CHAPTER I
A GAY HOUSEHOLD
“Isn’t Mrs. Phelps too perfectly sweet! That is the loveliest fan I ever laid eyes on, and to think it’s mine!”
“And will you look at this? A silver coffee-machine! Oh, Nan, mayn’t I make it work, sometimes?”
“Indeed you may; and oh, see this! A piece of antique Japanese bronze! Isn’t it great?”
“I don’t like it as well as the sparkling, shiny things. This silver tray beats it all hollow. Did you ever see such a brightness in your life?”
“Patty, you’re hopelessly Philistine! But that tray is lovely, and of an exquisite design.”
Patty and Nan were unpacking wedding presents, and the room was strewn with boxes, tissue paper, cotton wool, and shredded-paper packing.
Only three days more, and then Nan Allen was to marry Mr. Fairfield, Patty’s father.
Patty was spending the whole week at the Allen home in Philadelphia, and was almost as much interested in the wedding preparations as Nan herself.
“I don’t think there’s anything so much fun as a house with a wedding fuss in it,” said Patty to Mrs. Allen, as Nan’s mother came into the room where the girls were.
“Just wait till you come to your own wedding fuss, and then see if you think it’s so much fun,” said Nan, who was rapidly scribbling names of friends to whom she must write notes of acknowledgment for their gifts.
“That’s too far in the future even to think of,” said Patty, “and besides, I must get my father married and settled, before I can think of myself.”
She wagged her head at Nan with a comical look, and they all laughed.
It was a great joke that Patty’s father should be about to marry her dear girl friend. But Patty was mightily pleased at the prospect, and looked forward with happiness to the enlarged home circle.
“The trouble is,” said Patty, “I don’t know what to call this august personage who insists on becoming my father’s wife.”
“I shall rule you with a rod of iron,” said Nan, “and you’ll stand so in awe of me, that you won’t dare to call me anything.”
“You think so, do you?” said Patty saucily. “Well, just let me inform you, Mrs. Fairfield, that is to be, that I intend to lead you a dance! You’ll be responsible for my manners and behaviour, and I wish you joy of your undertaking. I think I shall call you Stepmamma.”
“Do,” said Nan placidly, “and I’ll call you Stepdaughter Patricia.”
“Joking aside,” said Patty, “honestly, Nan, I am perfectly delighted that the time is coming so soon to have you with us. Ever since last fall I have waited patiently, and it seemed as if Easter would never come. Won’t we have good times though after you get back from your trip and we get settled in that lovely house in New York! If only I didn’t have to go to school, and study like fury out of school, too, we could have heaps of fun.”
“I’m afraid you’re studying too hard, Patty,” said Mrs. Allen, looking at her young guest.
“She is, Mother,” said Nan, “and I wish she wouldn’t. Why do you do it, Patty?”
“Well, you see, it’s this way. I found out the first of the year that I was ahead of my class in some studies, and that if I worked extra hard I could get ahead on the other studies, and,—well, I can’t exactly explain it, but it’s like putting two years’ work into one; and then I could graduate from the Oliphant school this June, instead of going there another year, as I had expected. Then, if I do that, Papa says I may stay home next year, and just have masters in music and French, and whatever branches I want to keep up. So I’m trying, but I hardly think I can pass the examinations after all.”
“Well, you’re not going to study while you’re here,” said Mrs. Allen, “and after we get Nan packed off on Thursday, you and I are going to have lovely times. You must stay with me as long as you can, for I shall be dreadfully lonesome without my own girl.”
“Thank you, dear Mrs. Allen, I am very happy here, and I love to stay with you; but of course I can stay only as long as our Easter vacation lasts. I must go back to New York the early part of next week.”
“Well, we’ll cram all the fun possible into the few days you are here then,” and Patty’s gay little hostess bustled away to look after her household appointments.
Mrs. Allen was of a social, pleasure-loving nature. Indeed, it was often said that she cared more for parties and festive gatherings than did her daughter Nan.
Nobody was surprised to learn that Nan Allen was to marry a man many years older than herself. The surprise came when they met Mr. Fairfield and discovered that that gentleman appeared to be much younger than he undoubtedly was.
For Patty’s father, though nearly forty years old, had a frank, ingenuous manner, and a smile that was almost boyish in its gaiety.
Mrs. Allen was in her element superintending her daughter’s wedding, and the whole affair was to be on a most elaborate scale. Far more so than Nan herself wished, for her tastes were simple, and she would have preferred a quieter celebration of the occasion.
But as Mrs. Allen said, it was her last opportunity to provide an entertainment for her daughter, and she would not allow her plans to be thwarted.
So preparations for the great event went busily on. Carpenters came and enclosed the wide verandas, and decorators came and hung the newly made walls with white cheese cloth, and trimmed them with garlands of green. The house was invaded with decorators, caterers, and helpers of all sorts, while neighbours and friends of Mrs. Allen and of Nan flew in and out at all hours.
The present-room was continually thronged by admiring friends who never tired of looking at the beautiful gifts already upon the tables, or watching the opening of new ones.
“There’s the thirteenth cut-glass ice-tub,” said Nan, as she tore the tissue paper wrapping from an exquisite piece of sparkling glass. “I should think it an unlucky number if I didn’t feel sure that one or two more would come yet.”
“What are you going to do with them all, Nan?” asked one of her girl friends; “shall you exchange any of your duplicate gifts?”
“No indeed,” said Nan, “I’m too conservative and old-fashioned to exchange my wedding gifts. I shall keep the whole thirteen, and then when one gets broken, I can replace it with another. Accidents will happen, you know.”
“But not thirteen times, and all ice-tubs!” said Patty, laughing. “You’ll have to use them as individuals, Nan. When you give a dinner party of twelve, each guest can have a separate ice-tub, which will be very convenient.”
“I don’t care,” said Nan, taking the jest good-humouredly, “I shall keep them all, no matter how many I get. And I always did like ice-tubs, anyway.”
Another great excitement was when Nan’s gowns were sent home from the dressmaker’s. Patty was frankly fond of pretty clothes, and she fairly revelled in Nan’s beautiful trousseau. To please Patty, the bride-elect tried them all on, one after another, and each seemed more beautiful than the one before. When at last Nan stood arrayed in her bridal gown, with veil and orange blossoms complete, Patty’s ecstacy knew no bounds.
“You are a picture, Nan!” she cried. “A perfect dream! I never saw such a beautiful bride. Oh, I am so glad you’re coming to live with us, and then I can try on that white satin confection and prance around in it myself.”
They all laughed at this, and Nan exclaimed, in mock reproach:
“I’d like to see you do it, Miss! Prance around in my wedding gown, indeed! Have you no more respect for your elderly and antiquated Stepmamma than that?”
Patty giggled at Nan’s pretended severity, and danced round her, patting a fold here, and picking out a bow there, and having a good time generally.
The next day there was a luncheon, to which Mrs. Allen had invited a number of Nan’s dearest girl friends.
Patty enjoyed this especially, for not only did she dearly love a pretty affair of this sort, but Mrs. Allen had let her help with the preparations, and Patty had even suggested some original ideas which found favour in Mrs. Allen’s eyes.
Over the table was suspended a floral wedding bell, which was supplied with not only one clapper, but a dozen. These clappers were ingenious little contrivances, and from each hung a long and narrow white ribbon. After the luncheon, each ribbon was apportioned to a guest, and at a given signal the ribbons were pulled, whereupon each clapper sprang open, and a tiny white paper fluttered down to the table.
These papers each bore the name of one of the guests, and when opened were found to contain a rhymed jingle foretelling in a humorous way the fate of each girl. Patty had written the merry little verses, and they were read aloud amid much laughter and fun.
As Patty did not know these Philadelphia girls very well, many of her verses which foretold their fates were necessarily merely graceful little jingles, without any attempt at special appropriateness.
One which fell to the lot of a dainty little golden-haired girl ran thus:
Your cheeks are red, your eyes are blue;
Your hair is gold, your heart is too.
Another which was applied to a specially good-humoured maiden read thus:
The longer you live the sweeter you’ll grow;
Your fair cup of joy shall have no trace of woe.
But some of the girls had special hopes or interests, and these Patty touched upon. An aspiring music lover was thus warned:
If you would really learn to play,
Pray practice seven hours a day,
And then perhaps at last you may.
And an earnest art student received this somewhat doubtful encouragement:
You’ll try to paint in oil,
And your persistent toil,
Will many a canvas spoil.
Patty’s own verse was a little hit at her dislike for study, and her taste in another direction:
Little you care to read a book,
But, goodness me, how you can cook!
Nan’s came last of all, and she read it aloud amid the gay laughter of the girls:
Ere many days shall pass o’er your fair head,
Your fate is, pretty lady, to be wed;
Yet scarcely can you be a happy wife,
For Patty F. will lead you such a life!
The girls thought these merry little jingles great fun, and each carefully preserved her “fortune” to take home as a souvenir of the occasion.
Bumble Barlow was at this luncheon, for the Barlows were friends and near neighbours of the Allens.
Readers who knew Patty in her earlier years, will remember Bumble as the cousin who lived at the “Hurly-Burly” down on Long Island.
Although Bumble was a little older, and insisted on being called by her real name of Helen, she was the same old mischievous fly-away as ever. She was delighted to see Patty again, and coaxed her to come and stay with them, instead of with the Allens. But Mrs. Allen would not hear of such an arrangement, and could only be induced to give her consent that Patty should spend one day with the Barlows during her visit in Philadelphia.
The short time that was left before the wedding day flew by as if on wings. So much was going on both in the line of gaiety and entertainment, and also by way of preparation for the great event, that Patty began to wonder whether social life was not, after all, as wearing as the more prosaic school work.
But Mrs. Allen said, when this question was referred to her, “Not a bit of it! All this gaiety does you good, Patty. You need recreation from that everlasting grind of school work, and you’ll go back to it next week refreshed, and ready to do better work than ever.”
“I’m sure of it,” said Patty, “and I shall never forget the fun we’re having this week. It’s just like a bit of Fairyland. I’ve never had such an experience before.”
Patty’s life had been one of simple pleasures and duties. She had a great capacity for enjoyment, but heretofore had only known fun and frolic of a more childish nature. This glimpse into what seemed to be really truly grown-up society was bewildering and very enjoyable, and Patty found it quite easy to adapt herself to its requirements.
CHAPTER II
WEDDING BELLS
At last the wedding day arrived, and a brighter or more sunshiny day could not have been asked for by the most exacting of brides.
It was to be an evening wedding, but from early in the morning there was a constant succession of exciting events. The last touches were being put to the decorations, belated presents were coming in, house guests were arriving, messengers coming and going, and through it all Mrs. Allen bustled about, supremely happy in watching the culminating success of her elaborate plans. Patty looked at her with a wondering admiration, for she always admired capability, and Mrs. Allen was exhibiting what might almost be called generalship in her house that day.
Of course, Patty had no care or responsibility, and nothing to do but enjoy herself, so she did this thoroughly.
In the morning Marian and Frank Elliott came. They were staying at the Barlows’, and Mr. Fairfield was staying there too.
It sometimes seemed to Patty that her father ought to have played a more prominent part in all the preliminary festivities, but Mrs. Allen calmly told her, in Mr. Fairfield’s presence, that a bridegroom had no part in wedding affairs until the time of the ceremony itself.
Mr. Fairfield laughed good-humouredly, and replied that he was quite satisfied to be left out of the mad rush, until the real occasion came.
Like Nan, Mr. Fairfield would have preferred a quiet wedding, but Mrs. Allen utterly refused to hear of such a thing. Nan was her only daughter, and this her only chance to arrange an entertainment such as her soul delighted in. Mr. Allen was willing to indulge his wife in her wishes, and was exceedingly hospitable by nature. Moreover, he took great pride in his charming daughter, and wanted everything done that could in any way contribute to the success or add to the beauty of her wedding celebration.
Patty fluttered around the house in a sort of inconsequent delight. Now in the present-room, looking over the beautiful collection, now chatting with her cousins, or other friends, now strolling through the great parlours with their wonderful decorations of banked roses and garland-draped ceilings.
Dinner was early that night, as the ceremony was to be performed at eight o’clock, and after dinner Patty flew to her room to don her own beautiful new gown.
This dress delighted Patty’s beauty-loving heart. It was a white tulle sprinkled with silver, and its soft, dainty glitter seemed to Patty like moonlight on the snow. Her hair was done low on her neck, in a most becoming fashion, and her only ornament was a necklace of pearls which had belonged to her mother, and which her father had given her that very day. The first Mrs. Fairfield had died when Patty was a mere baby, so of course she had no recollection of her, but she had always idealised the personality of her mother, and she took the beautiful pearls from her father with almost a feeling of reverence as she touched them.
“I’m so glad it’s Nan you’re going to marry, Papa,” she said. “I wouldn’t like it as well if it were somebody who would really try to be a stepmother to me, but dear old Nan is more like a sister, and I’m so glad she’s ours.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased, Patty, dear, and I only hope Nan will never regret marrying a man so much older than herself.”
“You’re not old, Papa Fairfield,” cried Patty indignantly; “I won’t have you say such a thing! Why, you’re not forty yet, and Nan is twenty-four. Why, that’s hardly any difference at all.”
“So Nan says,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “so I dare say my arithmetic’s at fault.”
“Of course it is,” said Patty, “and you don’t look a bit old either. Why, you look as young as Mr. Hepworth, and he looks nearly as young as Kenneth, and Kenneth’s only two years older than I am.”
“That sounds a little complicated, Patty, but I’m sure you mean it as a compliment, so I’ll take it as such.”
A little before eight o’clock, Patty, in her shimmering gown, went dancing downstairs.
The rooms were already crowded with guests, and the first familiar face Patty saw was that of Mr. Hepworth, who came toward her with a glad smile of greeting.
“How grown-up we are looking to-night,” he said. “I shall have to paint your portrait all over again, and you must wear that gown, and we will call it, ‘A Moonlight Sonata,’ and send it to the exhibition.”
“That will be lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “but can you paint silver?”
“Well, I could try to get a silvery effect, at least.”
“That wouldn’t do; it must be the real thing. I think you could only get it right by using aluminum paint like they paint the letter-boxes with.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “that would be realistic, at least, but I see a crowd of your young friends coming this way, and I feel quite sure they mean to carry you off. So won’t you promise me a dance or two, when the time comes for that part of the programme?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “and there is going to be dancing after the supper.”
Mr. Hepworth looked after Patty, as, all unconscious of his gaze, she went on through the rooms with the young friends who had claimed her.
Gilbert Hepworth had long realised his growing interest in Patty, and acknowledged to himself that he loved the girl devotedly. But he had never by word or look intimated this, and had no intention of doing so until she should be some years older. He, himself, was thirty-four, and he knew that must seem old indeed to a girl of seventeen. So he really had little hope that he ever could win her for his own, but he allowed himself the pleasure of her society whenever opportunity offered, and it pleased him to do for her such acts of courtesy and kindness as could not be construed into special attentions, or indication of an unwelcome devotion.
Among the group that surrounded Patty was Kenneth Harper, a college boy who was a good chum of Patty’s and a favourite with Mr. Fairfield. Marian and Frank were with them, also Bob and Bumble, the Barlow Twins, and a number of the Philadelphia young people.
This group laughed and chatted merrily until the orchestra struck up the wedding march, and an expectant hush fell upon the assembly.
At Nan’s special request, there were no bridesmaids, and when the bride entered with her father, she was, as Patty had prophesied, a perfect picture in her beautiful wedding gown.
Mr. Fairfield seemed to think so too, and his happy smile as he came to meet her, gave Patty a thrill of gladness to think that this happiness had come to her father. His life had been lonely, and she was glad that it was to be shared by such a truly sweet and lovely woman as Nan.
Patty was the first to congratulate the wedded pair, and Mr. Hepworth, who was an usher, escorted her up to them that she might do so. Patty kissed both the bride and the bridegroom with whole-hearted affection, and after a few merry words turned away to give place to others.
“Come on, Patty,” said Kenneth, “a whole crowd of us are going to camp out in one of those jolly cozy corners on the verandah, and have our supper there.”
So Patty went with the merry crowd, and found that Kenneth had selected a conveniently located spot near one of the dining-room windows.
“I’m so glad it’s supper time,” she said, as they settled themselves comfortably in their chosen retreat. “I’ve been so busy and excited to-day that I’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I’m starving with hunger. And now that I’ve got my father safely married, and off my hands, I feel relieved of a great responsibility, and can eat my supper with a mind at rest.”
“When I’m married,” said Helen Barlow, “I mean to have a wedding exactly like this one. I think it’s the loveliest one I ever saw.”
“You won’t, though, Bumble,” said Patty, laughing. “In the first place, you’ll forget to order your wedding gown until a day or two before the occasion, and of course it won’t be done. And then you’ll forget to send out the invitations, so of course you’ll have no guests. And I’m sure you’ll forget to invite the minister, so there’ll be no ceremony, anyway.”
Bumble laughed good-naturedly at this, for the helter-skelter ways of the Barlow family were well known to everybody.
“It would be that way,” she said, “if I looked after things myself, but I shall expect you, Patty, to take entire charge of the occasion, and then everything will go along like clockwork.”
“Are you staying long in Philadelphia, Miss Fairfield?” asked Ethel Banks, a Philadelphia girl, who lived not far from the Allens.
“A few days longer,” said Patty. “I have to go back to New York next Tuesday, and then no more gaiety for me. I don’t know how I shall survive such a sudden change, but after this mad whirl of parties and things, I have to come down to plain everyday studying of lessons,—but we won’t talk about that now; it’s a painful subject to me at any time, but especially when I’m at a party.”
“Me, too,” said Kenneth. “If ever I get through college, I don’t think I’ll want to see a book for the next twenty years.”
“I didn’t know you hated your lessons so, Kenneth,” said Marian. “I thought Patty was the only one of my friends who was willing to avow that she was like that ‘Poor little Paul, who didn’t like study at all.’”
“Yes, I’m a Paul too,” said Kenneth, “and I may as well own up to it.”
“But you don’t let it interfere with your work,” said Patty; “you dig just as hard as if you really enjoyed it.”
“So do you,” said Kenneth, “but some day after we have both been graduated, I suppose we’ll be glad that we did our digging after all.”
A little later, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went away, amid showers of confetti, and after that there was an hour of informal dancing.
Patty was besieged with partners asking for a dance, and as there was no programme, she would make no promises, but accepted whoever might ask her first at the beginning of each dance. She liked to dance with Kenneth, for his step suited hers perfectly, and her cousin Bob was also an exceptionally good dancer.
But Patty showed no partiality, and enjoyed all the dances with her usual enthusiasm.
Suddenly she remembered that she had promised Mr. Hepworth a dance, but he had not come to claim it. Wondering, she looked around to see where he might be, and discovered him watching her from across the room.
There was an amused smile on his face, and Patty went to him, and asked him in her direct way, why he didn’t claim his dance.
“You are so surrounded,” he said, “by other and more attractive partners, that I hated to disturb you.”
“Nonsense,” said Patty, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “I like you better than lots of these Philadelphia boys. Come on.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” said Mr. Hepworth, as they began to dance, “but you seemed to be finding these Philadelphia boys very agreeable.”
“They’re nice enough,” said Patty, carelessly, “and some of them are good dancers, but not as good as you are, Mr. Hepworth. Do you know you dance like a—like a—will-o’-the-wisp.”
“I never met a will-o’-the-wisp, but I’m sure they must be delightful people, to judge from the enthusiastic tone in which you mention them. Do you never get tired of parties and dancing, Patty?”
“Oh, no, indeed. I love it all. But you see I haven’t had very much. I’ve never been to but two or three real dancing-parties in my life. Why, I’ve only just outgrown children’s parties. I may get tired of it all, after two or three seasons, but as yet it’s such a novelty to me that I enjoy every speck of it.”
Mr. Hepworth suddenly realised how many social seasons he had been through, and how far removed he was from this young débutante in his views on such matters. He assured himself that he need never hope she would take any special interest in him, and he vowed she should never know of his feelings toward her. So he adapted his mood to hers, and chatted gaily of the events of the evening. Patty told him of the many pleasures that had been planned for her, during the rest of her visit at Mrs. Allen’s, and he was truly glad that the girl was to have a taste of the social gaiety that so strongly appealed to her.
“Miss Fairfield,” said Ethel Banks, coming up to Patty, as the music stopped, “I’ve been talking with my father, and he says if you and Mr. and Mrs. Allen will go, he’ll take us all in the automobile down to Atlantic City for the week-end.”
“How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with delight. “I’d love to go. I’ve never been in an automobile but a few times in my life, and never for such a long trip as that. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Allen at once.”
Without further thought of Mr. Hepworth, save to give him a smiling nod as she turned away, Patty went with Ethel to ask Mrs. Allen about the projected trip.
Mrs. Allen was delighted to go, and said she would also answer for her husband. So it was arranged, and the girls went dancing back to Mr. Banks to tell him so. Ethel’s father was a kind-hearted, hospitable man, whose principal thought was to give pleasure to his only child. Ethel had no mother, and Mrs. Allen had often before chaperoned the girl on similar excursions to the one now in prospect.
As Mr. Banks was an enthusiastic motorist, and drove his own car, there was ample room for Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Patty.
Soon the wedding guests departed, and Patty was glad to take off her pretty gown and tumble into bed.
She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Mrs. Allen sitting on the bed beside her, caressing her curly hair.
“I hate to waken you,” said that lady, “but it’s after ten o’clock, and you know you are to go to your Cousin Helen’s to spend the day. I want you to come home early this evening, as I have a little party planned for you, and so it’s only right that you should start as soon as possible this morning. Here is a nice cup of cocoa and a bit of toast. Let me slip a kimono around you, while you breakfast.”
In her usual busy way, Mrs. Allen fluttered about, while she talked, and after putting a kimono round her visitor, she drew up beside her a small table, containing a dainty breakfast tray.
“It’s just as well you’re going away to-day,” Mrs. Allen chattered on, “because the house is a perfect sight. Not one thing is in its place, and about a dozen men have already arrived to try to straighten out the chaos. So, as you may judge, my dear, since I have to superintend all these things, I’ll really get along better without you. Now, you get dressed, and run right along to the Barlows’. James will take you over in the pony cart, and he’ll come for you again at eight o’clock this evening. Mind, now, you’re not to stay a minute after eight o’clock, for I have invited some young people here to see you. I’ll send the carriage to-night, and then you can bring your Barlow cousins back with you.”
As Mrs. Allen rattled on, she had been fussing around the room getting out Patty’s clothes to wear that day, and acting in such a generally motherly manner that Patty felt sure she must be missing Nan, and she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her, and told her so.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Allen, “it’s awful. I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve lost my girl; still it had to come, I suppose, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t put a straw in the way of Nan’s happiness. Well, I shall get used to it in time, I suppose, and then sometimes I shall expect Nan to come and visit me.”
