Patty Blossom

"Don't, Phil," said Patty, gently, noting his serious look and tone. "I've got four days yet till the fifteenth, and,—oh, pshaw, I might as well tell you now, that I'm not going to be engaged to you."

"Patty!" and Van Reypen's face went white. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. I've had so much wedding doings for Mona, I'm sick and tired of it. I don't want to be engaged myself, or hear of anybody else being engaged, until I forget all about all this fuss and feathers."

"There does seem to be an awful lot of fussy feathers, or whatever you call it, about the affair, doesn't there?"

"Yes; and I'm glad to do all I can for Mona. I'm enjoying it, too, but I don't want any wedding of my own for years and years and years."

"By that time you'll be a pretty old bird. You ticked off a goodly number of years just then. But, seriously, Patty, I don't want to bother you–"

"Well, you do bother me. Why, Phil, every single chance you get, you talk about–"

"About my love for you? I mean to, Patty, but you don't give me a chance. When I try to tell you of my love and devotion, you break loose about not wanting to be engaged–"

"Well, of course I do. A girl doesn't want to hear of love and devotion from a man she isn't engaged to, does she?"

"I don't know. I hope so, in this case. That is, I hope I'm the man you're going to be engaged to, and soon, so I can tell you of my love and devotion. They're deep, Patty, deep and true, and–"

"Then why did you treat me so horridly down at Lakewood, just because I enjoyed having to do with people who had some brains and weren't of the silly, addle-pated type we meet mostly in our own class of society?"

"But, Patty, dearest, those Blaneys aren't the real things. They haven't education and genius,—they only pretend they have."

"Phil, I think you're horrid. They have so. Why, Sam Blaney wrote a poem that's the most beautiful thing I ever read!"

"Let me see it."

"I can't. I promised I wouldn't. It's—it's sort of sacred–"

"A sacred poem! Blaney?"

"No, I don't mean religious. But it's sacred to me,—it's—it's a real poem, you see."

"Well, he isn't a real poet, by a long chalk! I did think, Patty, that when you came home from Lakewood you'd forget all that rubbish bunch."

"How you do love to call them names! I don't think it's nice of you, one bit. They're going to be at the wedding, and I hope you'll be decent to them then, as they're my friends."

"Oh, I'll be decent to them, but I shan't have any time to waste on them. I've a matter of my own on hand for that night. A girl I wot of has promised to give me her answer to a question I asked, and, when the time comes, I can't help thinking that that girl is going to be kind to me."

"I dunno," said Patty.

CHAPTER X

MONA'S WEDDING

It was the night of Mona's wedding. The ballroom of the big hotel where Mona and her father lived was the scene of the ceremony, and this was already filled with guests. A temporary altar had been erected at one end of the long room, and was banked with lilies and white hydrangeas against a background of tall palms. On either side were tall candles in cathedral candlesticks.

To the altar led a temporary aisle, formed by stanchions of old silver candelabra filled with ascension lilies, and joined by garlands of white blossoms.

Promptly on time, the bridal cortège appeared. First walked a vested choir singing a processional. Then the bridesmaids, in palest pink tulle frocks, each pair carrying between them a long garland of pink roses, and wearing wreaths of pink roses on their hair.

Patty and Daisy Dow were the first pair, and very lovely they looked as they traversed the flower-hung room. Garlands of pink roses were everywhere, on the walls, from the doorframes and windows, and gracefully drooping from the ceiling. Next came Elise, Maid of Honor, in a gown of slightly deeper pink, and then Mona, her father beside her.

The bride's gown was of point lace with a very long court train of embroidered satin. Her veil, of old lace, was an heirloom from her mother, and was held by a wreath of orange blossoms. Roger's gift of a diamond pendant was her only jewel.

After the ceremony, as the bridal party retraced their steps, the bridesmaids sang softly, "O Perfect Love," and then they took their places for the reception, the orchestra's strains broke forth, and the festivities began. Having no mother or near feminine relative, Mona had asked Nan to receive with her, and very gracefully Nan did the honours.

"A beautiful wedding," everybody said, and then there arrived many more guests who had been asked to the reception only.

The room became crowded and people wandered into the adjoining rooms which were also for the use of the guests.

Patty stood in the line of the bridal party and smiled and chatted with the stream of people who drifted by, murmuring congratulatory phrases. Mona was supremely happy and she looked it. Not only was she married to the man she loved, but the wedding was just such a pageant of beauty and grandeur as she had wished it to be and no smallest item of the preparations had gone wrong. She stood by Roger's side, now and then glancing up into his face with a smile of happiness and contentment.

The bridegroom looked proud and happy. He hadn't cared for so much elaboration of entertainment, but Mona had wanted it, and so he acquiesced in all particulars.

"When will it be all over and we can get away?" he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, not for hours," returned his new wife. "There's the feast, and then the dancing,—I don't want to miss a bit of it! Why, Roger, this is our wedding party."

"Yes, I gathered as much! All right, dearest, stay as long as you like."

"It is a pretty wedding, isn't it, Roger? You like it, don't you?"

Mona looked suddenly troubled.

"Of course I do, darling. I like it better than any wedding I ever attended! I've only seen one thing, though,—that's you. Are there other people here?"

"Oh, a few! Three or four hundred, anyway. But where's Bill Farnsworth? I haven't seen him yet."

"He came in late. I just caught sight of him a minute ago. Probably he's trying to get through the crowd to us."

Which was just what Farnsworth was doing. He had arrived during the ceremony, and had not yet made his way to the bridal party.

In fact, he was continually stopped in his progress by acquaintances who greeted him and held him in conversation.

But at last he reached the bride.

"My dear Mona," he cried, "don't look so happy! You dazzle me!"

Mona beamed more joyously than ever, and Roger warmly welcomed Farnsworth.

"Splendid affair," Bill went on. "Looks like Fairyland or some enchanted garden. I was wafted in on the strains of the orchestra, and I can scarcely hold myself down on terra firma. But I mustn't monopolise the prince and princess of this magic realm. I'll try for a few words, later, but now I must make way for the crowd behind me. Oh, how do you do, Patty? How are you? You're looking splendid. And Daisy! Well, it's good to see you again. By the way, Daisy, I saw Lou Standish last week in Arizona. He sent greetings to you."

"Oh, did you, Bill? Did you see Lou? Tell me more about him."

Patty turned aside, her gaiety suddenly gone. What did Bill Farnsworth mean by treating her like that? A blank stare from him would have surprised her no more than those few careless words, flung at her hastily, as if she were the merest acquaintance. She felt as if a bucket of ice water had been splashed on her head and was still trickling down her shoulders.

"Come back, Miss Fairfield," she heard somebody saying gaily, and with a start she realised she had been staring blankly into vacancy so stunned was she by Farnsworth's manner.