Patty Blossom

"Come along, my lady," said Roger, at last, as Mona delayed to talk to the girls.

And then they went away, and some of the guests stayed to dance a little longer.

"Come, Patty," said Van Reypen, as the orchestra struck up, "this is our dance."

Patty assented, and they went gliding over the perfect floor.

Philip said nothing while they danced, and Patty, too, was silent.

This was unusual, for Patty generally chattered as she danced.

"Tired, dear?" said Philip, at last.

"A little. It has been a long evening."

"And a strenuous one. I saw you were getting weary as you stood in that line of receiving so long. Come, let us sit down."

Philip guided her to a pleasant settee, screened by tall palms, and seated himself beside her.

"Poor little girl," he said, "you're all done up. You must go home soon, Patty. You can't dance any more tonight."

"Oh, yes, I can. I'm not really tired. It's more excitement and–"

"And nerves. I know,—Mona getting married means a lot to you. You're very intimate friends, aren't you?"

"Yes; and as she has no mother, Nan and I have tried to do all we could for her, but she is so capable, we couldn't do much, after all."

"No; I suppose not. Patty, why did she give you her bouquet? I thought brides threw them, and any one caught them that could."

"They do, usually."

"Well, then, why didn't Mona?"

"Oh, because,—oh, I don't know."

"You do know, Patty. Was it because she thinks you will be the next bride of your set? Because she thinks you will marry—me?"

Phil's eyes were radiant, and his voice trembled as he whispered, "And will you, dear? Will you, my little Patty? You promised, you know, to tell me tonight. So, tell me,—and tell me,—yes."

Patty sat up very straight and looked at him. "Philip," she said, and her voice was serious; "if I have to decide now, it will be No. I did say I'd tell you tonight, and I meant to, but I'm all tired and bothered, and if I'm not careful, I shall cry! So, if you hold me to my promise, I'll answer you now, but it will be No. I can't say Yes,—tonight."

"Then don't say anything. I'll wait, dearest. Oh, Patty, of course, I'll wait. You are exhausted and nervous and you want to rest. Don't answer me now, dear, for I don't want that answer you spoke of! Let's wait a week or so longer, and then make up our mind. Shall us?"

"Yes, Phil, and thank you for being so good to me."

CHAPTER XI

THE CITY STUDIO

"I'm quite anxious to see this paragon of a poet," said Nan, as she sat in Patty's room one evening.

Patty was dressing for the party at the Blaneys', and Sam was coming to take her.

"You'll like him, Nan, you can't help it. He is most interesting,—not a bit like other men. And they have such delightful people at their parties. They do big things, you know,—really big."

"Such as what?"

"Oh, they sing, and play on unusual instruments,—zitherns and lutes–"

"That doesn't sound so awfully wonderful."

"No; I suppose not. But it's the way they do it,—and the—the atmosphere, you know, and the general exalted effect–"

"The what?"

"Oh, I don't know how to express it so you'll understand,—but I like it all. It's on a higher plane than the usual evening party."

"Don't they dance?"

"Yes, some. But more Solo dances, and Interpretative ones. I'm going to do a splendid dance for them, soon. Mr. Blaney is making it up for me."

"Can I see it?"

"I guess so. I think they mean to have a large audience for that occasion."

"What are you doing, Patty? Are you going to wear your hair like that?"

"Yes, Sam likes it so."

"But, my gracious goodness, you look like a crazy person!"

"Oh, not so bad as that."

Patty spoke carelessly, but her colour heightened a little. She was sitting at her toilet mirror, while Nan lounged in an easy chair, near by. Patty's golden hair was drawn smoothly down from a central part, and tightly confined at the back of her neck, where it was rolled and twisted into an immense knot, hard and round, that was exceedingly unbecoming.

"It's awful!" declared Nan, "I never saw you look really plain before."

"It's all right," and Patty tossed her head. "That fluffy, curly business is a sign of a light-weight brain,—this arrangement is far more intellectual."

"And is that your gown!" Nan fairly gasped, as Patty took from her wardrobe a strange-looking affair of mulberry-coloured woolen goods.

"Yes, it's really stunning, Nan. I had it made by Alla Blaney's dressmaker, and it's a triumph."

"Looks to me as if it had been made by a dressmaker in the house."

"Not much! It's a marvel of line and type. Wait till it's all on."

Patty adjusted the shapeless garment, which hung in loose folds from her shoulders, but which, with its muddy hue and clumsy drapery, was decidedly unattractive. Over it she put on a sort of tunic of green and orange damask, edged with glittering sequins.