Patty's Social Season

CHAPTER I

FLOWERS!

“Patty, do come along and get your luncheon before everything grows cold!”

“‘And the stars are old, And the leaves of the judgment book unfold,’” chanted Patty, who had just learned this new song, and was apt to sing it at unexpected moments. She sat on the floor in the middle of the long drawing-room of her New York home. To say she was surrounded by flowers, faintly expresses it. She was hemmed in, barricaded, nearly smothered in flowers.

They were or had been in enormous florist’s boxes, and as fast as Patty opened the boxes and read the cards which accompanied the blossoms, Jane took the boxes away.

It was the great occasion of Patty’s début, and in accordance with the social custom, all her friends had sent her flowers as a message of congratulation.

“You certainly have heaps of friends,” said Elise, who was helping arrange the bouquets.

“Friends!” cried Patty; “nobody could have as many friends as this! These flowers must be also from my enemies, my casual acquaintances, and indeed from utter strangers! I think the whole hilarious populace of New York has gone mad on the subject of sending flowers!”

Even as she spoke, Jane came in with several more boxes, followed by Miller, fairly staggering under an enormous box that was almost too much for one man to carry. Behind him was Nan, who went straight to Patty and held out both hands to assist her to rise.

“Patty,” she said, “if you don’t come out this minute, you never can get out! A few more of these boxes, and the door will be completely blocked up.”

“That’s so, Nan,” and Patty scrambled to her feet. “Come on, girls, let’s gather our foodings while we may. These flowers will keep; but I shudder to think of the accumulation when we come back from luncheon!”

“I didn’t know there were so many flowers in the world,” said Mona Galbraith, who paused to look back into the drawing-room.

“There aren’t,” said Patty solemnly; “it’s an optical illusion. Don’t you know how the Indian jugglers make you see flowers growing, when there aren’t any flowers there? Well, this is like that.”

Following Nan, Patty’s pretty stepmother, the three girls, arm in arm, danced along to the dining-room, quite hungry enough to do justice to the tempting luncheon they found there.

All the morning they had been untying the flower boxes and making a list of the donors.

“Just think of the notes of thanks I have to write,” said Patty, groaning at the outlook.

“Wish we could help you,” said Elise, “but I suppose you have to do those yourself.”

“Yes; and I think it will take me the rest of my natural life! What’s the use of ‘coming out,’ if I have got to go right in again, and write all those notes? Why, there are hundreds!”

“Thousands!” corrected Elise. And Mona said, “Looks to me like millions!”

“Who sent that last big box, Patty?” asked Nan; “the one that just came.”

“Dunno, Nancy; probably the Czar of Russia or the King of the Cannibal Islands. But I mean to take time to eat my luncheon in peace, even if the flowers aren’t all in place by the time the company comes.”

“We can’t stay very long,” said Elise; “of course, Mona and I have to go home and dress and be back here at four o’clock, and it’s nearly two, now.”

“All right,” said Patty; “the boys are coming, and they’ll do the rest. We couldn’t hang the flowers on the wall, anyway.”

“We ought to have had a florist to attend to it,” said Nan, thoughtfully; “I had no idea there’d be so many.”

“Oh, it’ll be all right,” returned Patty. “Father’s coming home early, and Roger and Ken will be over, and Mr. Hepworth will direct proceedings.”

Even as she spoke the men’s voices were heard in the hall, and Patty jumped up from the table and ran to the drawing-room.

“Did you ever see anything like it?” she exclaimed, and her visitors agreed that they never had.

“It must be awful to be so popular, Patty,” said Roger. “If I ever come out, I shall ask my friends to send fruit instead of flowers.”

“Patty would have to start a canning factory, if she had done that,” said Kenneth, laughing. “Let’s open this big box, Patty. Who sent it?”

“I haven’t an idea, but there must be a card inside.”

They opened the immense box, and found it full to the brim with exquisite Killarney roses.

After some search, Roger discovered a small envelope, with a card inside. The card read, “Mr. William Farnsworth,” and written beneath the engraved name was the message, “With congratulations and best wishes.”

“From Big Bill!” exclaimed Mona. “For goodness’ sake, Patty, why didn’t he send you more? But these didn’t come all the way from Arizona, where he is.”

“No,” said Patty, looking at the label on the box; “he must have just sent an order to a New York florist.”

“To two or three florists, I should think,” said Mr. Hepworth. “What can we do with them all?”

But the crowd of merry young people set to work, and in an hour the floral chaos was reduced to a wonderful vision of symmetry and beauty. Under Mr. Hepworth’s directions, the flowers were banked on the mantels and window-seats, and hung in groups on the wall, and clustered on the door-frames in a profusion which had behind it a methodical and symmetrical intent.

“It’s perfectly beautiful!” declared Nan, who, with her husband, was taking her first view of the finished effect. “It’s a perfect shame to spoil this bower of beauty by cramming it with a crowd of people, who will jostle your bouquets all to bits.”

“Well, we can’t help it,” said Patty. “You see, we invited the people, as well as the flowers, so we must take the consequences. But they can’t reach those that are up high, and as soon as the party is over, I’m going to put them all in fresh water–”

“What! the party?” and Kenneth looked astounded.

“I mean the flowers,” said Patty, not deigning to laugh at his foolishness. “And then, to-morrow morning, I’m going to send them all to the hospital.”

“The people?” said Kenneth again. “That’s thoughtful of you, Patty! I have no doubt they’ll be in condition to go. I’m about ready, myself.”

“Well, you may go now,” and Patty smiled at him. “Your work is done here, and I’m going away to dress. Good-bye, Ken; this is the last time you’ll see me as a little girl. When next we meet, I shall be a young lady, a fully-fledged society lady, whose only thoughts will be for dancing and gaiety of all sorts.”

“Nonsense,” said Kenneth; “you can’t scare me. You’ll be the same old Patty, foolish and irresponsible,—but sunshiny and sweet as ever.”

“Thank you, Ken,” said Patty, for there was a note of earnestness in Kenneth’s voice that the girl was quick to catch. They had been friends since childhood, and while Patty did not take her “coming out” very seriously, yet she realised that it meant she was grown up and a child no longer.

“Don’t let it all spoil you, Patty.” It was Mr. Hepworth who said this, as he was about to follow Kenneth out. “I have a right to lecture you, you know, and I want to warn you–”

“Oh, don’t do it now, Mr. Hepworth,” said Patty, laughing; “the occasion is solemn enough, I’m sure, and if you lecture me, I shall burst into large weeps of tears! Do let me ‘come out’ without being lectured, and you can come round to-morrow and give me all the warnings you like.”

“You’re right, little Patty,” and Hepworth looked at her kindly. “I ought not to spoil one of the happiest days of your life with too serious thought. Yours is a butterfly nature–”

“But butterfly natures are nice; aren’t they, Mr. Hepworth?” and Patty looked up at him with the roguishness that she could never quite control.

“Yes,–” and the man hesitated a moment, as he looked into Patty’s blue eyes. Then, suddenly, “Yes, indeed, very nice.” And, turning abruptly, he left her.

“Now, you girls, skip,” ordered Patty.

“You haven’t more than time to fly home and get dressed, for I don’t want you to be late and delay the ceremony.”

“Gracious! it sounds like a wedding,” cried Mona, laughing.

“Well, it isn’t!” declared Patty. “I may have a wedding some day, but that’s in the far, far future; why, I’m only just entering society, and when I’m married, I suppose I shall leave it. I expect to have heaps of fun between this and then.”

The programme for the occasion was an afternoon reception, from four o’clock until seven. This was really Patty’s début. A dinner at eight was to follow, to which were invited about a dozen of her dearest friends, and after this would be a dance, to which a goodly number more were asked.

“You ought to have time for an hour’s rest, Patty,” said Nan, as she drew the girl away from a last look at the beautiful flowers, and took her up to her room.

“Well, I haven’t, little steppy-mother. It will be just about all Miss Patricia Fairfield can do to get into her purple and fine linen by four o’clock p.m., and methinks you’d better begin on your own glad toilette, or you’ll be late yourself.”

“Was I ever late?” asked Nan, scornfully, and as Patty responded, “never anything but,” she ran away to her own room.

However, four o’clock found all the members of the reception party in their places.

Patty looked adorable in soft white chiffon, untrimmed, save for some fine lace round the slightly low-cut neck. She wore a string of small but perfect pearls which her father had given her for the occasion, and she carried a beautiful bouquet of orchids, which was Nan’s gift.

Patty had never looked prettier. Her rose-leaf cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement, and her big violet eyes were bright and sparkling. Her golden hair, which was really unusual in texture and quantity, was dressed simply, yet in a manner very becoming to her small, prettily poised head. On her brow and temples it rippled in natural ringlets, which gave her piquant face a charming, childish effect. Patty was certainly a beauty, but she was of such a sweet, unspoiled nature, and of such simple, dainty manners, that everybody loved her.

Her father looked at her rather thoughtfully, half unable to realise that his little Patty had really grown up and was taking her place in society. He had no fears for her, he knew her sweet nature too well; but he was earnestly hoping that she was starting out on a life of happiness and well-being. Though healthy and moderately strong, Patty was not of a robust constitution, and there was danger that too much gaiety might result in a nervous breakdown. This, Mr. Fairfield determined to guard against; and resolved that, while Patty should be allowed generally to do as she chose, he should keep a strict eye against her overdoing.

Nan had much the same thoughts as she looked at the lovely débutante, so exquisite in her fresh young beauty. Nan’s gown of heavy white lace was very becoming, and though a secondary figure, she ably shared the honours of the afternoon with Patty.

Mona and Elise assisted in the capacity of “Floaters,” and in their pale pink frocks, they were quite in harmony with the floral setting of the picture.

And then the guests began to arrive, and Patty learned what it meant to stand and shake hands, and receive the same compliments and congratulations over and over again. It was interesting at first, but she grew very tired as the hours went by.

“Now, I say,” exclaimed a cheery voice, suddenly, “it can’t be that you have to stand here continuously from four to seven! Mrs. Fairfield, mayn’t I take Patty to get a cup of tea or an ice, and you stay here and ‘come out’ until she returns?”

It was Philip Van Reypen who made this request, and Nan consented readily. “Yes, indeed, Philip,” she said, “do take her off to rest a minute. I think most of the people have arrived; and, anyway, you must bring her back shortly.”

“I will,” and young Van Reypen led Patty through the crowd to the dining-room.

“I ought to find you a ‘quiet little corner,’” he said, smiling; “but I don’t see such a thing anywhere about. So I’ll just place you on one of these gimcrack gilt chairs, and I’ll ask you to keep this one next, for me, until I make a raid on the table. What will you have?”

“I don’t really want anything, Philip, but just to sit here a moment and rest. I had no idea coming out was so tiresome! I believe I’ve said, ‘oh, thank you!’ a billion times!”

“Yes, you said it to me,” and Philip laughed at the recollection, “and I can tell you, Patty, it had the real society ring! You said it like a conventionalised parrot.”

“Well, I don’t care if I did! It was the proper thing to say, and nobody could say it a million times in succession, without sounding parrotty! I know now how the President feels when he has to shake hands with the whole United States!”

Philip left her, and returned in a moment, followed by a waiter, who brought them hot bouillon and tiny sandwiches.

“My, but these are good!” exclaimed Patty, as she nibbled and sipped. “Why, Philip, I believe I was hungry and that’s what made me tired! Oh, hello, Mona! Did you get leave of absence, too?”

“Yes; the mad rush is pretty much over. Only a few late stragglers now, and Elise is floating them. Here’s Roger. He says you wouldn’t speak to him this afternoon, except to say, ‘oh, thank you!’ three times.”

“I couldn’t help it,” returned Patty, laughing. “That’s all I said to anybody. I felt like a rubber stamp—repeating myself. Well, thank goodness, I’m out!”

“But you’re not a bit more grown up than when you were in,” said Kenneth, joining the group around Patty.

“Oh, pshaw, I’m never going to be grown up. Now I’m rested, Philip; please take me back to Nan. She said we must return soon.”

So Patty went back to the drawing-room, and insisted that her stepmother should go for a little refreshment. “I can hold the fort alone now,” she said; “you’ve no idea how capable I am, now that I’m really out. Run along, Nan, and get some of those sandwiches; they’re awfully good.”

“It isn’t romantic, Patty, to think about eating when you’re celebrating an occasion like this,” reproved Philip.

“Well, I’m not romantic,” declared Patty, “and I never expect to be. Oh, how do you do, Mr. Galbraith? It’s so late, I feared you weren’t coming.” And Patty held out her hand to Mona’s father.

“How d‘y’do, Patty?” And Mr. Galbraith shook hands heartily. “I suppose I ought to say all sorts of pretty things to you, but you know, I’m not much up in social chat.”

“I’m glad of it,” said Patty, “and then I won’t have to say, ‘oh, thank you!’ to you. Mona is looking beautiful this afternoon, isn’t she?”

“She’s a fine girl—a fine girl.” Mr. Galbraith’s eyes rested on his daughter a little thoughtfully. He was a Chicago man, who had made his fortune suddenly, and was a little bewildered at his own success. His one interest in life, outside of business matters, was his daughter Mona, for whom he desired every possible good, and to whose wishes and whims he always willingly consented.

At her request, he had closed his Chicago home and come to spend the winter in New York, that Mona might be near Patty, whom she adored. The Galbraiths were living for the winter at the Plaza Hotel, and Patty, who had grown fond of Mona, was glad to have her friend so near her.

“She’s a fine girl,” Mr. Galbraith repeated, “and a good-looking girl.” He paused a moment, and then added in a sudden burst of confidence, “but, Patty, I wish she had a mother. You know how I idolise her, but I can’t do for her what a mother would do. I’ve urged her to have a chaperon or a companion of some sort, but she won’t do it. She says a father is chaperon enough for her, and so we live alone in that big hotel, and I’m afraid it isn’t right. Right for her, I mean. I don’t care a snap about conventions, but Mona is impulsive, even headstrong, and I wish she had an older woman to guide and advise her.”

“I wish she did, Mr. Galbraith,” said Patty, earnestly, for the two were chatting by themselves, and no one else was within hearing. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve talked with my stepmother about it. Perhaps I could persuade Mona to do as you wish her to.”

“I hope you can, Patty; I do hope you can. You know, Mona is dignified and all that, and as proud as they make them. Nobody would dare to speak to her if she didn’t want them to; but, Patty, here’s the trouble. There’s a young man at the hotel named Lansing. He’s not especially attractive, and yet, somehow, he has gained Mona’s favour. I have told my girl that I do not like him, but she only laughs and says carelessly that he’s all right. Now, I mustn’t detain you longer, my child; there are people waiting to speak to you. But, some time, I want to have a little talk to you about this, and perhaps you can help me in some way. For I believe, Patty, that that Lansing man is trying to win my girl for the sake of her money. He has all the appearances of a fortune-hunter, and I can’t let Mona throw herself away on such.”

“I should think not!” exclaimed Patty, indignantly. And then Mr. Galbraith moved away to give his place to other guests who were arriving.

CHAPTER II

AT THE DANCE

At eight o’clock that same evening, Patty came down to her own dinner party. An hour’s rest had freshened her up wonderfully, and she had changed her little white frock for a dinner gown of pale green chiffon, sparkling with silver embroidery. It trailed behind her in a most grown-up fashion, and she entered the drawing-room with an exaggerated air of dignity.

“Huh,” cried Roger; “look at grown-up Patty! Isn’t she the haughty lady? Patty, if you put on such airs, you’ll be old before your time!”

“Airs, nothing!” retorted Patty, and with a skipping little dance step, she crossed the room, picked up a sofa pillow, and aimed it deftly at Roger, who caught it on the wing.

“That’s better,” he said. “We can’t have any of these grande dame airs. Now, who is the lucky man who is to take you out to dinner? Me?”

“No, not you,” and Patty looked at him, critically; “you won’t do, and neither will Kenneth, nor Phil Van Reypen, nor Mr. Hepworth.” She looked at them each in turn, and smiled so merrily that they could take no offence. “I think,” she said, “I shall select the best-looking and best-natured gentleman, and walk out with him.” Whereupon she tucked her arm through her father’s, and led the way to the dining-room, followed by the rest of the merry crowd.

The dinner was a beautiful one, for Nan had spared no pains or thought to make it worthy of the occasion. At the girls’ places were beautiful souvenirs, in the shape of fans of carved ivory with lace mounts, while the men received attractive stick-pins.

“Shall you feel like dancing after all this gaiety, Patty?” asked Van Reypen.

“Well, rather!” declared Patty. “Why, I’d feel like dancing if I’d been through a—civil war! I could scarcely keep still when the orchestra was playing this afternoon, and I’m crazy for to-night’s dance to begin.”

“Frivolous young person, very,” murmured Philip. “Never saw such devotion to the vain follies of life! However, since you’re determined to dance, will you honour me with the first one to-night?”

“Why, I don’t mind, if you don’t,” said Patty, dimpling at him.

“And give me the second,” said Kenneth and Roger simultaneously.

“I can’t do these sums in my head,” said Patty; “I’ll get all mixed up. Let’s wait till we get our dance orders, and fill them up, hit or miss.”

“You be the miss and I’ll try to make a hit,” said Philip.

“What waggery!” exclaimed Patty, shaking her head. “If you’re too clever, Philip, I can’t dance with you. When I dance, I keep my mind on my feet, not on my head.”

“That explains your good dancing,” said Mr. Hepworth, laughing. “Perhaps, if I could keep my mind on my feet, I could dance better.”

“Oh, you’re too highminded for such low levels,” laughed Patty, while Mona, who was rather practical, said, seriously, “Do you really think about your feet all the time you’re dancing, Patty?”

“No,” returned Patty; “sometimes I have to think about my partner’s feet, to keep out of the way of them.”

When they returned to the drawing-room, they found it had been cleared for the dance, and soon the evening guests began to arrive.

Patty again stood by Nan to receive them, and after greeting many people she knew, she was surprised to find herself confronted by a stranger. He was a thick-set, stockily-built man, several years older than most of Patty’s friends. He had black hair and eyes and a short black moustache and a round, heavy type of face. His black eyes were of the audacious sort, and he flashed a glance of admiration at Patty. Before she could speak, or even offer her hand, Mona sprang forward, saying, “Patty, this is my friend Mr. Lansing. I took the liberty of inviting him to your dance. Mrs. Fairfield, may I present Mr. Lansing?”

Patty was angry. This, of course, must be the man of whom Mr. Galbraith had spoken, and, aside from the fact that he seemed undesirable, Patty felt that Mona had no right to invite him without asking permission from her hostess.

But Nan knew nothing of all this, and she cordially greeted the stranger because he was a friend of Mona’s. Patty recovered her equilibrium sufficiently to say, “How do you do, Mr. Lansing?” in a non-committal sort of way, but she couldn’t refrain from giving Mona a side glance of reproof, to which, however, that young woman paid no attention.

In another moment Mona had drifted away, and had taken Mr. Lansing with her. Patty turned to speak to Nan about him, but just then some more guests arrived; and then the dancing began, and Patty had no further opportunity.

As Patty had promised, she gave the first dance to Philip Van Reypen; and after that she was fairly besieged by would-be partners. The fact that she was hostess at her own coming-out ball, the fact that she danced beautifully, and the fact that she was so pretty and charming, all combined to make her, as was not unusual, the most popular girl present.

“Anything left for me?” asked Roger, gaily, as he threaded the crowds at Patty’s side.

“I saved one for you,” said Patty, smiling at him; “for I hoped you’d ask me, sooner or later.”

Roger gratefully accepted the dance Patty had saved for him, and soon after he came to claim her for it.

“I say, Patty,” he began when they were whirling about the floor, “who is that stuff Mona has trailing after her?”

“Moderate your language, Roger,” said Patty, smiling up at him, and noticing that his expression was very wrathy indeed.

“He doesn’t deserve moderate language! He’s a bounder, if I ever saw one! What’s he doing here?”

“He seems to be dancing,” said Patty, demurely, “and he doesn’t dance half badly, either.”

“Oh, stop your fooling, Patty; I’m not in the mood for it. Tell me who he is.”

Patty had never known Roger to be so out of temper, and she resented his tone, which was almost rude. Now, for all her sweetness, Patty had a touch of perversity in her nature, and Roger had roused it. So she said: “I don’t know why you speak like that, Roger. He’s a friend of Mona’s, and lives at the Hotel Plaza, where she lives.”

“The fact that two people live in the same big hotel doesn’t give them the right to be friends,” growled Roger. “Who introduced them, anyhow?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Patty, her patience exhausted; “but Mr. Galbraith knows him, so it must be all right.”

Patty was not quite ingenuous in this speech, for she knew perfectly well, from what Mr. Galbraith had said to her, that it was not all right. But she was irritated by Roger’s demeanour, and perversely disagreed with him.

“Well, I don’t believe he’s all right; I don’t like his looks a bit, and, Patty, you know as well as I do, that the Galbraiths are not quite competent always to select the people best worth knowing.”

“Oh, what a fuss you are, Roger; and it’s hardly fair when you don’t know anything at all about Mr. Lansing.”

“Do you?”

“No,” and then Patty hesitated. She did know something,—she knew what Mr. Galbraith had told her. But she was not of a mind to tell this to Roger. “I only met him as I was introduced,” she said, “and Mona has never so much as even mentioned him to me.”

“Didn’t she ask you if she might bring him to-night?”