"Without an invitation!" Patty's voice sounded horrified.
"Yes;" impatiently. "Marie would invite you fast enough if she knew who you were."
"Perhaps she HAS invited me."
"No, she hasn't; I saw her list. It's a small party, not more than twenty. And I asked her about each one, and not one of the ladies seemed to correspond to your description."
"Who's going to sing?" asked Patty, calmly.
"Only two ladies; a Miss Curtiss and a Miss Fairfield."
"Perhaps I'm one of those."
"No; I asked Marie, and she says Miss Fairfield is a pretty little blonde, and Miss Curtiss is a tall, brown-haired young woman."
"Don't you know either of these ladies?"
"No; that is, I've never seen Miss Curtiss, but Marie says I met Miss
Fairfield one day, for a moment."
"Don't you remember her?"
"Hardly; she seemed an insignificant little thing."
"Pretty?"
"How do I know! She was all wrapped up in motor togs, and acted like a gawky schoolgirl."
"She did! Why, I know that Fairfield girl, and she isn't gawky a bit!
She's a fascinating blonde."
"No blonde can fascinate ME! MY girl is a poppy-cheeked brunette, and I'm going to catch her before long. Ah, DO come to Marie's party,—won't you?"
"I've never yet gone where I wasn't invited, and I don't propose to begin now. But if you can get Marie to invite me, I'll go."
"Don't be so cruel! I can't do more than I have in the matter. I've teased Marie to death over this thing, and she can't think who you can be, unless you're a Miss Galbraith. You're not, are you?"
"Gracious, no! I'm not Mona Galbraith!"
"I knew you weren't; Marie says SHE can't sing. Oh, dear, you're a perfect torment! Pretty princess,—pretty Princess Poppy-cheek, WON'T you take pity on your humble slave and adorer, and tell me your name?"
"No; but I'll tell you what I will do. I'll send you my photograph."
"Oh, you heavenly angel! You dear, beautiful princess! When will you send it? Don't wait for the morning; call a messenger, and send it to-night!"
"I'll do nothing of the sort. I'll send it to-morrow morning,—by messenger, if you like,—and if you'll promise not to ask the messenger who sent it."
"I'll promise that if you so ordain. I guess I can play cricket!"
"All right then; now listen, yourself. I shall send you three pictures. You pick out the one you think I am, and take it to Marie, and if you are right, she'll invite me. She knows me well enough, but she can't recognise me from your description."
"I don't think it's fair for you to play that way; but I'm dead sure I can pick out your picture from the three."
"All right then; good-night!" And Patty hung up the receiver with a snap.
Then she lay back in her big chair and indulged in a series of giggles.
"Sam Weller says," she said, to herself, "that the great art of letter writing is to break off suddenly and make 'em wish they was more,—and I expect that applies equally well to telephoning."
And she was quite right, for the impatient young man at the other end of the wire was chagrined indeed when the connection was cut off. He was too honourable to use any forbidden means of discovering Patty's identity, and so would not ask to see any telephone records, and was quite willing to promise not to quiz a messenger boy. And so, he could do nothing but wait impatiently for the promised photograph.
Meanwhile Miss Patricia Fairfield was looking over her portrait collection to see what ones to send. She had a box full of old photographs, but she wanted to select just the right ones.
But at last she tumbled them all on the table in a heap, and wisely decided to leave the decision till morning.
And so it happened, that when Nan came to Patty's room next morning, as she often did, she found that coquettish damsel, sitting up in bed, wrapped in a blue silk nightingale, and with a flower-decked lace cap somewhat askew on her tumbled curls.
Her breakfast tray sat untouched on its little stand, while on the counterpane were spread out some twoscore portraits of more or less beautiful maidens.
"What ARE you doing?" said Nan; "playing photograph solitaire?"
"I'm playing a game of photographs," said Patty, raising a pair of solemn blue eyes to Nan, "but it isn't exactly solitaire."
"You needn't tell ME! You're cutting up some trick with that new man of yours." And Nan deliberately brushed away some pictures, and sat down on the side of the bed.
"You're a wizard!" and Patty gazed at her stepmother. "You could have made your fortune, Nan, as a clairvoyant, telling people what they knew already! But since you're here, DO help me out." And Patty told Nan the scheme of the three photographs.
Now, Nan was only six years older than Patty herself, and she entered into the joke with almost as much enthusiasm as the younger girl.
"Shall you send one of your own, really?" she inquired.
"No; I think not. But I want to get three different types, just to fool him."
After much consideration the two conspirators selected a picture of a dark-eyed actress, who was pretty, but of rather flashy effects. Next they chose a picture of an intellectual young woman, with no pretension to beauty or style, and whose tightly drawn black hair and stiff white collar proclaimed a high brow. It was a picture of one of the girls in Patty's class, who had been noted for her intellect and her lack of a sense of humour.
"He'll know that isn't you, Patty," said Nan, objecting.
"No," said Patty, sapiently; "he's pretty clever, that young man, and probably he'll think I'm just that sort. Now for the third, Nancy."
It took a long time to select a third one, for Nan was in favour of a pretty girl, while Patty thought it would be more fun to send a plain one.
At last they agreed on a picture of another of Patty's school friends, who was of the willowy, die-away kind. She was a blonde, but of a pale, ashen-haired variety, not at all like Patty's Dresden china type. The pose was aesthetic, and the girl looked soulful and languishing.
"Just the thing!" cried Patty. "If he thinks I look like THAT, I'll never speak to him again!"
And so, amid great glee, the three pictures were made into a neat parcel, and addressed to Mr. Christopher Cameron.
"Now, for goodness' sake, Patty, eat your breakfast! Your chocolate is stone cold. I'll go down and call a messenger and despatch this precious bundle of beauty to its destination."
"All right," returned Patty, and, with a feeling of having successfully accomplished her task, she turned her attention to her breakfast tray.
CHAPTER V
THREE PICTURES
It was Tuesday morning that Patty had sent the pictures, and that same evening she was invited to dine and go to the opera with Mrs. Van Reypen.
Patty was a great favourite with the aristocratic old lady, and was frequently asked to the Van Reypen home. It is needless to say that Mrs. Van Reypen's nephew, Philip, usually managed to be present at any of his aunt's affairs that were graced by Patty's presence. And, indeed, it was an open secret that Mrs. Van Reypen would be greatly pleased if Patty would smile on the suit of her favourite and beloved nephew.
But Patty's smiles were uncertain. Sometimes it would suit her caprice to smile on Philip, and again she would positively snub him to such an extent that the young man was disgruntled for days at a time.
"But," as Patty remarked to herself, "if I'm nice to him, he takes too much for granted. So I have to discipline him to keep him where he belongs."
The dinner at the Van Reypen mansion was, as always, long and elaborate, and perhaps a trifle dull.
Mrs. Van Reypen's affection for Patty was of a selfish sort, and it never occurred to her to invite guests of Patty's age, or who could be entertaining to the girl.
And so to-night the other guests were an elderly couple by the name of Bellamy and a rather stupid, middle-aged bachelor,—Mr. Crosby. These with the two Van Reypens and Patty made up the whole party.
Patty found herself assigned to walk out to dinner with Mr. Crosby, but, as Philip sat on her other side, she had no fear of being too greatly bored.
But to her surprise the elderly bachelor turned out to be exceedingly interesting. He had travelled a great deal, and talked well about his experiences, and it was soon discovered that he and Patty had mutual friends in Paris, where Patty had spent the winter several years before.
"I do love to hear you talk," Patty declared, ingenuously, after Mr. Crosby had given her a thrilling and picturesque description of an incident in his trip to the Orient.
"Oh, thank you," Mr. Crosby returned, a little bewildered by this outright compliment, for he was unaccustomed to talking to young girls.
"But, you see," Patty went on, "I mustn't monopolise you. You know, it's etiquette to talk fifteen minutes to your neighbour on one side and then turn to your neighbour on the other."
"Bless my soul! you're quite right,—quite right!" and Mr. Crosby stared at Patty over his glasses. "How do you know so much, and you such a young thing?"
"Oh, I'm out," returned Patty, smiling, "and of course, when a girl comes out, she has to learn the rules of the game."
So Mr. Crosby turned to talk to the lady on his other side, and Patty turned to Philip, who looked a trifle sulky.
"Thought you were going to talk to that chap all evening," he growled, under his breath.
"I should like to," said Patty, sweetly, "he's SO interesting. But I can't monopolise him, you know. As I don't want to talk to a growly bear, I think, if you'll excuse me from polite conversation, I'll meditate for awhile."
"Meditate on your sins; it'll do you good!"
Patty opened her blue eyes wide and stared at the speaker. "Why," she said, "to meditate, one must have something to meditate on!"
"And you think you haven't any sins! Oh, would some power the giftie gi'e us!"
"To see ourselves as ithers see us," Patty completed the rhyme. "But you see, Philip, as I don't see any sins in myself, I can't meditate on the sins that ithers see in me, if I don't know what they are."
"Well, I'll tell you a big, black one! You simply ignored me for half an hour, while you jabbered to that duffer on the other side! Now meditate on THAT!"
Patty obediently cast down her eyes, and assumed a mournful expression.
She continued to sit thus without speaking; until Philip exclaimed:
"Patty, you little goose, stop your nonsense! What's the matter with you to-night, anyway?"
"Honestly, Philip," said Patty, very low, "your aunt's parties always make me want to giggle. They're heavenly parties, and I simply ADORE to be at them, but her friends are so—well, so aged, you know, and they seem to—well, to be so interested in their dinner."
"I'm my aunt's guest, and I'm not a bit interested in my dinner."
"Well, you may as well be, for I'm going to talk to Mr. Crosby now."
Seeing that Mr. Crosby's attention was unclaimed for the moment, Patty turned to him, saying, with great animation: "Oh, Mr. Crosby, MAY I ask you something? I'm AWFULLY ignorant, you know, and you're so wise."
"Yes, yes, what is it?" And the great Oriental scholar looked benignly at her over his glasses.
Now naughty Patty hadn't any question to ask, and she had only turned to her neighbour to tease Philip, so she floundered a little as she tried to think of some intelligent enquiry.
"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.