"Of course, I am. I don't expect you to understand them, Father, you're older, and belong to another generation."
"Good gracious, Patty," cried Nan, gasping, "do you think your father is too old to understand that drivel?"
"I do," said Patty, calmly, "and you are too, Nan. It takes the modern viewpoint, the young soulsight to apprehend the beauty of vision, the vast—vast——"
"Horizon," suggested Chick, kindly.
"Yes, horizon," said Patty; "how did you know, Chick?"
"Oh, horizons are always vast. Deeps are vasty. Nothing much else is vast, except once in a while a distance. So I felt safe in chancing the horizon."
"Oh, Chick, you are the funniest thing!" said Nan, who was shaking with laughter at Patty's chagrin. "But," and her voice suddenly became serious, "I won't stand for your nonsense. I range myself on Patty's side. These people were our guests. I forbid any slighting allusions to them. Their ways may not be our ways, but if they are Patty's friends they are my friends."
The warm, sincere ring of Nan's voice went to Patty's heart, and she smiled again.
"Good for you, you old trump!" she exclaimed, looking gratefully atNan. "Now, Dad, you come over, and I can manage Chick, myself."
Patty was in gay good humour again, and she perched on the arm of her father's chair, as she proceeded to win him over.
"You know I can't resist your blandishments, my angel child," he said, as Patty caressed his handsome iron-grey hair, "but I must admit your Cosmickers have no message for me."
"That's just it," cried Patty, triumphantly. "I knew it! They have no message for you, because you don't understand their language, you're—Dad, I hate to say it,—but, you're too old!"
And with a kiss on his frowning forehead, Patty ran to the piano, and began to play "Silver Threads Among the Gold," to a rag-time improvisation of her own.
"Oh, Pattibelle," cried Chick, "what would your vast-horizoned friends say if they could hear you playing ragtime! I'm sure a lemon-coloured nocturne or a flaming fugue would be nearer their idea of melody."
"Play us a fox-trot, Nan," said Patty, jumping up, and in another minute, as Nan obligingly acquiesced, Patty and Chick were dancing gaily up and down the room.
"Forgive me, Patty," said Chick, as they danced out into the hall, "I wouldn't offend you or your friends for worlds, but they—well, they struck me funny, you see."
"They're not funny, Chick. They're the real thing. You can't see it,I know, and neither can Dad or Nan, but I do."
"All right, Patty. Go into it if you like. I don't believe it will hurt you. And like the measles, the harder you have it, the sooner you'll get over it, and you'll never have it but once. By the way, they invited me to their Christmas racket,—and I'm going!"
"I think you're just as mean as you can be, Patty Fairfield! You won't come to my tree and you won't have the House Sale, and you won't do a thing anybody wants you to! I never saw such a disagreeable old thing as you are!"
"Why, Elise, you dear little, sweet, 'bused child! Am I as bad as all that? You do su'prise me! Well, well, I must mend my ways. I've always had a reputation for good nature, but it seems to be slipping awa' Jean, like snow in the thaw, Jean,—as the song book says. Now, my friend and pardner, here's my ultimatum. But smile on me, first, or I can't talk to you at all. You look like a thunder cloud,—a very pretty thunder cloud, to be sure,—but still, lowering and threatening. Brace up, idol of my heart,—shine out, little face, sunning over with raven black curls,—I seem to be poetically inclined, don't I?"
Elise laughed in spite of herself. The two girls had been discussing plans, and as Patty stuck to her determination to spend Christmas Eve at the Blaneys', Elise was angry, because she was to have her own Christmas tree that night, and, of course, wanted Patty with her.
They were in the Farringtons' library. It was nearly dusk, and Patty was just about to get her hat to go home, when they began the controversy afresh.
"I can't help laughing, because you're so silly, but I'm angry at you all the same," Elise averred, with a shake of her dark, curly head. "You're so wrapped up in the Blaneys and their idiotic old crowd, that you have no time or attention for your old friends."
"It does seem so," mused Patty; "of course, it might be, because the idiotic crowd are nice and pleasant to me, while my old friends, one of them, at least, is as cross as a bear with a bumped head."
"Well, you're enough to make me cross. Here I'm going to have a bigChristmas tree, and a lovely Christmas party, and you won't come to it.That makes me cross, but to have you throw me over for those ridiculousBlaneys makes me crosser yet."
"You can't get much crosser, you're about at the limit."
"No, I'm not, either. It makes me still crosser that you won't have the House Sale."
"Oh, Elise, it's such a nuisance! Turn the whole place upside down and inside out, for a few dollars! Let's get the money by subscription. Everybody would be glad to give something for the girls' library."
"No, they won't. Everybody has been asked for money for charity all winter, and they're tired of it. But a novel sale would bring in a lot."
Patty and Elise were greatly interested in getting a library for the working girls' club, which they helped support. Patty was usually most enthusiastic and energetic in furnishing any project for helping this work along, and Elise was greatly surprised at her present unwillingness to hold a sale they had been considering.
"And it's only because you're crazy over that Cosmic Club that you can't bother with the things that used to interest you. Phil Van Reypen thinks they're a horrid lot, and so does Chick Channing, and I do, too."
"You forget that it was down at your house in Lakewood that I first met them."
"No, I don't; but that's no reason you should go over to them so entirely, and forsake all of your old set. I never liked the Blaneys; I only wanted you to meet them, to see how queer and eccentric they were. But I never supposed you'd join their ranks, and become so infatuated with Sam Blaney——"
"I'm not infatuated with Sam Blaney!"
"You are so! You think he's a genius and a poet and a little tin god on wheels!"
"Well, all right, Elise, then I do think so. And I've got a right to think so, if I want to. Now, listen, and stop your foolishness. I said I'd give you my decision, and this is it. I'll come round here Christmas Eve after the party at the Blaneys'. I've got to go to that, for I'm going to dance, and I'm going to be in some 'Living Pictures,' but I can get away by eleven, or soon after, and that will be in time for your dance."
"Well, half a loaf is better than no bread,—I'll have the tree late, then. After you get here."
"Oh, no, don't put off your tree! I might not be able to get here much before midnight."
"Yes, you will. You've promised me for eleven, and you always keep a promise,—I know that. I'll send for you, and you must come."
"All right, I will. Truly, Elise, I want to be at the tree here,—butI couldn't help the two engagements clashing. Now, also, to show youthat I haven't lost interest in the Girls' Club, I'll have the HouseSale after the holidays are over."
"Oh, will you, Patty? You're a dear old thing!"
"And amn't I mean and horrid, and a deserter?"
"Well, you're a bit of a deserter, and I suppose you'll rush off to aCosmic meeting the night of the Sale, and leave me to run it!"
"You'remean, now, Elise. You know I wouldn't do such a thing,—unless——"
"Unless what?"
"Unless it happened to be on a night of a special meeting of the CosmicCentre. In that case, I'd have to go for a little while."
Just then Van Reypen came in.
"You here, Patty?" he said. "I've been looking you up. How are you,Elise? What are you girls confabbing about?"
"I'm scolding Patty for her desertion of us and her infatuation for those Blaney people."
"Confound those Blaney people! I wish they were in Timbuctoo!"
"Why, Philip, how unkind!" and Patty smiled at him in an exasperating way. "Youknowyou admire Sam Blaney immensely,—only you're jealous of him."
"Admire him! Jealous of him!" Van Reypen fairly glowered with indignation. "That nincompoop! with long hair and a green neck-tie! He's a half-witted farmer!"
Patty's laugh rang out. "Oh, Phil," she cried, "don't be a silly, yourself! His worst enemy couldn't call Sam a farmer! And I can assure you, he's far from half-witted."
"Yes, far less than half," growled Van Reypen. "Oh, Patty, drop 'em, cut 'em out, give 'em the go-by, won't you?"
"Thank you, no. I still reserve the right to choose my friends, and I confess to a liking for those who are kindly disposed toward me."
"Oh, I'm kindly disposed towardyou, very much so," declared Phil, "but your new friends are not included in my kindly disposition."
"So I gathered," and Patty laughed again. "But, do you know, they feel that they can struggle along without your admiration and affection."
"Don't be sarcastic, Patty," and Van Reypen smiled at the haughty little face turned toward his.
"No, I won't, Phil. I hate it. And I'm sorry I let myself go like that. But you do stir me up,—you and Elise."
"Glad of it," said Elise, "you ought to be stirred up once in a while. But don't go, Patty. Here comes Daisy,—and, well, if it isn't Bill Farnsworth with her! I didn't know he was in town. He's in and out so much, it's hard to keep track of him. Come in, Daisy, take off your furs. Glad to see you, Bill. Here's Patty Fairfield."
"So I see," laughed Farnsworth, as he held out his hand. "Going? Why go yet? Hello, Van Reypen."
"Hello, Bill. Thought you were on your way to or from Arizona. How do you know where to vote, anyhow?"
"Guess at it. But I'm not going to live on the road so much as formerly. I've cleaned things up a bit, and shall sort of settle in New York from now on."
"Good! Glad to give you the freedom of our city. And you, Daisy? Are you going to live East, also?"
"Haven't decided yet," and Daisy glanced coquettishly at Farnsworth."Maybe so."
"Don't you go yet, Patty," begged Elise. "Stay a while longer, and we'll have tea,—chocolate, too, which I know you like better."
"'Course I'll stay," said Patty; "your chocolate is always the best ever. Order it up. What beautiful violets, Daisy."
"Yes, Bill bought them for me as we passed a florist's shop. I adore violets."
"What girl doesn't?" laughed Patty. "At least she adores having them bought for her."
"I don't," said Elise. "I'd rather have one rose than all the violets that ever bloomed in the spring, tra-la."
"What's your favourite flower, Patty?" asked Farnsworth.
"Sunflowers, but nobody ever sends me any. I just get old orchids and things."
"Poor kiddy! I wish I could get a sunflower or two for you. But I fancy, at this season of the year, they're about as scarce as blue roses."
"'It is but an idle quest, Roses red and white are best,'"
sang Patty, with a smile at Big Bill.
"Do you know that?" he asked, interestedly. "I never heard you sing it."
"Oh, it's one of her best songs," cried Elise; "sing it now,Patty,—you'll have time before the chocolate comes."
"Too much bother," said Patty; "we'd have to go in the music room and all. I'll sing it for you some other time, Little Billee."
"All right," he responded, carelessly, and again Patty felt a slight chagrin that he cared so little about the matter.
Other people drifted in, as the young folks were apt to do at tea time, and then the chocolate arrived, and Patty found herself provided with a welcome cup of her favourite beverage.
It was Farnsworth who brought it to her, and he deliberately took a seat at her side, a seat that Van Reypen had just vacated.
"You can't sit there," said Patty, quickly; "Phil will be back in a minute."
"Will he?" said Big Bill, as he settled himself comfortably in the chair. "Do you think he can put me out?"
"Not unless you want him to," and Patty smiled at the big man, who looked so strong and powerful.
"Somehow, I don't. I like it here."
"Why?"
"Because I like to look at you. You're looking uncommonly well today. If I were to guess, I should say you have been having a rumpus with somebody."
"What is a rumpus?" inquired Patty, looking innocent.
"A rumpus, my child, is a tiff, a squabble, a set-to, a racket, a general scrimmage."
"I haven't exactly had those things, but, well, I may say I have been drawn into a somewhat spirited discussion."
"Ah, I thought so."
"How did you know? I mean, why did you think so?"
"By your heightened colour and your generally wrought-up condition.Why, your heart isn't beating normally yet."
Patty looked up at him, indignantly, but his blue eyes were very kind and his smile gentle and even concerned.
"What was it about, Patty? Who has been tormenting you?"
"Nobody tormented me, exactly, but they criticise me and they say mean things about my friends——"
"Never let them do that! Your friends must be sacred to you,—I mean from adverse criticism of others."
"That's what I think, Little Billee. What shall I do, when everybody ridicules them and calls them names?"
"Just what I am sure you did do. Flare up like a wrathy kitten and helplessly paw the air."
"Of course that's what I did," and Patty laughed at the graphic description, "but it didn't seem to do much good."
"Of course it didn't. Standing up for one's friends rarely does much good, except to satisfy one's own sense of loyalty."
"Why, what do you mean? Why doesn't it do any good to defend our friends?"
"Because if they need our defence, they're probably at fault."
"But they weren't in this case. It was the Blaneys,—do you know them?"
"Those mercerised personages I met at Mona's wedding? I haven't the pleasure of their intimate acquaintance, and something tells me I never shall have."
"You mean you don't want it!"
"Mind reader! Patty, you're positively clairvoyant!"
"Now, Little Billee, don't you go back on me, too."
"Go back on you? Never! While this machine is to me! Why, Patty, I'd defend you to the last ditch, and then fill in the ditch!"
"Be serious, Billee. You don't know those people, but can't you take my word for it that they're splendidly worth while? They're geniuses, and artists."
"Patty, I'd take your word for anything you know about. But, for instance, I couldn't take your word that there are blue roses."
"But there are! That's just what the Cosmic Centre people are,—they're blue roses! I never thought of it before, but they are."
"Then beware of them. Blue roses are freaks——"
"Yes, I know it. But there are worse things in this world than freaks.I'd rather a man would be a freak than a—a mud turtle!"
"Are many of your friends mud turtles?"
"Yes, they are. They stick their heads in the sand——"
"Look out for your Natural History! You're thinking of ostriches."
"All the same. Now, Sam Blaney——"
"Patty! You don't mean to say that chap isSamBlaney! I thought he looked a bit familiar! Sam! old Sam Blaney! Well!"
"What's the matter, Billee? Do you know him?"
"I used to, when we were boys. Fifteen or more years ago. I doubt if he'd even remember my name. We went to a public school together. Sam Blaney! Well!"
"You exasperating thing! Don't sit there saying 'Well!' and 'SamBlaney!' but tell me what you know of him."
"Nothing, child, nothing. I haven't seen or heard of him for—since we were fourteen years old or so. Where did you pick him up?"
Patty told of her meeting the Blaneys at Lakewood, and of her continuing their acquaintance in New York. But suddenly Farnsworth seemed to lose interest in her story.
"Never mind the Blaneys," he said. "I want to talk toyou. What do you think, my girl? I've won out in that matter of business I've been at so long."
"Have you? I'm very glad. I don't know what it was all about, Little Billee, but if you've succeeded in what you wanted to do, I'm very glad."
"Yes, I have. And it means,—it means, Patty, that I shall live in NewYork now, all the time."
"Yes?"
"Yes. And it means, too, if this interests you, that I'm a rich man,—a very rich man."
"That's nice, Bill; I congratulate you."
"Oh, thank you." Farnsworth's voice had grown suddenly cold, and the eager light had faded from his blue eyes. He looked at Patty, and quickly looked away.
"I thought you might care," he said.
A strange thought came to Patty. Could he possibly mean that since he was a rich man, she would smile on his suit? Could he think that she would accept his attentions more gladly because of his newly acquired wealth? The idea made her furiously angry. If Farnsworth thought her that mercenary—if he deemed her so utterly sordid—well, her respect for him was decidedly lessened!
The Christmas Eve party at the Blaneys' was in full swing. A man at the piano was performing a monologue that was partly spoken, partly sung. It was cleverly done, and the audience showed its appreciation by outspoken comments.
"A little lame on that top note, old chap. S'pose you try it over—ah, that's better!"
Patty sat next to Sam Blaney. Chick had expected to come, but Elise had persuaded him to attend her party instead. This rather pleased Patty, for she feared Chick's gay banter and she knew he didn't care for the Cosmic Centre Club and their ways.
"You are so wonderful!" Blaney was saying, as he looked at her. "I never cared for Christmas before."
Patty's gown was a long, sweeping robe of poinsettia red velvet. It would not have been becoming to most blondes, but Patty's fairness triumphed over all colour schemes. She wore a girdle of red velvet poinsettia blossoms and a wreath of small ones encircled her head.
"You are so beautiful——" Blaney's soft, purring voice went on.
"Don't make me blush," Patty laughed back. "Pink cheeks spoil the effect of this red gown. I must stay pale to suit it."
"Pink or pale, you are perfect! I adore you."
Embarrassed by the fervour of his tones, Patty turned to talk to the man at her other side. But he was engrossed in conversation with an aesthetic damsel, and so she gaily changed the subject.
"How splendid the rooms look," she said, glancing about. "That grove of green trees is wonderfully picturesque."
"That's where you're to dance," Blaney returned. "I looked after it myself. It's carpeted with pine needles, but they're soft, fresh ones, not dried ones. I'm sure they'll be comfy."
"I dunno about dancing on 'em barefoot. I believe I'll wear sandals, after all."
"Oh, no, you mustn't. Grantham has designed every detail so exquisitely, don't fail to follow his directions accurately. Your number will be the best of all. That's why we put it last. It will be an enormous hit,—a revelation!"
"I hope they will like it. I've never danced before these people before. I've pleased ordinary audiences, but the Cosmos are so critical—it would break my heart if they didn't approve."
"Of course they'll approve! They'll go crazy over you. But you must throw yourself utterly into the spirit of it. We know at once if you're afraid or over-reserved. Abandon must be your keynote. Real interpretation of Grantham's wonderful ideas."
"They are wonderful," agreed Patty. "Mr. Grantham is a true poet. He sees Nature at her best and with an intuition almost divine."
Her blue eyes shone with earnestness and Blaney gazed at her in adoration.
"You perfect thing!" he murmured; "you have found your right environment among us. You are wasted on the ordinary, unthinking masses of society. You are Nature's child. What a pity you must live a conventional life. Patty, can't you break loose? Can't you give up your present hampering existence and come and throw in your lot with ours? Live here. Alla would warmly welcome you as a sister——"
"And will you be my brother, Sam? I've never had a brother."
"No, I refuse to be your brother! I'll be—well, say, your guardian.How'd you like to be my ward?"
"I didn't know girls ever were wards except in old-fashioned novels.And there, they always marry their guardians."
"Well?"
"Oh, my gracious, is this a proposal!" Something in Blaney's tone had warned Patty that light banter was the best course, and she rattled on; "if so, postpone it, please. I really must go very soon and dress for my dance."
"I know it. I will wait for a more fitting time and place. You ought to be wooed in a sylvan glade——"
"Oh, I'd rather a bosky dell! I've always been crazy to be wooed in a bosky dell. A leafy bower is the nearest I've come to it."
"Who wooed you there?"
"Can't remember exactly. But it was the third from the last,—I think."
"You little witch! Do you know how fascinating you are?"
"No; tell me." Patty was in mischievous mood, and looked up demurely at Blaney.
"By Jove, I will! As soon as I can get you alone. Run away, now, and do your dance. And, listen; I command you to think of me at every step."
"Can't promise that. It's all I can do to remember Mr. Grantham's steps; they're fearfully complicated. So—you think of me,—instead."
With a saucy smile at Blaney, Patty slipped from her place, and went around to the dressing room.
"Oh, here you are," cried Alla, who was waiting to help her dress; "I was just going to send for you. Now, off with your frock."
Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, the audience sat in breathless anticipation of Patty's dance.
Howard Grantham was a great artist, and never before had he been known to devise a dance for any one. But he had recognised Patty's skill in the art, and had requested that he be allowed to design a picture dance for her. The result was to be a surprise to all present, except the Blaneys, for rehearsals had been jealously kept secret.
The lights in the room were low, and the stage, which was a small grove of evergreen trees, was dark. Then, through the trees, appeared slowly a faint, pink light, as of breaking dawn. Some unseen violins breathed almost inaudible strains of Spring-song music.
Two trees at the back were slowly drawn apart as two small, white hands appeared among their branches. In the opening showed Patty's lovely face, eyes upturned, scarlet lips parted in a smile that was a joyous expression of youth and gladness. Still further she drew apart the lissome trees, and stepped through, a vision of spring itself. Clouds of chiffon swirled about her, softest dawn-rose in colour, changing of tints of heliotrope and primrose, as she swayed in graceful, pliant rhythm. Her slim white arms waved slowly, as the hidden melodies came faintly from the depth of the grove. Her pretty bare feet shone whitely among the soft pine needles and the steps of her dance were the very essence of poetry itself.
The audience watched in silence, spellbound by the fair sight. Slowly she moved and swayed; then, as the music quickened, her steps grew more animated, her smile more bright, the lights were stronger, and the dance ended in a whirl of graceful pirouette and tossing, fluttering draperies. With no pause or intermission, Patty was changed to an impersonation of summer. It was done by the lights. Her robe was really of white chiffon, and as pink lights had made it appear in rosy tints, so now a deep yellow light gave the effect of sultry sunlight.
The music, and likewise the rhythm of the dance, were soft and languorous as a July noon. Limply hung the draperies, slowly waved the graceful arms, and at the end, Patty sank slowly, gently, down on a mound beneath the trees, and, her head pillowed on her arm, closed her eyes, while the violin notes faded to silence.
Knowing better than to applaud her, the spectators watched in silence. A moment, and then a clear bugle-like note sounded. Patty started up, passed her hand across her brow, opened her eyes, smiled slowly, and more and more merrily, then sprang up, and as the lights made her costume appear to be of the gold and russet red of autumn, she burst into a wild woodland dance such as a veritable Dryad might have performed. The music was rich, triumphant, and the whole atmosphere was filled with the glory of the crown of the year. By a clever contrivance, autumn leaves came fluttering down and Patty's bare feet nestled in them with childish enjoyment. Her smile was roguish, she was a witch, an eerie thing. The orange light glowed and shone, and at the height of a tumultuous burst of music, there was a sudden pause. Patty stopped still, her smile faded, and the colours changed from autumn glows to a cold wintry blue. Her gown became white, with blue shadows, the music was sharp and frosty. Patty danced with staccato steps, with little shivers of cold. The ground now appeared to be covered with frost, and her feet recoiled as they touched it. The music whistled like winter blasts. A fine snow seemed to fall, the blue shadows faded, all was white, and Patty, whirling, faster and faster, was like a white fairy, white robes, white arms, white feet, and a sparkling white veil, that grew more and more voluminous as she shook out its hidden folds. Faster she went, whirling, twirling, swirling, like a leaf in the wind, until, completely swathed in the great white veil, she vanished between the parted trees at the back of the stage.
The music ceased, the lights blazed up, the dance was over. A moment passed as the audience came back to earth, and then the applause was tremendous. Hands clapped, sonorously, voices shouted "Bravo!" and other words of plaudit; and "Encore!" was repeatedly demanded.
But Mr. Grantham had forbidden Patty to return to the stage, even to acknowledge the laudation. He believed in the better effect of an unspoiled remembrance of her last tableau.
So, shaking with excitement and weariness, Patty sank into a chair in the dressing-room, and Alla began to draw on her stockings.
"You must rest quietly, dear Patricia, for a half hour at least," she said, solicitously. "You are quite exhausted. But it was wonderful! I have never seen anything so beautiful! You will be fêted and praised to death. I've sent for a cup of coffee, to brace you up."
"Oh, please not, Alla!" cried Patty, knowing the kind of coffee it would be. "I don't want it, truly. Just give me a glass of water, and let me sit still a minute without seeing anybody. It is exhausting to dance like that."
"Yes, dear, it is. Now rest quietly, and I'll keep everybody away, until you feel like seeing them."
But Patty was keyed up with the excitement of the occasion and unwilling to rest for very long. So, with Alla's help, she was soon rearrayed in her red velvet and ready to return to the Studio.
"I'm ashamed of myself," she said to Alla, "but I'm so vain, I really want to go out there and hear people tell me that I did well!"
"That isn't vanity," Alla returned. "That's proper pride. If any one can do a thing as well as you did that dance, it would be idiocy not to enjoy hearing appreciative praise."
"Do you think so?" and Patty looked relieved; "I don't want to be conceited, but I'm glad if I did well."
"Wait till you hear what Sam says! He's wild about you, anyway, and after that dance he'll be crazier over you than ever."
Patty smiled, happily, and with a final adjustment of her freshly done-up hair, she declared herself ready to return to the party.
As hers had been the last number on the program, she was not surprised to find the audience standing about in groups, or picturesquely posed on divans, and her appearance was the signal for a new hubbub of excitement.
But before she could hear a definite word from any one, a tall, powerful figure came striding up to her, and big Bill Farnsworth's unsmiling blue eyes looked straight into her own merry ones.
Her merriment died away before the sternness of his expression.
"Get your wraps, Patty," he said, in low but distinct tones. "At once."
"What for?" and Patty stared at him in amazement. "What has happened?"
But she had no fear that any untoward accident had befallen, for Farnsworth showed no sympathy or gentleness in his face, merely a determined authority.
"Go at once," Farnsworth repeated, "and get your cloak."
"I won't do it," she replied, giving him an angry glance. "I don't want to go home; why should I get my cloak?"
"Then I'll take you without it," and picking her up in his arms, Big Bill strode through the throng of people, with as little embarrassment as if he were walking along the street. Many turned to look at him with curiosity, some smiled, but the Cosmic souls rarely allowed themselves to be surprised at anything, however peculiar.
As they passed Sam Blaney, Patty noticed that he stood, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and a strange expression on his face,—half defiant, half afraid.
Farnsworth carried Patty down the stairs and out of the house, and placed her with care, but a bit unceremoniously, in the tonneau of a waiting motor-car. He jumped in beside her, and pulled the lap robe over her. The car started at once, and was well under way by the time Patty found voice enough to express her indignation.
"You—perfectly—horrid—old—thing!" she gasped, almost crying from sheer surprise and anger.
"Yes?" he said, and she detected laughter in his tone, which made her angrier than ever.
"I hate you!" she burst forth.
"Do you, dear?" and Farnsworth rearranged the rug to protect her more fully.
There was such gentleness in his touch, such tenderness in his voice, that Patty's anger melted to plain curiosity.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded. "Why did you bring me away in such—such caveman fashion?"
Farnsworth smiled. "It was a caveman performance, wasn't it? But you wouldn't come willingly."
"Of course I wouldn't! Why should I?"
"For three very good reasons." Farnsworth spoke, gravely. "First, you were in a place where you didn't belong. I couldn't let you remain there."
"It is not your business to say where I belong!"
"I wouldn't want any one I care for to be in that place."
"Not even Daisy Dow?"
"Certainly not Daisy."
"Oh, not Daisy—ofallpeople! Oh, certainlynot!"
"Next, you were doing what you ought not to do."
"What!"
"Yes, you were. You danced barefoot before those—those unspeakable fools!"
Patty felt uncomfortable. She hadn't herself exactly liked the idea of that barefoot dance, and hadn't told any one she was going to do it. She had insisted to Mr. Grantham that she preferred to wear sandals. But he had talked so beautifully of the naturalness of the whole conception, the exquisite appropriateness of unshod feet, and the necessity of her carrying out his design as a whole, that she had yielded.
And now that Bill Farnsworth spoke of it in this rude way, it seemed to divest the dance of all its aesthetic beauty, and make of it a horrid, silly performance.
She tried to speak, tried to reply in indignant or angry vein, but she couldn't articulate at all. A lump came into her throat, big tears formed in her eyes, and a sob that she tried in vain to suppress shook her whole body.
She felt Farnsworth's arm go protectingly round her. Not caressingly, but with an assurance of care and assumption of responsibility.
Then, he pulled off the glove from his other hand with his teeth, and after a dive into a pocket, produced and shook out a big, white, comforting square of soft linen, and Patty gratefully buried her face in it.
"Much obliged, Billee," Patty said, at last, as she handed back a somewhat damp handkerchief, and Farnsworth stuffed it in his pocket. "Where are you taking me?"
"Where do you want to go?"
"Back where you brought me from, please."
"Well, you can't go there. Will you go home, or to the Farringtons'?"
A quick side glance at the stern face beside her showed Patty that there was no chance of her going back to the Blaneys', so she said, with great dignity, "I'll go to Elise's, then. But I want you to understand that I resent your treatment, that I detest you for using your strength to interfere with my pleasure, and that I absolutely sever all friendship or acquaintance with you, now and forever!"
"Bad as that? Well, well, youmustbe annoyed."
"Annoyed!annoyed! why, I——"
"There now, Posy Face, quiet down a bit, we're almost at the house. You don't want to go in looking like a—a weeping willow! You'll spoil the effect of that red frock, if your eyes are red, too, and your cheeks all tear-stained. Here, have a fresh handkerchief."
Farnsworth produced another big white linen affair, and unfolding it with a flourish, held it up to Patty's face.
"I never saw anybody have so many clean handkerchiefs! Do you carry a dozen?"
"Always glad to help ladies in distress. Are you often so lachrymose?"
"Oh Little Billee,don'tbe so everlasting good-natured, when I feel so cross.Whydid you bring me away from that place, when I was having such a good time? And the best part was just about to begin!"
"Now, Patty, listen—while the listening's good. Here we are at Elise's; I want you to go in, gay and smiling, and not cause any curious comment. So let the Blaney discussion wait, and I'll tell you all about it, first chance we get. You don't want everybody to know that you left the Cosmic Club a—er,—a bit unintentionally, do you? Then, forget it, for the moment, and put on a Merry Christmas manner. You'll be glad you did, afterward."
Farnsworth's talk was sound sense, and Patty knew it. She already felt a little relieved at getting away from Sam Blaney and back with her own crowd. So she shook off her petulance and her anger, and when she entered the Farringtons' drawing-room, no smile that greeted her was brighter than her own in response.
"Why, Pattibelle," cried Chick Channing, "welcome home! I feared we had lost you to the high-geared Highbrows. Merry Christmas and many of 'em! Come sit by my side, little darling——"
"No, come sit by us," insisted Elise, from the other side of the room."You're a dear, to come so early, Patty. How did it happen?"
"Oh, I justcouldn'tstay there any longer," said Patty, very truthfully. "Am I in time for the Christmas tree?"
"Indeed you are," returned Elise; "also for the feast and the dancing and the Mistletoe Bough."
"Good!" and Patty joined the laughing group, of which she immediately became the centre. Her red velvet gown, though unusual, was not so eccentric as to appear peculiar in this setting, and the girls began to express admiration.
Nor were the men unappreciative.
"A real Yuletide frock, Patty," said Phil Van Reypen, approvingly."Didn't know you could wear that colour."
"I couldn't," laughed Patty, "in daylight. But the electrics even things up, somehow, and my complexion takes on a harmonising tint of brick red."
"Because you are a brick," put in Channing. "Did you get manyChristmas gifts, Patty? Did you get my small votive offering?"
"Did I get many gifts! My boudoir looks like a World's Fair! Yes, Chick, I got your present. Let me see, it was the padded calf Emerson, wasn't it?"
"It was not! If you got that, it probably came from your Cosmetic friends. I sent you—oh, if you didn't even open it——"
"But I did, Chickadee. It was a heavenly jade hatpin, an exquisite bit of carving. I just adore it, and I shall never wear any other. So cheer up, life is still worth living!"
Patty was in high spirits. It was partly reaction from the artificial atmosphere of the Studio, and partly her real enjoyment of the festive occasion of Elise's Christmas party. The Farrington parties were always on an elaborate scale, and this was no exception.
"I wish Roger and Mona were here," Patty said, "I sort of miss them."
"So do I," chimed in Daisy Dow. "But the honeymoon shining on the sands at Palm Beach still holds them under its influence."
"They must be happy," observed Kit Cameron. "Think of it! Christmas and a bridal trip and the Sunny South,—all at once."
"It is a large order," laughed Patty. "But Mona likes a lot of things at once. That girl has no sense of moderation. When are they coming home, Elise?"
"Don't know. No signs of it yet. Come on, people, now we're going to have the tree!"
The orchestra played a march, and the crowd trooped into the great hall known as the Casino. There awaited them a resplendent Christmas tree, glittering with frosted decorations and glowing with electric lights.
Van Reypen had quietly taken possession of Patty as a partner, and he guided her to a pleasant seat where she could see all the entertainment. For great doings had been arranged to please the guests, and a short program was carried out.
Waits sang old English carols, mummers cut up queer antics, servitors brought in the Boar's Head and Wassail Bowl, and finally it was announced that all present would participate in the old-fashioned dance of Sir Roger de Coverley.
Patty enjoyed it all. She loved to see this sort of thing when it was well done, and in this instance every detail was faultless. Van Reypen quite shared her enthusiasm, and was vigorously clapping his hands over some jest of a mummer, when Big Bill Farnsworth came up to Patty, made a low bow, his hand on his breast, and whisked her off to the dance before she fairly realised what had happened.
"Why—I can't!" she exclaimed, as she found herself standing opposite her smiling partner. "I'm—I'm engaged to Philip!"
"I know you are," returned Farnsworth, gravely, "but you can give me one dance."
Patty blushed, furiously. "Oh, I didn't mean engagedthatway," she said, "I meant engaged for this dance."
"No," corrected Farnsworth, still smiling, "you did mean you are engaged to himthatway, butnotfor this dance."
"Well, he hadn't actually asked me," said Patty, doubtfully, "but I know he took it for granted——"
"It isn't wise to take too much for granted—there! see, he has just discovered your absence."
Sure enough, Van Reypen, who had been engrossed with the mummer's chaff, turned back to where Patty had sat, and his look of amazement at her absence was funny to see.
Glancing about, he saw her standing in line, opposite Farnsworth. At first, he looked wrathful, then accepting his position with a good grace, he smiled at them both.
"Little deserter!" he said to her, as he sauntered past her, in search of another partner.
"Deserter, yourself!" she returned. "You completely forgot my existence!"
"I didn't, but I am duly punished for seeming to do so. But I claim you for a supper partner, so make a memorandum of that!"
Patty smiled an assent, and the dance began.
"Don't you like this better than that smoky, incense-smelly atmosphere of the Studio?" Farnsworth said to Patty, as they walked through the stately figures of the dance.
"This is a home of wealth and grandeur," said Patty, "but wealth and grandeur are not the most desirable things in the world."
"What are?"
"Brains and——"
"Yes, brains and breeding. But your high-browed, lowbred——"
"Billee, I've stood a lot from you tonight; now, I refuse to stand any more. You will please stop saying things that you know offend me."
"Forgive me, Patty, I forgot myself."
"Then it's forgive and forget between us. I'll do the forgiving because you did the forgetting. But I've forgiven you all I'm going to. So don't make any more necessary."
"I'll try not to," and then the subject of the earlier evening was not mentioned again.
The dance concluded, Farnsworth stood for a moment, still holding Patty's hand after their last sweeping curtsey, and he said, "Will you be my supper partner, too? Please do."
"I can't," and Patty laughed up at him. "I'm really engaged to Phil."
"Oh, are you, Patty?" cried Daisy, who was just passing, with Kit Cameron. "I said you'd announce it tonight! What fun! But why are you telling Big Bill all by himself first? You ought to tell all the crowd at once. I'll do it for you. Come on, Kit, let's spread the news! We've Patty's own word for it."
The two ran off, laughing, and Patty looked a bit dismayed. "Kit's such a scamp," she said, ruefully, "he'll tell that all over the room——"
"Isn't it true?"
"Would you care if it were?"
"I care for anything that concerns you or your happiness."
"Or any one else or any one else's happiness! Oh, I know you, BillFarnsworth, you want everybody to be happy."
"Of course I do!" and the big man laughed, heartily. "Is that a crime?But most of all I care to have one little foolish, petulantBlossom-girl happy."
"Well, then, why don't you make her so? Why aren't you kind and nice to her, instead of being horrid about her friends and her dancing, and acting like a great Lord of something-or-other, frowning on her innocent amusements!"
"Oh, Patty, what an arraignment! But never mind that. May I take you to the supper room?"
"Oh, here you are, Light of my eyes!" and Van Reypen came up and offered his arm.
With a smile of farewell to Farnsworth, Patty accepted Philip's escort and walked off.
"What's this report Cameron and Daisy Dow are spreading?" asked Van Reypen, looking at her, quizzically, but with a glance full of meaning. "They say you and I are to announce our engagement tonight. I'm so delighted to hear it, I can't see straight; but I want your corroboration of the rumour. Oh, Patty, darling girl, youdomean it, don't you?"
Philip had drawn her to one side, away from the crowd, and in a palm-screened alcove, he stood beside her, his handsome face glowing with eagerness, as he anticipated yet feared her reply.
"Nonsense, Phil. It happened that I told Bill Farnsworth I was engaged to you for supper, and Daisy overheard, and she and Kit tried to tease me, that's all."
"But since it happened that way,—since the report is current,—don't you think,—doesn't it seem as if this would be an awfully good chance to make it a true report?"
"No, sir! A girl can't get engaged all in a minute, anden routeto a supper room, at that! Besides, I'm hungry."
"You can't put me off that way! You may think to be hungry interferes with romance. Not a bit of it! You say you'll marry me, and I'll get you all the supper you want, and, incidentally, eat a good square meal myself. There!"
Van Reypen had great charm. His great dark eyes were fixed on Patty, and in their depths she could read his big, true love, unembarrassed by the place or the occasion. He knew only that he was pleading with the girl he loved, suing for his life's happiness, a happiness that lay in the little rosy palm of Patty Fairfield's hand.
"Darling," he whispered, taking the little hand in both his own, "Patty, darling, do say yes, at last. Don't keep me in suspense. Don't bother about learning to love me, and all that. Just come to me,—tell me you will,—and I know you'll love me. You can't help it, dear, when I love you so. Why, Patty, I've got to have you! You don't know how I want you. You've so twined yourself into my heart that you seem part of me already. Dear,dearlittle girl, my love, my sweetheart——"
Philip's arm went round Patty's shoulder, and he drew her to him.
"Phil!" cried Patty, starting back. "Don't, please don't."
"I won't, dear,—I won't call you mine until you say I may,—but, oh,Patty!"
His voice was so full of deep feeling, his eves pleaded so longingly for her consent, that Patty's heart went out to him. She was sorry for him, and she honestly longed to say the word that would give him joy and gladness forever. But that very feeling taught her the truth about herself. She knew, in one sudden, illuminating flash, that she didn't and couldn't love Philip Van Reypen in the way she was sure she wanted to love and would love the man she should marry.
Nor could she speak lightly or carelessly to him now. It was a crisis. A good, true man had offered her his love and his life. It was not a slight thing to be tossed aside as a trifle. If she accepted it, well; but if not, she must tell him so kindly, and must tell him why. And Patty didn't know why. In fact, she wasn't sure she didn't want Phil, after all. He was very big-hearted,—very splendid.
"What are you thinking of, girlie?" he asked, gently, as he watched the changing expressions on her face.
"I'm trying to be honest with myself, Phil. I'm trying to think out why it is that I don't say yes to you at once. I suppose you think me heartless and cold to think it out like this, but, I'm in earnest——"
"So am I, dear, very much in earnest. And, I think, my own Heart's Dearest, that you're nearer to loving me now than you've ever been. Nearer saying yes than ever before. And, so, I'm not going to let you answer now. This isn't the time or place. Somebody may come looking for us at any moment. You have given me hope, Patty—unconsciously, you've given me hope for the first time. I'll be satisfied with that, for now. And, I'll see you soon, in your own home, to hear the rest from your own lips. Oh, Patty, howcanI wait? I can't! Say yes,now,—say it, Patty!"
"No, Phil," and Patty gave him a lovely smile, while her blue eyes shone like stars; "no, you were right, before. Not here—not now. Come, let us join the others,—and you come to see me at home—soon."
"Your own sweet way is mine, Patty," and Van Reypen kissed the trembling little hand he held. "Now, brace up, dear; remember, they'll all be watching us, even chaffing us. Can you meet them?"
"Yes," and Patty assumed her old mischievous smile. "Carry things off with a high hand, Phil. That's the way to meet them."
Together they sauntered to the supper room, and, as they had expected, were met by a storm of chaff.
"Where have you two been? 'Fess up, now!"
"Flirting," replied Van Reypen, coolly. "Haven't we, Patty?"
"Yes, if you call such a mild affair worthy of the name," and Patty's nonchalant air and unembarrassed manner gave no further inducement for teasing.
"Let's sit here," Phil went on, selecting seats at a small table, with some casual friends, and then his resources of conversation and Patty's gay chatter did away with all chance for personal allusions.
After supper there was dancing, and Patty was besieged by would-be partners. Good-naturedly she fractioned her dances, and even divided the short intermissions between them. Everybody wanted to dance with the smiling little person in red velvet, and her pretty gaiety salved the wounds of those whom she was obliged to refuse.
At last, Farnsworth came to her, and his determined expression toldPatty he was about to lay down the law.
Sure enough, he took her hand in his, drew it through his arm, and led her out of the dancing room.
"Without even a 'by your leave?'" and Patty looked up at him, inquiringly.
"Without it or with it. But you can't dance any more tonight. You're so tired you can scarcely stand up now."
"That's so, now that you speak of it. But I hadn't realised it."
"Of course you hadn't. You're crazy, when it comes to dancing!"
"Well, you're not. You haven't danced with me once tonight, except that old country dance."
"Did you want me to? Were you lacking for partners?"
"Me! Lacking for partners! Am I, usually?"
"Oh, Patty, what a little Vanity Box you are! No, you never lack for partners or attention or flattery,—all you ever lack is a little common sense."
"Why-ee! Little Billee! I've always prided myself on my common sense.But where are you taking me?"
"Not very far. There's a comfy window-seat in this little reception room, where you can rest a bit, then I'm going to send you home."
"Oh, you are! And who constituted you my Major Domo, or CommandingOfficer, or Father Superior, or whoever it is that orders people about?"
"I don't order; I persuade, or induce, by power of my irresistible charm." Farnsworth's blue eyes twinkled, and Patty laughed outright, as she said, "Yes, I noticed the irresistibility as I left the Blaneys' tonight!"
"And, that's the very subject I was about to discourse upon,—theBlaneys, I mean. But first, let me make you comfy."
Farnsworth led Patty to the spacious, cushioned window-seat, and piled soft pillows at her back, and tucked an ottoman beneath her feet, and then sat down beside her. The little room was deserted by the dancers, and though some of the guests strolled in and out, occasionally, there was ample opportunity for real conversation.
"It's this way, Patty," Farnsworth began. "I know Sam Blaney, and you don't. I knew him years ago, and though I've not seen him of late years, he's the same old two and sixpence."
"And a very attractive two and sixpence," declared Patty, an obstinate expression coming into her face. "You see, Little Billee, either you like wise, brainy people, or you don't. I do."
"I know you do, and so do I. But the Blaney crowd are neither wise nor brainy. They are frauds."
"Do you mean conscious frauds? Wilfully deceptive?"
"To a certain degree, yes. They do fool themselves, sometimes, into thinking they are sincere, but they can't even fool themselves all the time,—let alone other people."
"Your observations do not interest me." Patty's air was lofty, she looked away into space, as if bored to death with her companion.
"Would it interest you to know that I know Sam Blaney to be a fraud and a dishonest man?"
"I have heard you say that one's friends should be sacred from disparaging remarks."
"True enough. But, in the first place, Blaney isn't my friend, and even if he were, I should sacrifice him or his friendship for you."
"Why?"
"Never mind why. Oh, Patty, rely on my judgment, rely on my word in this matter, and don't have anything more to do with that rubbish bunch!"
"Look here, Little Billee, if that's all the subject you can find to talk about, I believe I'd rather go back and dance. I'm rested now."
"Sit still, Lady Gay. While we're on this subject, we're going to fight it to a finish."
"You mean you're going to fight me to a finish. Go on, it won't take long."
"You poor little girl,—you are tired, I know. Well, to make a long story short, then, you must break with these Cosmic people, because, if you don't, it will harm your social standing and injure your reputation."
"Why? They're absolutely correct and high-minded. They're a little unconventional, maybe, but they're interesting and worth while."
"But they're frauds, Patty. And they've taken you up, because you're a social favourite, and you add lustre to their list."
"And they don't care for me, personally!"
"Now, don't flare up. Of course they like you, personally,—who doesn't? But they make you think you're brainy and soulful and a little old deep-thinker—and,—you're not, you know."
"Well! Youarecomplimentary! What am I, pray? An ignoramus?"
"Hardly that. You're the sweetest, loveliest girl God ever made, but you're not a blue-stocking. You're not college bred, or even well-read."
"Do you know you're a very horrid person? Do you know I wouldn't stand such talk from many people?"
"I should hope not. Very few people know you well enough or love you well enough to tell you these truths."
"I know somebody who loves me too much to talk to me like that."
"Van Reypen, of course. But, Patty, he doesn't approve of the Blaney crowd, either, and you know it."
"That's because he doesn't understand them, and——"
"Wait a minute. Just what do you mean by understand them? They speakEnglish, I suppose."
"How dense you are! There is much beside language ofwordsto be understood by kindred——"
"Don't you dare say souls!"
"I will,—Idosaysouls! That's what has no meaning for you!"
"Go on, Posy Face! You're pretty stunning when you get really stirred up!"
Farnsworth's face broke into a broad smile, and Patty was so amazed at his sudden change of manner that it irritated her.
"Oh, I am, am I! Well, other people have thought so, too. To the extent of putting it into poetry—real poetry!"
"Such as what?"
Farnsworth was so cynical of tone, that Patty broke her pledge of secrecy to the small extent of quoting a few words from the poem Blaney had given her.
"Such as this," she cried:
"——perhaps because her limpid faceWas eddied with a restless tide, whereinThe dimples found no place to anchor andAbide."
"That is poetry, indeed!" agreed Farnsworth, looking at her quizzically. "Did you say it was written to you?"
"Yes, Sam Blaney wrote it, to me. I didn't mean to tell you, it's a confidential matter,—but you were so horrid about him——"
"Wait a minute, Patty. Is that an original poem, that Blaney wrote for you alone?"
"Yes, it is. I promised not to tell it to anybody, so I'll ask you to say nothing about it."
"Tell me more of it."
"No, I won't. I promised not to."
"You needn't.I'lltellyouwhat comes next:
'——perhaps because her tresses beatA froth of gold about her throat, and pouredIn splendour to the feet that ever seemedAfloat.'
Isn't that it?"
"Yes! How did you know?" Patty's startled eyes were wide in amazement.
"You dear little goose. I hate to give you a shock, Posy-girl, but those lines were written by a not altogether obscure poet,—one James Whitcomb Riley."
"What! It's no such thing! Mr. Blaney wrote them about me! They begin——"
"Wait! Don't break your promise of confidence. They begin:
"'I loved her.—Why? I never knew.' Don't they?"
"Yes, that's the poem Sam Blaney wrote for me——
"But he chanced to write it after Riley did—not before. Strange they were so similarly inspired, wasn't it?"
"William Farnsworth, do you mean to tell me that that is a poem ofRiley's,—and Sam Blaney palmed it off on me as his own!"
"It looks that way, Patty. At any rate, those are Riley's lines. I've known the thing for years. It's a favourite of mine."
"But I've a book of Riley's,—it isn't in that."
"My child, you mustn't get annoyed with me, when I tell you you're not deeply versed in book-lore,—or deeply booked in verse-lore! For it's true. I admit that is not one of the poet's best known bits,—it's in 'Flying Islands of the Night,'—but it is so exquisite that it ought to be better known. And, by the way, Patty, if you thought Blaney did that gem, I don't wonder you admired him. But, dear little girl, do you see now that the man is capable of deception?"
Patty looked deeply troubled. "You're sure, Billee,—you'repositiveabout this?"
"As sure as I am of my own name."
"Then I want nothing more to do with Sam Blaney or any of his crowd. I'll never forgive it. Why, he wrote the poem while I sat looking at him,—just as fast as he could scribble."
"Doesn't that seem to prove it? He knew Riley's lines, and wrote them down. I doubt if the greatest poet that ever lived scribbled lines like that, offhand."
"Of course they couldn't! You've done it, Little Billee. You've smashed my idols, blown up my air castles, knocked the pedestals from under my heroes——"
"I'm sorry, dear,—but when they are unworthy idols and heroes——"
"And they are! I see it all now. I banked on Mr. Blaney's genius mostly on account of that poem. But, as you say, the very fact that he made me promise not to show it to anybody—but I don't need to prove it. You tell me it's Riley's, and there's no further question about it."
"I'll send you the book, Patty. You'll enjoy it all."
Patty smiled. "I don't want it in corroboration of your assertion, but I'd love to have it. I'd like to know more poetry, Billee. As you so delicately hinted, my education on such matters is a little lacking."
"That's your own fault," said Farnsworth, bluntly. "Poetry isn't a thing to learn at school,—but alone, and at odd times and moments."
"It seems queer," and the earnest little face gazed into his, "for you to know such a lot about poetry. You're so——"
"Go on; don't mind hurting me. So uncouth, awkward, clumsy, lacking in—er—understanding, wasn't it?"
Farnsworth spoke bitterly, and his deep blue eyes were clouded.
"No," Patty returned, gently, "no, I didn't mean all those horrid things, and you know it! I meant, you're so busy with your mines and things, and so wrapped up in your business that it's surprising to know you have time for poetry."
"It'smytheory that one can always find time for anything he really wants to do?"
"Can he? Do you suppose, then, you could find time to teach me a little bit about poetry, and how to study it,—or, don't you really want to do this?"
Farnsworth looked at her, and a great and tender light came into his eyes. Then, with a quick smile, he said, lightly, "Yes, indeed; I'll make out a list of books for you tomorrow. May I send them to you?"
Patty was aware of a sudden lack of enthusiasm in Farnsworth's manner, and with equal coolness, she said, "Thank you, that won't be necessary. Just send the list, and I can get them. And, now I think I must begin to commence to think about considering going home."
"Yes, it's late. Who's taking you?"
"I'm going with Mr. and Mrs. Morrison. They kindly asked me."
"Very well. Will you go now?"