Patty's Friends. Wells Carolyn
I will, if I can manage it. My parents want me to go with them to Switzerland, but I’d much prefer to spend the summer in England. I have ever so many delightful invitations to country houses, and they seem to me a lot more attractive than travelling about. I suppose I ought to care more about seeing places, but I don’t.”
“You’re quite young enough yet,” said Mrs. Hartley, “to look forward to travelling in future years. I think some experiences of English life would be quite as advantageous for you.”
“I’ll tell father you said that,” said Patty. “Then perhaps he’ll let me have my own way. But he usually does that, anyway.”
“You’d love Cromarty Manor,” said Bob, enthusiastically. “It’s so beautiful in spring and early summer.”
“But not half as grand as other houses where Patty’s invited,” said Mabel, and again the shadow crossed her face that seemed always to come when she spoke of her country home.
“Grandeur doesn’t count in the country,” declared Bob. “That belongs to London life. Other places may be larger or in better condition than ours, but they can’t be more beautiful.”
“That is true,” said Mrs. Cromarty, in her quiet way, which always seemed to decide a disputed point. And then it was time to go home, and Mrs. Hartley sent Patty away in her carriage, with a maid to accompany her. The woman was middle-aged, with a pleasant voice and a capable manner. She chatted affably with Patty, and dilated a little on the glories of the Cromarty family.
Patty realised at once that she was an old family servant, and had earned a right to a little more freedom of speech than is usual to English domestics.
“Oh, yes, Miss,” she said; “it’s a wonnerful old place, that it is. And if the dear lady only ’ad the money as is ’ers by right, she’d keep it up lordly, that she would.”
Patty wondered what had become of the money in question, but Sarah said no more concerning it, and Patty felt she had no right to ask. “You live with them, then, in the country?” she said.
“Yes, Miss, I’ve allus lived with them. My mother was housekeeper at the Manor when Miss Emmeline married Mr. ’Artley. Oh, he was the fine gentleman. Dead now, this ten year come Whitsuntide. Master Bob, he’s the image of his father. Are you warm enough, Miss?”
Sarah’s quick transit from reminiscences to solicitude for her comfort almost startled Patty, but she was getting used to that peculiarity of the British mind.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, “and anyway, we’re home now. Here’s the Savoy.”
Mr. Fairfield and Nan had not yet arrived, so the good Sarah attended Patty to her own apartment and gave her over to Louise, who awaited her coming.
Louise helped her off with her pretty frock, and brought her a beribboned négligée, and Patty curled up in a big armchair in front of the fire to think over the evening.
“These wood-fires are lovely,” she said to herself, “and they do have most comfortable stuffed chairs over here, if they only knew enough to put rockers under them.”
Patty was a comfort-loving creature, and often bewailed the absence of the rocking-chairs so dear to her American heart. Soon her parents came in and found her sound asleep in the big chair.
She woke up, as her father kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Hello, Prince Charming,” she said, smiling gaily at the handsome man in evening clothes who stood looking down at her.
“I suppose you want a return compliment about the Sleeping Beauty,” he said, “but you won’t get it. Too much flattery isn’t good for a baby like you, and I shall reserve my pretty speeches for my wife.”
“Oh, I’ll share them with Patty,” laughed Nan, “but with no one else.”
“Tell us about your evening, girlie,” said her father. “Did you have a good time?”
“Fine,” said Patty. “The Hartleys are lovely people; I like them better than any I’ve met in London, so far. And they do puzzles, and ask riddles, and they’re just as clever and quick as Americans. I’ve heard that English people were heavy and stupid, and they’re not, a bit.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear. Are they a large family?” “Not very. Two sons, one daughter, and the mother and grandmother. Mabel’s father has been dead for years. And they want me to visit them at their home in Leicester this summer. Can’t I go?”
“Desert your own family for foreigners!”
“Yes; I do want to go there and to some other country places while you and Nan go touristing about. Mayn’t I?”
“We won’t decide now. It’s too near midnight for important matters to be discussed. Skip to bed, chickabiddy, and dream of the Stars and Stripes, lest you forget them entirely.”
“Never!” cried Patty, striking a dramatic attitude.
“Though English people may be grand,
My heart is in my native land!”
And humming the Star-spangled Banner, she went away to her own room.
CHAPTER III
THE WHITE LADY
“I feel in a gay mood,” said Nan, as she clasped Patty round the waist, and always ready for a dance, Patty fell into step, and the two waltzed round the room, while Patty sang tum-te-tum to the air of a popular song.
“As if you two ever felt any other way!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield, smiling at them from the depths of his easy chair. “But what does this gay mood betoken? I suppose you want to drag me out to the theatre or opera to-night.”
Mr. Fairfield’s pleasant smile belied his pretense at sharpness, and he waited to hear a reply.
“That would be lovely,” said Nan, “and we’ll go if you invite us. But what I had in mind is this: I’d like to dine in the Restaurant.”
“Good!” cried Mr. Fairfield. “I feel gay enough for that, myself, and we haven’t dined there for nearly a week.”
The Fairfields had a complete apartment of their own, and when not invited out, usually dined quietly in their own dining-room. But occasionally, when the mood took them, they dined in the great Savoy Restaurant, which was a festive pageant indeed.
Patty loved to sit at a table there, and watch the beautiful women in their elaborate gowns, and their handsome, stalwart escorts, who were sometimes in brave uniforms.
The splendid scene would have palled upon them, had they dined there every evening, but as a change from their small family dinner it was delightful.
“We’ll wear our dress-up frocks,” said Patty, “and perhaps my White Lady will be there again.”
“Your White Lady?” asked Nan. “Who is she?”
“That’s just what I can’t find out, though I’ve asked several people. But she’s the most beautiful lady, with a haughty, proud face, and sad eyes. She always wears white, and there’s an elderly lady who is sometimes with her. A strange-looking old lady in black, she is; and her face is like a hawk’s.”
“Oh, I remember those people; they always sit at the same table.” “Yes, I think they live here. But she is so sweet and lovely I’d like to know her. I make up stories about her all to myself. She’s like Ginevra or the Lady of Shalott.”
“You’re too fanciful, Patty. Probably she’s the Duchess of Hardscrabble.”
“She looks like a Duchess, anyway. And also, she looks like a simple, sweet, lovely lady. I’m going to ask father to find out who she is.”
A little later the Fairfields went down to dinner.
Nan wore an exquisite gown of embroidered yellow satin, and Patty wore a frilled white silk muslin. It was a little low at the throat, and was very becoming to her, and