arena for the last time, she beckoned to Ray Rose, who sat, a little disconsolately, near the edge of the stage platform.
"Get in!" Patty whispered, as she slowed down, and, obeying without question, Ray jumped from the stage, right into the chariot, which was large enough to hold both girls.
"Grab the reins with me!" Patty cried, and Ray did, and the final triumphant circuit was made with two laughing drivers holding the ribbons, to the deafening applause of the hilarious audience.
Bob Riggs, from his own chariot, pronounced the entertainment over, and then the performers and audience mingled in a gay crowd, dancing and feasting till the small hours.
"I'm sorry," said Ray, penitently, to Patty, as soon as she had a good chance. "I was a wretch, and you're an angel to speak to me at all."
"I am," agreed Patty, calmly. "Not one girl in a dozen would forgive you. It was a horrid thing to do, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself and you are. I know that. But I choose to forget the whole affair, and I only ask you never to treat anybody else so meanly."
"I never will," promised Ray Rose. "I think you have cured me of that childish trick of 'getting even.'"
"Yes, till next time," said Patty, laughing.
"It's simply absurd of you, Patty," said Elise, as they reached home after the circus, "to let Ray Rose off so easily. She cut up an awfully mean trick, and she ought to be made to suffer for it."
"Now, now, Elise, it's my own little kettle of fish, and you must keep out of it. You see, it makes a difference who does a thing. If Ray Rose were an intimate friend of mine, I should resent her performance and make a fuss about it. But she is such a casual acquaintance,—why, probably I shall never see her again after I go away from Lakewood,—and so I consider it better judgment to ignore her silly prank, rather than stir up a fuss about it."
"I don't agree with you, you're all wrong; but tell me the whole story.What did she do?"
"You see, she was determined to do that hoop dance, and the only way she could think of, to get me out of it, was to get me over to her house and lock me up there. It was a slim chance I had of getting out, but I managed it. She called me over by telephone, and then locked me in her bedroom. How did she get my clothes?"
"Sent a maid over here, saying that you were at her house and wanted your costume sent over. I thought you were helping her, in your usual idiotic 'helping hand' way, and I sent the dress and all the belongings."
"Well, of course, I knew nothing about all that. So, I suppose the little minx dressed herself and put on the long cloak and walked off. She is boss in her own home, I know that, and, as I learned later, her father and mother were out to dinner, so she ordered the servants to pay no attention to any call or disturbance I might make. I sized it up, and I felt pretty sure no screaming or yelling or battering at the door would do any good, so I pondered on a move of strategy. But I couldn't think of anything for a long time, and had just about made up my mind to spend the evening there, when I made one desperate attempt and it succeeded. I wrote a note to Sarah to come over there and say she had to give me a certain medicine at that hour, or I would be ill. And I told her to wear a thick veil and a long cloak. She did all this, and I just slipped into her cloak and hat and veil and came out the door in her place, leaving her behind. They thought it was Sarah who came out, of course."
"Fine! Patty, you're a genius! How did you get the note to Sarah?"
"Tied it to Ray's hairbrush and threw it at the feet of a young man who was going by. On the outside I wrote, 'Please take this quickly to Sarah Moore at George Farrington's,' and gave the address. I added, 'Hurry, as it is a matter of tremendous importance!' And I'd like to know who that young man was."
"Where's the hairbrush?"
"Sarah brought it back with her, and left it where it belongs. I knew it might be broken or lost, but I could have replaced it, so I took that chance. And nothing else seemed just right to throw."
"But, Patty, it was an awful thing for Ray to do to you."
"Oh, don't fuss, Elise. Consider the circumstances. I had given her permission, in a sort of way, to keep me from that stunt if she could, and she had said, 'If I do, remember you said I might.' So you see, she was within her rights, in a way, and beside, I tell you I don't want to stir up a hornets' nest about it. The incident is beneath notice; and, do you know, I can't help admiring the girl's daring and ingenuity."
"Oh, you'd admire a Grizzly Bear, if he succeeded in eating you up!You're a good-natured goose, Patty."
"Maybe. But I know the difference between a foolish prank and a real offence, that must be resented. You're the goose, Elise, not to see how silly it would be to raise a row against a girl who means nothing to me, and whom I shall never see again after this visit is over."
"All right, Pattikins, have it your own way. Ray Rose is a sort of law unto herself, and she has lots of friends who would take her part."
"It isn't that, exactly. If I wanted to raise the issue, I'm sure my side of the matter would be the side of right and justice. But it isn't worth my time or trouble to take it up. And, then, I did tell her to go ahead and outwit me, if she could, so there's that on her side. Now, Elise, about going home. I must go soon, for I want to be in New York a week before the wedding, and you do, too."
"Yes, I do. Suppose we stay down here for the skating party day after tomorrow, and then go to New York the day after that."
"I think so. Your mother will be going up about then, and the days will fairly fly until the fifteenth. It seems funny to think of Roger being married, doesn't it? He's such a boy."
"I know it. Mona seems older than he, though she isn't."
"A girl always seems older than a man, even of the same age. I want to have 'a shower' for Mona before the wedding."
"Oh, Patty, a shower is so—so——"
"So chestnutty? I know it. But Mona wants it. Of course she didn't say so right out, but I divined it. It isn't that she wants the presents, you know, but Mona has a queer sort of an idea that she must have everything that anybody else has. And Lillian Van Arsdale had a shower, so Mona wants one, and I'm going to give it for her."
"All right. What kind?"
"Dunno yet, but something strikingly novel and original. I shall set my great intellect to work on it at once, and invite the people by notes from here, before I go back to New York."
"All right, my lady, but if you don't get to bed now, you'll be pale and holler-eyed tomorrow, and that will upset your placid vanity."
"Wretch! As if I had a glimmer of a trace of a vestige of that deadly sin!"
The girls were very busy during the last few days of Patty's stay in Lakewood. There were many matters to attend to in connection with the approaching wedding. Also, Patty had become a favourite in the social circle and many parties were made especially for her.
And the day before their departure, Elise gave a little farewell tea, to which were bidden only the people Patty liked best.
The Blaneys were there, and, capturing Patty, Sam took her from the laughing crowd and led her to a secluded alcove of the veranda. It was a pleasant nook, enclosed with glass panes, and filled with ferns and palms.
"Sit thee down," said Blaney, arranging a few cushions in a long low wicker chair.
"I'm glad to," and Patty dropped into the seat. "I do think teas are the limit for tiring people out."
"You oughtn't to waste yourself on teas. It's a crime," and Blaney looked positively indignant.
"What would be the proper caper for my indefatigable energy?"
"You oughtn't to be energetic at all. For you, just tobe, is enough."
"Not much it isn't! Why, if I just be'd, and didn't do anything else, I should die of that extreme bored feeling. And, it isn't like you to recommend such an existence, anyway."
"I shouldn't for any one else. But you, oh, my lily-fair girl, you are so beautiful, so peerless——"
"Good gracious, Mr. Blaney, what has come over you?" Patty sat up straight, in dismay, for she had no intention of being talked to in that vein by Sam Blaney.
"The spell of your presence," he replied; "the spell of your beauty,—your charm, your——"
"Please don't," said Patty, "please don't talk to me like that! I don't like it."
"No? Then of course I'll stop. But the spell remains. The witchery of your face, your voice——"
"There you go again! You promised to stop."
"How can I, with you as inspiration? My soul expands,—my heart beats in lilting rhythms, you seem to me a flame goddess——"
"Just what is a flame goddess?" interrupted Patty, who wanted to giggle, but was too polite.
"I see your soul as a flame of fire,—a lambent flame, with tongues of red and yellow——"
And now Patty did laugh outright. She couldn't help it. "Oh, my soul hasn't tongues," she protested. "I'm sure it hasn't, Mr. Blaney."
"Yes," he repeated, "tongues, silent, untaught tongues,—but with unknown, unvoiced melodies that await but the torch of sympathy to sound, lyrically, upon the waiting air."
"Am I really like that? Do you think I could voice lyrics, myself? I mean it,—write poetry, you know. I've always wanted to. Do you think I could, Mr. Blaney?"
"I know it. Unfolding one's soul in song is not an art, as some suppose, to be learned,—it is a natural, irrepressible expression of the inner ego, it is a response to the melodic urge——"
"Oh, wait a minute, you're getting beyond me. What do all these things mean? It's so much Greek to me."
"But you want to learn?"
"Yes; that is, I'm interested in it. I always did think I'd like to write poetry. But I don't know the rules."
"There are no rules. Unfetter your soul, take a pencil,—the words will come."
"Really? Can you do that, Mr. Blaney? Could you take a pencil,now,—and just write out your soul, and produce a poem?"
Patty was very much in earnest. Sam Blaney looked at her, the eager pleading face urged him, the blue eyes dared a refusal, and the hovering smile seemed to doubt his ability to prove his own proposition.
"Of course I could!" he replied. "With you for inspiration, I could write a poem that would throb and thrill with the eternal heart of the radiance of the soul's starshine."
"Then do it," cried Patty; "I believe you, I thoroughly believe you, but I want to see it. I want the poem for myself. Give it to me."
Slowly Blaney took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. He sat gazing at her, and Patty, fairly beaming with eager interest, waited. For some minutes he sat, silent, almost motionless, and she began to grow restless.
"I don't want to hurry you," she said, at last, "but I mustn't stay here too long. Please write it now, Mr. Blaney. I'm sure you can do it,—why delay?"
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but I want to get the highest, the divinest inspiration, in order to produce a gem worthy of your acceptance."
"Well, don't wait longer for that. Give me your second best, if need be,—only write something. I've always wanted to see a real, true poet write a real true poem. I never had a chance before. Now, don't dare disappoint me!"
Patty looked very sweet and coaxing, and her voice was earnestly pleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.
Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.
"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think you can't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius ought to burn by this time. If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,—but it will disappoint me horribly."
The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarf round her shoulders and seemed about to rise.
"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "a moment,—just a moment,—stay, I have it!"
He began to scribble rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him. Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in his eyes, and an exalted expression on his face.
He wrote fast, but not steadily, now and then pausing, as if waiting for the right word, and then doing two or three lines without hesitation. Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to be finished.
"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made for you. Shall I read it to you?"
"Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.
In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney read these lines:
"I loved her.—Why? I never knew.—PerhapsBecause her face was fair; perhaps becauseHer eyes were blue and wore a weary air;—Perhaps . . . perhaps because her limpid faceWas eddied with a restless tide, whereinThe dimples found no place to anchor andAbide; perhaps because her tresses beatA froth of gold about her throat, and pouredIn splendour to the feet that ever seemedAfloat. Perhaps because of that wild wayHer sudden laughter overleapt propriety;Or—who will say?—perhaps the way she wept."
The lovely voice ceased, and its musical vibrations seemed to hover in the air after the sound was stilled.
"It's beautiful," Patty said, at last, in an awed tone; "I had no idea you could write like that! Why, it's real poetry."
"You're real poetry," said Blaney, simply, as he put the written paper in his pocket.
"No, no," cried Patty, "give it to me. It's mine. You made it for me and it's mine. Nobody ever made a real poem for me before. I want it."
"Oh, nonsense, you don't want it."
"Indeed I do. I must have it."
"Will you promise not to show it to anybody?"