Patty's Butterfly Days

"And they're half gone!" exclaimed Captain Sayre, as he looked at the card Patty had handed him.

"What!" she cried, looking at it herself.

Sure enough there was a very big black B. F. written against every other dance!

"Bill Farnsworth!" she exclaimed. "Well, if he hasn't a nerve! He wants the earth!"

"And the sea, and all that in them is!" said Captain Sayre. "Look here, Miss Fairfield, I'll be satisfied with the other five. Thus, you're dividing your dances evenly, don't you see?"

"Nonsense! I'll agree to no such highway robbery! You may have a dance, Captain Sayre,—take a waltz, if you like; and then give me my card again. Do you want one, Jack?"

"DO I? Does a squirrel want nuts? Only one, Sea Spirit?"

"Yes, only one. It's such a short programme to-night."

"And is Big Bill to have five?"

"Indeed, no! I shall cross those all off but one."

Learning, somehow, of what was going on, most of the men at the table began to beg Patty for a dance, and in a few moments her card was filled.

She shook her head reprovingly at Farnsworth, who quite understood the reason.

Supper over, the dancing began, and as it was a summer evening, the dances alternated with cooling strolls on the long verandas of the club house. Patty loved to dance, and greatly preferred good dancers for partners.

Captain Sayre was especially proficient in the art, and as their dance was followed by an "extra," he persuaded Patty to do a fancy dance with him, like they had danced at the Sayres' garden party. Soon most of the dancers had paused to watch the two, swaying and pirouetting in a dance, partly impromptu, and partly fashioned on some they had previously learned. It was a pretty sight. Patty, whose step was light as thistledown, followed any hint of Captain Sayre's, and so clever were his leads that the audience broke into loud applause. It was almost more than Farnsworth could bear. He stood looking at them with such a wistful expression that Patty concluded to stop.

"I'm a little tired," she whispered to her partner, "but I want to dance a moment alone. Will you let me? And ask the orchestra to play the Spring Song."

"I'll love to look at you," declared the captain, and at the end of a measure, he gracefully danced away from her, and Patty stood alone.

The rest had all ceased dancing now, preferring to watch, and as they were nearly all Patty's friends and acquaintances, she felt no embarrassment.

"The Apple Blossom Dance," she said, and flung herself into a series of wonderful rhythmic motions that seemed to give hint of all the charms of spring. One could almost see flowers and hear birds as the light draperies swayed like veils in a soft breeze. And then, with a fleeting glance and smile at Farnsworth, Patty plucked apple blossoms from overhanging boughs, and tossed them to the audience. There were no trees, and there were no blossoms, but so exquisite was her portrayal of blossom time, and so lovely her swaying arms and tossing hair that many were ready to declare they could even detect the fragrance of the flowers. But when Patty essayed to stop, the riotous applause that followed and the cries of "Encore! encore!" persuaded her to dance once more, though very tired.

More languidly this time the apple blossoms were plucked from the branches, more slowly the springtime steps were taken, and before she reached a point in the music where she could stop, Patty was swaying from faintness, not by design.

Farnsworth saw this, and acting on a sudden impulse, he swung the great folds of his trailing velvet over his arm, and with a few gliding steps, reached her side, threw an arm round her, and suiting his steps to hers, continued the figure she had begun. But he supported her weary little form, he held her in a strong, firm clasp, and, a fine dancer himself, he completed the "Apple Blossom Dance" with her, which she never could have done alone. Then, after bowing together to the delighted and tumultuously applauding audience, he led her to a seat, and shielded her from the unthinking crowd, who begged her to dance for them again.

"Little Billee, you're a dear!" said Patty, as the next dance took the people away again. "How did you know I was going to sink through the floor in just one more minute?"

"I saw how tired you were, and though I hated to 'butt in' on your performance, I just felt I had to, to save you from collapse."

"You DIDN'T 'butt in'! You're a beautiful dancer, better than Captain Sayre, in some ways, though you don't know so many fancy steps. But you picked up my idea of the apple blossom steps at once!"

"Because that's OUR dance. And you're my property to-night, anyway. Didn't Neptune crown the Spirit of the Sea?"

"Yes, and I haven't yet thanked you for this lovely wreath! It's the most beautiful thing! Where DID you get it?"

"I had it made, to replace the one I stole from you the night of the storm."

"You didn't steal that,—I gave it to you."

"Well, and so I give you this one in return. Will you wear it sometimes?"

"I'll wear it often, it's so lovely. And SO becoming,—isn't it?"

Naughty Patty smiled most provokingly up into the big blue eyes that looked intently at her.

"Becoming?" he said. "Yes, it IS! What isn't becoming to you, you little beauty?"

"There, there, don't flatter me!" and Patty cast down her eyes demurely. "Oh, Jack, is this our dance?" And with a saucy bow, Patty left Big Bill, and strolled away on Jack Pennington's arm.

"You're a regular out and out belle to-night, Patty," he said, frankly.

"All the men are crazy over you, and all the girls are envious."

"'Tisn't me," said Patty, meekly. "It's this ridiculous green rig and my unkempt hair."

"Shouldn't wonder," returned Jack, teasingly; "girls always look best in fancy dress."

"So do the boys," Patty retorted. "Isn't Bill Farnsworth stunning in that Neptune toga,—or whatever it's called?"

"Pooh, you'd think he was stunning in anything, wouldn't you?"

"Oh,—I don't know—" and Patty put her fingertip in her mouth, and looked so exaggeratedly shy that Jack burst into laughter.

"You're a rogue, Patty," he declared. "If you don't look out you'll grow up a flirt."

"Am I flirting with you?" and Patty opened her eyes very wide in mock horror at such an idea.

"No,—not exactly. But you may, if you like."

"I DON'T like!" said Patty, decidedly. "We're good chums, Jack, and I want to stay so. No flirt nonsense about us, is there?"

"No," said Jack; "let's dance," and away they whirled in a gay two-step.

When the dancing was over, the "Red Chimneys" party started for home in various motors. Patty thought Bill would ask her to ride with him, but he didn't come near her, and she wondered if he were annoyed or offended in any way.

She confessed to feeling a little tired, and rode quietly beside Aunt Adelaide, leaning her sunny head on that lady's shoulder.

"But it was lovely!" she said, with a sort of purr like a contented kitten. "I'd like to have a Pageant every night!"

"Yes, you would!" exclaimed Roger, who sat in front of her in the big motor. "You'd be dancing in a sanitarium next thing you knew."

"Pooh!" retorted Patty. "I'm not a decrepit old invalid yet, am I, Aunt Adelaide?"

"No, dearie; but you must take care of yourself. I think a cold compress on your forehead to-night would do you good."