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"What is it. Miss Fairfield?" prompted Mr. Crosby.
Patty cast a fleeting glance toward Philip, as if appealing for help, and that young man, though engaged in a desultory conversation, whispered under his breath, "Ask him about the Aztecs."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Crosby," said Patty, "it's about the—the Aztecs,—you know."
"Ah, yes, the Aztecs,—a most interesting race, MOST interesting, indeed. And what do you want to know about them, Miss Fairfield?"
Patty was tempted to say ALL about them, for her knowledge of the ancient people was practically nothing.
"Did they—did they—"
"Eat snails," said Philip, in a whisper.
"Did they eat snails, Mr. Crosby?" And Patty's big blue eyes were innocent of anything, save an intense desire to know about the Aztec diet.
"Snails?—snails?—well, bless my soul! I don't believe I know.
Important, too,—most important. I'll look it up, and let you know.
Snails—queer I DON'T know. I made a study of the Aztecs, and they are most interesting,—but as to snails—"
Apparently Mr. Crosby's mind was wrestling with the question.
"He's gone 'way back and sat down with the Aztecs," Philip murmured to
Patty, "so you ask questions of me."
"You don't know anything that I want to know."
"Then I'll ask a question of YOU."
Philip's voice was full of meaning, so Patty said hastily: "No, no; it isn't polite to ask questions in society; one should make observations."
"All right, observe me. That's what I'm here for. Observe me early and often, and I'll be only too well pleased."
"But that isn't what I'm here for. Your aunt invited me to be a pleasant dinner guest and so I have to make myself entertaining to my Aztec friend."
And then Patty turned again to Mr. Crosby, and by a few skilful hints she soon had him started on another description of his travelling experiences, and this time it proved so thrilling that all at the table were glad to listen to it.
After dinner the whole party went to the opera and occupied Mrs. Van
Reypen's box.
Patty was passionately fond of music, and never talked during a performance. Between the acts, she was a smiling chatterbox, but while the curtain was up, she behaved in most exemplary fashion. Mrs. Van Reypen knew this, or she would not have asked her, for that lady was old-fashioned in her ways, and had no patience with people who chattered while the great singers were pouring forth their marvellous notes.
[Illustration: After dinner the whole party went to the opera]
When the final curtain fell, Mrs. Van Reypen invited her guests to return to her house for supper, but Patty declined.
"Very well, my dear," said her hostess, "I think, myself, you're too young to be out any later than this. We will set you down at your own door, and you must hop right into bed and get your beauty sleep. Young things like you can't stay young unless you take good care of your pinky cheeks."
"But I don't want Patty to go home," Philip grumbled, to his aunt.
"Your wishes are not consulted, my boy; this is my party. You're merely my guest, and, if you don't behave yourself, you won't get invited again."
"That scares me dreadfully," and Philip lightly pinched his aunt's cheek. "I will be good, so I'll be asked again."
The big limousine stopped at Patty's door, and Philip escorted her up the steps.
"I think you might have come to supper," he said, reproachfully, as he touched the bell.
"It's too late," said Patty, decidedly; "and, besides, I have other plans for the rest of the evening."
And with this enigmatical announcement Philip was forced to be content, for Patty said good-night and vanished through the doorway.
"And, indeed, I HAVE other plans," Patty said, to herself. "I'm simply consumed with curiosity to know which of those three beauties that ridiculous Kit man likes the best. I'm going to call him up and see. I wish he could call me up,—it would suit me far better. But I suppose nobody can call anybody else up if nobody knows anybody else's name."
"Do you want any supper, Miss Patty?" asked Louise, as she unhooked
Patty's frock.
"No, thank you, I'm not a bit hungry. You might bring me a cup of milk and a biscuit, and then give me a kimono. I'm not going to bed just yet."
So Louise arranged everything just as Patty wanted it, and finally went away.
"May as well be comfortable," said Patty, as she tucked herself into a favourite big chair, with the telephone on a little stand beside her. "I suppose I'll run up a fine bill for extra time, but, after all, it's less extravagant than a good many other things. Wonder how much they charge for overtime. I must ask Daddy."
With a smile of anticipation Patty picked up the telephone.
"Hello!" said Mr. Cameron's eager voice. "I thought you'd never come.
I've been waiting since ten."
"I've been to the opera," said Patty, nonchalantly. "And you've NO reason to sit and wait for me! I'm not a dead certainty, like the sunrise or the postman."
"You're more welcome than either."
"Now that's a real pretty speech. Are you a poet?"
"Only to you."
"Did you get the pictures?" Patty was unable longer to restrain her impatience.
"Of course I got the pictures. I knew yours at once! You needn't think you can fool ME."
"Which was mine? The girl with the black curls?"
"Mercy, no! I know you're not THAT type. She looks like an actress, and hasn't a brain in her silly head. And you're not that lackadaisical lily-like one, either. Oh, I know YOU! You're that delightful, sensible, really brainy girl with the smooth black hair."
"Oh, I AM, am I?"
"Yes; and I'm SO glad you're not a rattle-pated beauty! What's a pretty face compared to real mind and intellect!"
Patty was furious. She didn't aspire to nor desire this great mind and intellect, and she was quite satisfied with the amount of brains in her pretty, curly head.
"I don't think much of your taste!" she exclaimed.
"Why! you don't want me to be disappointed because you're not pretty, do you?"
"But I AM pretty."
"Yes; as I said, the beauty of deep thought and education shines from your clear eyes. That is far better than dimples and curls."
Patty shook her curls at the telephone and her dimples came and went with her varying emotions.
"Why, I shouldn't like you half as well if you were pretty," Mr. Cameron went on. "The only things I consider worth while are seriousness and scholarship. These you have in abundance, as I can see at once from your picture."
"And how do you like the way I dress?"
"It suits your type exactly. That large black-and-white check denotes a mind far above the frivolities of fashion, and that stiff white collar, to my mind, indicates a high order of mentality."
"I think you're perfectly horrid!" And this exclamation seemed wrung from the depths of Patty's soul.
A ringing laugh answered her—a laugh so hearty and so full of absolute enjoyment that Patty listened in astonishment.
"Poor little Princess Poppycheek! It's a shame to tease her! WAS she maligned by a bad, horrid man that she doesn't even know? There, Little Girl, don't cry! I know perfectly well that stiff old schoolmarm isn't you! Now, will you tell me who you are, and what you really look like?"
Patty had to think quickly. She had supposed that Cameron meant what he said, but after all he was fooling her. And she had thought she fooled him!
"Which is me, then?" she said, in a small, low voice.
"None of 'ern! You goosie! To think you could fool ME. In the first place, I knew you wouldn't send your own photograph; and when I saw those three charming specimens, in out-of-date clothes, I knew you had ransacked your album to find them. However, I took the whole bunch down to Marie, and she vowed she had never laid eyes on one of them before. So there, now!"
"Then we're just back where we started from," said Patty, cheerfully.
"Yes; but, if you'll come to the musicale on Friday night, we can make great progress in a short time."
"I told you I'd go, if you would persuade Marie to invite me."
"Nonsense! I believe she HAS invited you. I believe you're Miss
Curtiss. SHE has dark hair."
"Why not that other singer, Miss Fairfield?"
"Oh, Marie says she's a blonde. The 'raving beauty' sort. I detest that kind. I know she's vain."
"Yes, she is. I hate to speak against another girl, but I know that
Patty Fairfield, and she IS vain."
"Well, never mind about Patty Fairfield She doesn't interest me a bit.
But what about you? Will you come to the party? Oh, DO-ee,
DO-ee,—now,—as my old Scotch nurse used to say. Come to your waiting
knight!"
Kit's voice was very wheedlesome, and Patty was moved to encourage him a little.
"Do you know,—I almost think—that maybe—possibly—perhaps, I WILL go."
"Really? Oh, Poppycheek, I'm SO glad! I do want to see My Girl!"
"YOUR girl, indeed!"
"Yes; mine by right of discovery."
"But you haven't discovered me yet."
"But I will,—on Friday night. You'll TRULY come, WON'T you?"
"Honest, I've never been where I wasn't invited—"
"But this is different–"
"Yes,—it IS different–"
"Oh, then you will come! Goody, GOODY! I'm so glad!"
"Don't break the telephone with your gladness! Suppose I DO come, how will you know me? How will you know that it is I?"
"Oh, I'll know! 'I shall know it, I shall feel it, something subtle will reveal it, for a glory round thee hovers that will lighten up the gloom.'"
"Oh, you ARE a poet."
"I am a poet, but I didn't write that. However, it was only because the other fellow got ahead of me."
"Who was he? Who wrote it?"
"I'll tell you Friday night. Come early, won't you?" "No; I always get to a party late."
"Don't be too late. I want to play to you. And will you sing?"
"Mercy, gracious! I might go to a party without being invited, but I can't SING without being asked. You tell Marie I'm coming, will you?"
"You bet I will. What shall you wear?"
"What's your favourite colour?"
"Red."
"Red is becoming to brunettes; but I haven't any red evening gown. How about yellow?"
"All right, wear yellow. I shall adore you in any colour."
"Well; perhaps I'll come, and perhaps I won't. Good-night."
Patty hung up the receiver with a sudden click, and Mr. Kit Cameron was left very much in doubt as to whether the whole thing was a joke or not.
CHAPTER VI
PRINCESS POPPYCHEEK
On the night of the musicale at Marie Homer's, her talented cousin arrived long before any guests were expected.
"I couldn't wait, Aunt Frances," he said, as Mrs. Homer greeted him.
"I'm so impatient to see My Girl."
Kit had told the Homers of the telephone conversations, because he was so anxious to find out his lady's name. Of course, he had not told all they said, and from his incoherent ravings about a black-haired beauty Marie never guessed he could mean Patty.
"You're a foolish boy, Kit," said his Aunt.
"I don't believe that girl is any one we know, but is some mischievous hoyden who is leading you a dance. You won't see her to-night,—if you ever do."
"Then I shall think up the easiest death possible, and die it," declared Kit, cheerfully. "Why, you know, Aunt Frances, I never took any interest in a girl before, except of course Marie and Bee, but this girl is so different from everybody else in the world. Her voice is like a chime of silver bells,—and her laugh–"
"There, there, Kit, I haven't time to listen to your rhapsodies! You're here altogether too early, and you'll have to excuse me, for I have some household matters to look after. Marie isn't quite dressed yet, so you'll have to amuse yourself for awhile. Play some sentimental music on your violin, if that fits your mood."
With a kindly smile at her nephew, Mrs. Homer bustled away, and Kit was left alone in the music-room.
He played some soft, low music for a time, and then Marie came in.
"You're an old goose, Kit," she remarked, affectionately, "to think that mysterious girl of yours will be here to-night. There isn't anybody who knows me well enough to come without an invitation, that I haven't already invited. I've added to my list of invitations until it now numbers about thirty, and that's all the really musical friends I have. If this girl of yours sings as well as you say, she's probably a soubrette or a chorus girl."
"Nothing of the sort!" Kit exclaimed. "She's the sweetest, daintiest, refinedest, culturedest little thing you ever saw!"
"How do you know? You haven't seen her."
"No, but I've talked with her. I guess I know." And Kit turned decidedly sulky, for he began to think it WAS rather doubtful about his seeing his girl that evening.
And then the guests began to arrive, and Mr. Kit put on a smiling face and made himself agreeable to his cousin's friends.
Patty came among the latest arrivals. She looked her prettiest in a filmy gown of pale-blue chiffon, with touches of silver embroidery. An ornament in her hair was of silver filigree, with a wisp of pale-blue feather, and her cheeks were a little pinker than usual.
Kit glanced at her as she came in, and, though he noticed that she was an extremely pretty girl, he immediately glanced away again and continued his watch for the black-eyed girl he expected. The room was well filled by this time, and Patty took a seat near the front, where sat a group of her intimate friends. They greeted her gaily, and Kit, on the other side of the room, paid no attention to them.
The programme began with a duet by Kit on his violin, and his Cousin
Marie at the piano.
The man was really a virtuoso, and his beautiful playing held the audience spellbound. Patty watched him, enthralled with his music, and admiring, too, his generally worth-while appearance.
"He does look awfully jolly," she thought, to herself, "and it's plain to be seen he has brains. I wonder if he will be terribly disappointed in me, after all. I've a notion to run away."
For the first time in her life Patty felt shy about singing. Usually she had no trace of self-consciousness, but to-night she experienced a feeling of embarrassment she had never known before. She realized this, and scolded herself roundly for it. "You idiot!" she observed, mentally, to her own soul; "if you want to make a good impression, you'd better stop feeling like a simpleton. Now brace up, and do the best you can, and behave yourself!"
Miss Curtiss sang before Patty did. She was a sweet-faced young woman, with a beautiful and well-trained contralto voice. Patty cast a furtive glance at Kit Cameron, and found that he was looking intently at the singer. She knew perfectly well he was wondering whether this might be the girl of the telephone conversations, and she saw, too, that he decided in the negative, for he shook his head slightly, but with conviction.
Suddenly the humour of the whole situation struck Patty. The incident was not serious, but humorous, and as soon as she realised this her shyness disappeared, and the spirit of mischief once again took possession of her. She knew now she would do herself credit when she sang, and when her turn came she rose and walked slowly and gracefully to the platform which had been temporarily placed for the musicians.
Marie was to play her accompaniment, and Patty had expected to sing first a somewhat elaborate aria, using "Beware" as an encore.
But as she reached the platform, and as she noticed Kit Cameron's face, its expression politely interested, but in no wise enthusiastic, she suddenly changed her mind. She put the music of "Beware" on the piano rack, and murmured to Marie, "This one first."
Marie looked puzzled, but of course she couldn't say anything as Patty stood waiting to begin.
For some reason Patty was always at her prettiest when she sang. She thoroughly enjoyed singing, and she enjoyed the evident pleasure it gave to others. She stood gracefully, her hands lightly clasped before her, and the added excitement of this particular occasion gave a flush to her cheek and a sparkle to her blue eyes that made her positively bewitching.
And then she sang the foolish little song, "Beware," just as she had sung it over the telephone, coquettishly, but without artificiality or forced effect.
She scarcely dared look at Kit Cameron. A fleeting glance showed her that he was probably at that moment the most nonplussed young man in existence.
She looked away quickly, lest her voice should falter from amusement.
Luckily, all the audience were regarding Patty attentively, and had no eyes for the astonished face of Kit Cameron. He had taken no special interest in the blonde singer, but when her first notes, rang out he started in surprise. As the voice continued he knew at once it was the same voice he had heard over the telephone, but he couldn't reconcile the facts. He caught the fleeting glance she gave him, he saw the roguish smile in her eyes, and he was forced to believe that this girl was his dark-eyed unknown.
"The little rascal!" he said, to himself. "The scamp! the rogue! How she has tricked me! To think she was Patty Fairfield all the time! No wonder Marie didn't know whom I was talking about! Well!"
As the song finished no one applauded more enthusiastically than Kit
Cameron.
But Patty would not look toward him, and proceeded to sing as an encore the aria she had intended to sing first.
She was in her best voice, and she sang this beautifully, and, if the audience was surprised at the unusual order of the selections, they were unstinted in their applause.
Leaving the stage, instead of returning to her seat, Patty stepped back into the next room, which was the library.
Cameron was there to receive her. He had felt sure she would not return to the audience immediately, and he took the chance.
He held out both hands and Patty laid her hands in his.
"Captive Princess," he murmured.
"My Knight!" Patty whispered, and flashed a smile at him.
"Can you EVER forgive the things I said?" he asked, earnestly, as he led her across the room and they sat down on a divan.
"There's nothing to forgive," she said, smiling; "you detest blondes, I know, but I'm thinking seriously of dyeing my hair black."
"Don't! that would be a sacrilege! And you MUST remember that I told you I always adored blondes, until you told me you were brunette."
"But I didn't," said Patty, laughing. "Somehow you got the notion that I was dark, and I didn't correct it. Are you TERRIBLY disappointed in me?"
Naughty Patty raised her heavenly blue eyes and looked so like a fair, sweet flower that Kit exclaimed:
"Disappointed! You are an angel, straight from heaven!"
"Nonsense! If you talk like that, I shall run away."
"Don't run away! I'll talk any way you like, but now that I have found you I shall keep you. But I am still in depths of self-abasement. Didn't I say most unkind things about Miss Fairfield?"
"No unkinder than I did. We both jumped on her, and said she was vain and horrid."
"I never said such dreadful things! I'm sure I didn't. But, if I did, I shall spend the rest of my life making up for it. And I called you Poppycheek!"
Cameron looked at Patty's cheeks in such utter dismay that she laughed outright.
"But you know," she said, "there are pink poppies as well as scarlet.
Incidentally there are white and there are saffron yellow."
"So there are," said Cameron, delightedly. "How you DO help a fellow out! Well, yours are just the colour of a soft, dainty pink poppy that is touched by the sunlight and kissed by a summer breeze."
"I knew you were a poet," said Patty, smiling, "but I don't allow even a summer breeze to kiss my cheeks."
"I should hope not! A summer breeze is altogether too promiscuous with its kisses. I hope you don't allow any kisses, except those of your own particular swansdown powder puff."
"Of course I don't!" laughed Patty, and then she blushed furiously as she suddenly remembered how Farnsworth had kissed both her cheeks the night of Christine's wedding.
"I see you're blushing at a memory," said Cameron, coolly; "I suppose the powder puff was too audacious."
"Yes, that's it," said Patty, her liking for this young man increased by the pleasantry of his light banter. "And now we must return to the music-room. I came here a moment to catch my breath after singing; but how did you happen to be here?"
"I knew you'd come here; ostensibly, of course, to catch your breath, but really because you knew I'd be here."
"You wretch!" cried Patty. "How dare you say such things! I never dreamed you'd be here; if I had, I shouldn't have come."
"Of course you wouldn't, you little coquette! It's your nature to be perverse and capricious. But your sweet good-humour won't let you carry those other traits too far. Oh, I know you, My Girl!"
"I object to that phrase from you," Patty said, coldly, "and I must ask you not to use it again."
"But you ARE my girl, by right of discovery. By the way, you're not anybody else's girl, are you?"
"Just what do you mean by that?"
"Well, in other words, then, are you engaged, betrothed, plighted, promised, bespoke–"
Patty burst out laughing. "I'm not any of those things," she said, "but, if ever I am, I shall be bespoke. I think that's the loveliest word! Fancy being anybody's Bespoke!"
"Of course, it's up to me to give you an immediate opportunity," said Cameron, sighing. "But somehow I don't quite dare bespeak you on such short acquaintance."
"Faint heart–"
"Oh, it isn't that! I'm brave enough. But I'm an awfully punctilious man. If I were going to bespeak you, now, I should think it my duty to go first to your father and correctly ask his permission to pay my addresses to his daughter."
"Good gracious! How do you pay addresses? I never had an address paid to me in my life."
"Shall I show you how?" And Cameron jumped up and fell on one knee before Patty, with a comical expression of a make-believe love-sick swain.
Patty dearly loved fooling, and she smiled back at him roguishly, and just at that moment Philip Van Reypen came into the room.
In the dim half-light he descried Patty on the divan and Cameron kneeling before her, and, as Mr. Van Reypen was blessed with a quick temper, he felt a sudden desire to choke the talented Mr. Cameron.
"Patty!" Philip exclaimed, angrily.
"Yes, Philip," said Patty, in a voice of sweet humility.
"Come with me," was the stern command.
"Yes, Philip," and Patty arose and walked away with Van Reypen, leaving
Kit Cameron still on his knee.
"Well, I'll be hammered!" that gentleman remarked, as he rose slowly and deliberately dusted off his knee with his handkerchief; "that girl is a wonder! She's full of the dickens, but she's as sweet as a peach. I always did like blondes best, whether she believes it or not. But if I hadn't, I should now. There's only one girl in the world for me. I wonder if she is mixed up with that Van Reypen chap. He had a most proprietary manner, but all the same, that little witch is quite capable of scooting off like that, just to tease me. Oh, I'll play her own game and meet her on her own ground. Little Poppycheek!" With a nonchalant air, Mr. Cameron sauntered back to the music-room, and seated himself beside Miss Curtiss, with whom he struck up an animated conversation, not so much as glancing at Patty.
Patty observed this from the corner of her eye, and she nodded her head in approval.
"He's worth knowing," she thought; "I'll have a lot of fun with him."
The programme was almost over, but Kit was to play once again. With Marie, he played a fine selection, and then, as he was tumultuously encored, he went back to the platform alone. Without accompaniment he played the little song, "Beware," that Patty had sung, and, improvising, he made a fantasia of the air. He was clever as well as skilled, and he turned the simple little melody into thrilling, rollicking music with trills and roulades until the original theme was almost lost sight of, only to crop up again with new intensity.
Patty listened, enthralled. She loved this sort of thing, and she knew he was playing to her and for her. The strains would be now softly romantic, now grandly triumphant, but ever recurring to the main motive, until one seemed fairly to see the fickle maiden of the song.