"You may as well make it the Patty Club," said Elise, "as I suppose it will always meet here."

Though not really jealous of her friend's popularity, Elise always resented the fact that the young people would rather be at Patty's than at her own home.

The reason was, that the Fairfield house, though handsomely appointed, was not so formally grand as the Farringtons', and there was always an atmosphere of cordiality and hospitality at Patty's, while at Elise's it was oppressively formal and dignified.

"Oh, pshaw," said Patty, ignoring Elise's unkind intent; "I won't have you always here. We'll take turns, of course."

"All right," said Elise; "every other week at my house and every other week here. But don't you think we ought to have more than four members?"

"No, I don't," declared Kenneth, promptly. "And we don't want any musical nonsense, or any dramatic foolishness, either. Let's just have fun; if it's pleasant weather, we'll go skating, or sleighing, or motoring, or whatever you like; if it isn't, we'll stay indoors, or go to a matinee or concert, or something like that."

"Lovely!" cried Elise. "But if we're to go to matinees, we'll have to meet Saturdays."

"Or Wednesdays," amended Patty. "Let's meet Wednesdays. I 'most always have engagements on Saturdays."

"All right; shall we call it the Wednesday Club, then?"

"No, Elise," said Roger, gravely. "That's too obvious; we will call it the Thursday Club, because we meet on Wednesday; see?"

"No, I don't see," said Elise, looking puzzled.

"Why," explained Roger, "you see we'll spend all day Thursday thinking over the good time we had on Wednesday!"

"But that isn't the real reason," said Patty, giggling. "The real reason we call it the Thursday Club is because it meets on Wednesday!"

"That's it, Patsy!" said Ken, approvingly, for he and Patty had the same love for nonsense, though more practical Elise couldn't always understand it.

"Well, then, the Thursday Club will meet here next Wednesday," said Patty; "unless I am otherwise engaged."

For she just happened to think, that on that day she might be again attempting to earn her fifteen dollars.

"What's the Thursday Club? Mayn't I belong?" said a pleasant voice, and Mr. Hepworth came in.

"Oh, how do you do?" cried Patty, jumping up, and offering both hands. "I'm so glad to see you. Do sit down."

"I came round," said Mr. Hepworth, after greeting the others, "in hopes I could corral a cup of tea. I thought you ran a five-o'clock tea-room."

"We do," said Patty, ringing a bell nearby. "That is, we always have tea when Nan is home; and we can just as well have it when she isn't."

"I suppose you young people don't care for tea," went on Mr. Hepworth, looking a little enviously at the merry group, who, indeed, didn't care whether they had tea or not.

"Oh, yes, we do," said Patty. "We love it. But we,—we just forgot it. We were so engrossed in organising a club."

But the others did not follow up this conversational beginning, and even before the tea was brought, Elise said she must go.

"Nonsense!" said Patty; "don't go yet."

But Elise was decided, so away she went, and of course, Roger went too.

"And I'm going," said Kenneth, as Patty, having followed Elise out into the hall, he joined them there.

"Oh; don't you go, Ken," said Patty.

"Yes, I'd rather. When Hepworth comes you get so grown-up all of a sudden. With your 'Oh, how do you do?' and your tea."

Kenneth mimicked Patty's voice, which did sound different when she spoke to Mr. Hepworth.

"Ken, you're very unjust," said Patty, her cheeks flushing; "of course I have to give Mr. Hepworth tea when he asks for it; and if I seem more 'grown-up' with him, it's because he's so much older than you are."

"He is, indeed! About twelve years older! Too old to be your friend. He ought to be calling on Mrs. Fairfield."

"He is. He calls on us both. I think you're very silly!"

This conversation had been in undertones, while Elise was donning her hat and furs, and great was her curiosity when Patty turned from Kenneth, with an offended or hurt expression on her face.

"What's the matter with you two?" she asked, bluntly.

"Nothing," said Ken, looking humble. "Patty's been begging me to be more polite to the goldfish."

"Nonsense!" laughed Patty; "your manners are above reproach, Ken."

"Thanks, fair lady," he replied, with a Chesterfieldian bow, and then the three went away.

"Did I drive off your young friends, Patty?" said Mr. Hepworth, as she returned to the library, where Jane was already setting forth the tea things.

Patty was nonplussed. He certainly had driven them away, but she couldn't exactly tell him so.

"You needn't answer," he said, laughing at her dismayed expression. "I am sorry they don't like me, but until you show that you don't, I shall continue to come here."

"I hope you will," said Patty, earnestly. "It isn't that they don't like you, Mr. Hepworth; it's that they think you don't like them."

"What?"

"Oh, I don't mean exactly that; but they think that you think they're children,—almost, and you're bored by them."

"I'm not bored by you, and you're a child,—almost."

"Well, I don't know how it is," said Patty, throwing off all responsibility in the matter; "but I like them and I like you, and yet, I'd rather have you at different times."

"Which do you like better?" asked Mr. Hepworth. He knew it was a foolish question, but it was uttered almost involuntarily.

"Them!" said Patty, but she gave him such a roguish smile as she said it, that he almost thought she meant the opposite.

"Still," she went on, with what was palpably a mock regret, "I shall have to put up with you for the present; so be as young as you can. How many lumps, please?"

"Two; you see I can be very young."

"Yes," said Patty, approvingly; "it is young to take two lumps. But now tell me something about Miss Farley. Have you heard from her or of her lately?"

"Yes, I have," said Mr. Hepworth, as he stirred his tea. "That is, I've heard of her. My friend, down in Virginia, who knows Miss Farley, has sent me another of her sketches, and it proves more positively than ever that the girl has real genius. But, Patty, I want you to give up this scheme of yours to help her. It was good of your father to make the offer he did, but I don't want you racing around to these dreadful places looking for work. I'm going to get some other people interested in Miss Farley, and I'm sure her art education can be managed in some way. I'd willingly subscribe the whole sum needed, myself, but it would be impossible to arrange it that way. She'd never accept it, if she knew; and it's difficult to deceive her."

Patty looked serious.

"I don't wonder you think I can't do what I set out to do," she said slowly, "for I've made so many ridiculous failures already. But please don't lose faith in me, yet. Give me one or two more chances."

Mr. Hepworth looked kindly into Patty's earnest eyes.

"Don't take this thing too seriously," he said.

"But I want to take it seriously. You think I'm a child,—a butterfly. I assure you I am neither."

"I think you're adorable, whatever you are!" was on the tip of Gilbert Hepworth's tongue; but he did not say it.

Though he cared more for Patty than for anything on earth, he had vowed to himself the girl should never know it. He was thirty-five, and Patty but eighteen, and he knew that was too great a discrepancy in years for him ever to hope to win her affections.

So he contented himself with an occasional evening call, or once in a while dropping in at tea time, resolved never to show to Patty herself the high regard he had for her.

She had told him of her various unsuccessful attempts at "earning her living," and he deeply regretted that he had been the means of bringing about the situation.

He did not share Mr. Fairfield's opinion that the experience was a good one for Patty, and would broaden her views of humanity in general, and teach her a few worth-while lessons.

"Please give up the notion," he urged, after they had talked the matter over.

"Indeed I won't," returned Patty. "At least, not until I've proved to my own satisfaction that my theories are wrong. And I don't think yet that they are. I still believe I can earn fifteen dollars a week, without having had special training for any work. Surely I ought to have time to prove myself right."

"Yes, you ought to have time," said Mr. Hepworth, gently, "but you ought not to do it at all. It's an absurd proposition, the whole thing. And as I, unfortunately, brought it about, I want to ask you, please, to drop it."

"No, sir!" said Patty, gravely, but wagging a roguish forefinger at him; "people can't undo their mistakes so easily. If, as you say, you brought about this painful situation, then you must sit patiently by and watch me as I flounder about in the various sloughs of despond."

"Oh, Patty, don't! Please drop it all,—for my sake!"

Patty looked up in surprise at his earnest tones, but she only laughed gaily, and said:

"Nixy! Not I! Not by no means! But I'll give in to this extent. I'll agree not to make more than three more attempts. If I can't succeed in three more efforts, I'll give up the game, and confess myself a butterfly and an idiot."

"The only symptoms of idiocy are shown in your making three more attempts," said Mr. Hepworth, who was almost angry at Patty's persistence.

"Oh, pooh! I probably shan't make three more! I just somehow feel sure I'll succeed the very next time."

"A sanguine idiot is the most hopeless sort," said Mr. Hepworth, with a resigned air. "May I ask what you intend to attempt next?"

"You may ask, but you can't be answered, for I don't yet know, myself. I've two or three tempting plans, but I don't know which to choose. I've thought of taking a place as cook."

"Patty! don't you dare do such a thing! To think of you in a kitchen,—under orders! Oh, child, how can you?"

Patty laughed outright at Mr. Hepworth's dismay.

"Cheer up!" she cried; "I didn't mean it! But you think skilled labour is necessary, and truly, I'm skilled in cooking. I really am."

"Yes, chafing-dish trifles; and fancy desserts."

"Well, those are good things for a cook to know."

"Patty, promise me you won't take any sort of a servant's position."

"Oh, I can't promise that. I fancy I'd make a rather good lady's-maid or parlour-maid. But I promise you I won't be a cook. Much as I like to fuss with a chafing-dish, I shouldn't like to be kept in a kitchen and boil and roast things all the time."

"I should say not! Well, since I can't persuade you to give up your foolish notion, do go on, and get through with your three attempts as soon as possible. Remember, you've promised not more than three."

"I promise," said Patty, with much solemnity, and then Nan and Mr. Fairfield came in.

Mr. Hepworth appealed at once to Mr. Fairfield, telling him what he had already told Patty.

"Nonsense, Hepworth," said Patty's father, "I'm glad you started the ball rolling. It hasn't done Patty a bit of harm, so far, and it will be an experience she'll always remember. Let her go ahead; she can't succeed, but she can have the satisfaction of knowing she tried."

"I'm not so sure she can't succeed," said Nan, standing up for Patty, who looked a little crestfallen at the remarks of her father.

"Good for you, Nan!" cried Patty; "I'll justify your faith in me yet. I know Mr. Hepworth thinks I'm good for nothing, but Daddy ought to know me better."

Mr. Hepworth seemed not to notice this petulant outburst, and only said:

"Remember, you've promised to withdraw from the arena after three more conflicts."

"They won't be conflicts," said Patty, "and there won't be but one, anyway!"

"So much the better," said Mr. Hepworth, calmly.



CHAPTER XIV

MRS. VAN REYPEN

It was about a week later. Nothing further had been said or done in the matter of Patty's "occupation," and Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield wondered what plan was slowly brewing under the mop of golden curls.

Mr. Hepworth began to hope his words had had an effect after all, and was about to lay the case of Miss Farley before some other true and tried friends.

But he had practically promised Patty to give her time for three more attempts; so he waited.

One day Patty came into the house just in time for luncheon.

"Nan," she said, as they sat down at the table, "I've struck it right this time!"

"In-deed!" said Nan, raising her eyebrows, quizzically.

"Yes, I have! You needn't laugh like that."

"I didn't laugh."

"Yes, you did,—behind your eyes, but I saw you! Now, as I tell you, this time conquers!"

"Good for you, Patsy! Let me congratulate you. Let me do it now, lest I shouldn't be able to do it later."

"Huh! I thought you had faith in me."

"And so I have, Patty girl," said Nan, growing serious all at once. "I truly have. Also, I'll help you, if I can."

"That's just it, Nan. You can help me this time, and I'm going to tell you all about it, before I start in."

"Going to tell me now?"

"Yes, because I go this afternoon."

"Go where?"

"That's just it. I go to take a position as a companion to an elderly lady. And I shall stay a week. I'll take some clothes in a suitcase, or small trunk, and after I'm gone, you must tell father, and make it all right with him."

"But, Patty, he said at the outset, you must be home by five o'clock every day, whatever you were doing."

"Yes; but that referred to occupations by the day. Now, that I've decided to take this sort of a position, which is really more appropriate to a lady of my 'social standing,' you must explain to him that I can't come home at five o'clock, because I have to stay all the time, nights and all."

"Patty, you're crazy!"

"No, I'm not. I'm determined; I'm even stubborn, if you like; but I'm going! So, that's settled. Now, you said you'd help me. Are you going to back out?"

"No; I'm not. But I can't approve of it."

"Oh, you can, if you try hard enough. Just think how much properer it is for me to be companion to a lovely lady in her own house, than to be racing around lower Broadway for patchwork!"

"That's so," said Nan, and then she realised that if she knew where Patty was going, they could go and bring her home at any time, if Mr. Fairfield wished.

"Well," she went on, "who's your lovely lady?"

"Mrs. Van Reypen."

"Patty Fairfield! Not the Mrs. Van Reypen?"

"Yes, the very one! Isn't it gay? She's a bit eccentric, and she advertised for a companion, saying the application must be a written one. So I pranced up to her house this morning, and secured the position."

"But she said to apply by letter."

"Yes; that's why I went myself! I sent up my card, and a message that I had come in answer to her advertisement. She sent back word that I could go home and write to her. I said I'd write then and there. So I helped myself to her library desk, and wrote out a regular application. In less than five minutes, I was summoned to her august presence, and after looking me over, she engaged me at once. How's that for quick action?"

"But does she know who you are?"

"Why, she knows my name, and that's all."

"But she's a,—why, she's sort of an institution."

"Yes; I know she's a public benefactor, and all that. But, really, she's very interesting; though, I fancy she has a quick temper. However, we've made the agreement for a week. Then if either of us wants to back out, we're at liberty to do so."

"She was willing to arrange it that way?"

"She insisted on it. She never takes anybody until after a week's trial."

"What are your duties?"

"Oh, almost nothing. I'm not a social secretary, or anything like that. Merely a companion, to be with her, and read to her occasionally, or perhaps sing to her, and go to drive with her,—and that's about all."

"No one else in the family?"

"I don't think so. She didn't speak of any one, except her secretary and servants. She's rather old-fashioned, and the house is dear. All crystal chandeliers, and old frescoed walls and ceilings, and elaborate door-frames. Why, Nan, it'll be fun to be there a week, and it's so,—well, so safe and pleasant, you know, and so correct and seemly. Why, if I really had to earn my own living, I couldn't do better than to be companion to Mrs. Van Reypen."

"No; I suppose not. What is the salary?"

"Ah, that's the beauty of it! It's just fifteen dollars a week. And as I get 'board and lodging' beside, I'm really doing better than I agreed to."

"I don't like it, Patty," said Nan, after a few moments' thought. "But it's better, in some ways, than the other things you've done. Go on, and I'll truly do all I can to talk your father into letting you stay there a week; but if he won't consent, I can't help it."

"Why, of course he'll consent, Nan, if you put it to him right. You can make him see anything as you see it, if you try. You know you can."

"Well, go ahead. I suppose a week will pass; and anyway, you'll probably come flying home after a couple of days."

"No; I'm going to stay the week, if it finishes me. I'm tired of defeats; this time I conquer. You may help me pack, if you like."

"You won't need many frocks, will you?" said Nan, as they went up to Patty's room.

"No; just some light, dressy things for evening,—she's rather formal,—and some plain morning gowns."

Nan helped Patty with her selection, and a small trunk was filled with what they considered an appropriate wardrobe for a companion.

At about four o'clock Patty started, in the motor-car.

Mrs. Van Reypen received her pleasantly, and as they sat chatting over a cup of tea, Patty felt more like an honoured guest than a subordinate.

Then Mrs. Van Reypen dismissed her, saying:

"Go to your room now, my dear, and occupy yourself as you choose until dinner-time. Dinner is at seven. There will be no guests, but you will wear a light, pretty gown, if you please. I am punctilious in such matters."

Patty went to her room, greatly pleased with the turn events had taken. She wished she could telephone home how pleasantly she was getting along; but she thought wiser not to do that so soon.

As it neared dinner-time, she put on one of her prettiest dresses, a light blue chiffon, with a touch of silver embroidery round the half-low throat and short sleeves.

A few minutes before seven, she went slowly down the dark, old staircase, with its massive newels and balusters.

As she reached the middle steps, she observed an attractive, but bored-looking young man in the hall.

He had not noticed her light steps, and Patty paused a moment to look at him. As she stood, wondering who he might be, he chanced to turn, and saw her.

The young man ran his eyes swiftly, from the cloud of blue chiffon, up to the smiling face, with its crown of massed golden hair, which a saucy bow of blue ribbon did its best to hold in place.

His face promptly lost its bored expression, and with his hands still in his pockets, he involuntarily breathed a long, low whistle.

The sound seemed to bring back his lost wits, and quickly drawing his hands into view, he stepped forward, saying:

"I beg your pardon for that unconventional note of admiration, but I trust you will accept it as the tribute for which it was meant."

This was an easy opening, and Patty was quite ready to respond gaily, when she suddenly remembered her position in the house and wondered if a companion ought to speak to a strange young man in the same language a young person in society might use.

"Thank you," she said, uncertainly, and her shy hesitation completely captured the heart of Philip Van Reypen.

"Come on down; I won't eat you," he said, reassuringly. "You are, I assume, a guest of my aunt's."

"I am Mrs. Van Reypen's companion," said Patty, but though she made the announcement demurely enough, the funny side of it all struck her so forcibly that she had difficulty to keep the corners of her mouth from showing her amusement.

"By Jove!" exclaimed the young man, "Aunty Van always is lucky! Now, I'm her nephew."

"Does that prove her good luck?" said Patty, unable to be prim in the face of this light gaiety.

"Yes, indeed! Come on down, and get acquainted, and you'll agree with me."

"I don't believe I ought to," said Patty, hesitatingly placing one little satin-slippered foot on the next step below, and then pausing again. "You see, I've never been a companion before, but I don't think it's right for me to precede Mrs. Van Reypen into the drawing-room."

"Ah, well, perhaps not. Stay on the stairs, then, if you think that's the proper place. I daresay it is,—I never was a companion, either; so I'm not sure. But sit down, won't you? I'll sit here, if I may."

Young Van Reypen dropped onto a stair a few steps below Patty, who sat down, too, feeling decidedly at her ease, for, upon occasion, a staircase was one of her favourite haunts.

"It's like a party," she said, smiling. "I love to sit on a staircase at a party, don't you?"

And so provocative of sociability did the staircase prove, that when Mrs. Van Reypen came down, in all the glory of her black velvet and old lace, she nearly tumbled over two chatting young people, who seemed to be very good friends.

"Philip! You here?" she exclaimed, and a casual observer would have said she was not too well pleased.

"Yes, Aunty Van; aren't you as glad to see me as I am to see you? I've been making Miss Fairfield's acquaintance. You may introduce us if you like, but it isn't really necessary."

"So it seems," said the old lady, drily; "but as I have some regard for the conventions, I will present to you, Miss Fairfield, my scape-grace and ne'er-do-well nephew, Philip Van Reypen."

"What an awful reputation to live up to," said Patty, smiling at the debonair Philip, who quite looked the part his aunt assigned to him.

"Awful, but not at all difficult," he responded, gaily, and Patty followed as he escorted his aunt to the dining-room.

The little dinner-party was a gay one; Mrs. Van Reypen became mildly amiable under the influence of the young people's merry chatter, and Patty felt that so far, at least, a companion's lot was not such a very unhappy one.

After dinner, however, the young man was sent peremptorily away. He begged to stay, but his aunt ordered him off, declaring that she had seen enough of him, and he was not to return for a week at least. Philip went away, sulkily, declaring that he would call the very next morning to inquire after his aunt's health.

"I trust you are not flirtatiously inclined, Miss Fairfield," said Mrs. Van Reypen, as the two sat alone in the large and rather sombre drawing-room.

"I am not," said Patty, honestly. "I like gay and merry conversation, but as your companion, I consider myself entirely at your orders, and have no mind to chatter if you do not wish me to do so."

"That is right," said Mrs. Van Reypen, approvingly. "You cannot have many friends in your present position, of course. And you must not feel flattered at Mr. Philip's apparent admiration of you. He is a most impressionable youth, and is caught by every new face he sees."

Patty smiled at the idea of her being unduly impressed by Mr. Van Reypen's glances. She had given him no thought, save as a good-natured, well-bred young man.

But she pleasantly assured Mrs. Van Reypen that she would give her nephew no further consideration, and though Mrs. Van Reypen looked sharply at Patty's face, she saw only an honest desire to please her employer.

The evening was long and uninteresting.

At Mrs. Van Reypen's request, Patty read to her, and then sang for her.

But the lady was critical, and declared that the reading was too fast, and the singing too loud, so that when at last it was bedtime, Patty wondered whether she was giving satisfaction or not.

But she was engaged for a week, anyway, and whether satisfactory or not, Mrs. Van Reypen must keep her for that length of time, and that was all Patty wanted.

She woke next morning with a pang of homesickness. It was a bit forlorn, to wake up as a hired companion, instead of as a beloved daughter in her own father's house.

But resolutely putting aside such thoughts, she forced herself to think of her good fortune in securing her present position.

"I'm glad I'm here!" she assured herself, as she dashed cold water into her suspiciously reddened eyes. "I know I shall have all sorts of odd and interesting adventures here; and I'm determined to be happy whatever happens. And, anyway, it will be over soon. A week isn't long."

Putting on a trim morning dress, of soft old rose cashmere, with a fine embroidered white yoke, she went sedately down to the breakfast room. She had been told to come to breakfast at nine o'clock, and the clock struck the hour just as she crossed the threshold.

Instead of her employer, she was astounded to see Philip Van Reypen calmly seated at the table.

"Jolly to see you again!" he cried, as he jumped up to greet her. "Just thought I'd run in for a bite of breakfast, and to inquire how Aunty Van's cold is."

"I didn't know she had a cold," said Patty, primly, trying to act as she thought a companion ought to act.

"Neither did I," said the irrepressible Philip. "But I didn't know but she might have caught one in the night. A germ flying in at the window, or something."

Mindful of Mrs. Van Reypen's admonitions, Patty tried not to appear interested in the young man's remarks, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that he was interested in her.

She responded to his gay banter in monosyllables, and kept her dancing eyes veiled by their own long-fringed lids, but this only served to pique Philip's curiosity.

"I've a notion to spend the day here, with Aunty Van," he said, and then Patty glanced up at him in positive alarm.

"Don't!" she cried, and her face betokened a genuine distress.

"Why not?" said the surprised young man; "have you learned to dislike me so cordially already?"

Amiable Patty couldn't stand for this misinterpretation of her attitude, and her involuntary, smiling glance was a sufficient disclaimer.

But she was saved the necessity of a verbal reply, for just at that moment Mrs. Van Reypen came into the room.



CHAPTER XV

PERSISTENT PHILIP

"Why, Philip!" Mrs. Van Reypen exclaimed; "you are indeed growing attentive to your aged aunt!"

"Middle-aged aunt!" he returned, gallantly; "and belonging to the early middle-ages at that! I told you I should call this morning, and I'd like another egg, please, aunty."

"You may have all the eggs you want, but I am not at all pleased with your presence here after I expressly forbade it."

"Oh, it isn't a crime to call on one's own aunt, is it?"

"It's extremely rude. I have a busy day before me, and I don't want a bothersome nephew around."

Mrs. Van Reypen was exceedingly fond of Philip, and loved to have him at her house, but it was easy to be seen, now, that she considered him far too much interested in pretty Patty.

And partly because he was interested, and partly to tease his long-suffering aunt, the young man declared his intention of spending the day with them.

"I can't have you, Philip," said Mrs. Van Reypen, decidedly. "I want you to go away immediately after breakfast."

"Just my luck!" grumbled her nephew. "I never can do anything I want to. Well, I'll go downtown, but I'll be back here to luncheon."

"Don't talk nonsense," said Mrs. Van Reypen, shortly; "you'll do nothing of the sort."

The rest of the meal was not very enjoyable. Mrs. Van Reypen was clearly displeased at her nephew's presence; Patty did not think it wise to take any active part in the conversation; and, though Philip was in gay spirits, it was not easy to be merry alone.

Patty couldn't help smiling at his audacious speeches, but she kept her eyes down on her plate, and endeavoured to ignore the young man's presence, for she knew this was what Mrs. Reypen wished her to do.

"Now you may go," said the hostess, as Philip finished his egg. "I'd like to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace."

"Oh, I'm peaceful!" declared Philip, crossing his hands on his breast and rolling up his eyes with an angelic expression.

"Good-by, Philip," said his aunt, so icily that the young man rose from the table and stalked out of the room.

"Now," said Mrs. Van Reypen, "we are rid of him."

But in a few moments the smiling face again appeared at the door.

"I forgot to say good-by to Miss Fairfield," he announced, cheerfully. "Mayn't I do that, aunty?"

Mrs. Van Reypen gave an annoyed "Humph!" and Patty, taking her cue, bowed very coldly, and said "Good-morning, Mr. Van Reypen" in an utterly impersonal tone.

Philip chuckled, and went away, slamming the street door behind him, as a final annoyance to his aunt.

"You mustn't think him a rude boy, Miss Fairfield," she said. "But he delights to tease me, and unless I am positively cross to him he never lets up. But he is really devoted to me, and, I assure you, he scarcely noted your presence at all."

"Of course not," said Patty, with great difficulty restraining a burst of laughter. "No one could dream of Mr. Philip Van Reypen observing a companion." Patty did not mean this for sarcasm; she desired only to set Mrs. Van Reypen's mind at rest, and then the subject of Philip was dropped.

Soon after breakfast Mrs. Van Reypen conducted Patty to a pleasant morning room, and asked her to read the newspaper aloud.

"And do try to read slower," she added. "I hate rapid gabbling."

Patty had resolved not to take offence at the brusque remarks, which she knew would be hurled at her, so, somewhat meekly, she took up the paper and began.

It was a trying task. If she read an account of anything unpleasant she was peremptorily stopped; if the news was dry or prosy, that was also cut off short.

"Read me the fashion notes," said Mrs. Van Reypen, at last.

So Patty read a whole page about the latest modes, and her hearer was greatly interested.

She then told Patty of some new gowns she was having made, and seemed pleased at Patty's intelligent comments on them.

"Why, you have good taste!" she exclaimed, as if making a surprising discovery. "I will take you with me this afternoon when I go to Madame Leval's to try on my gowns."

"Very well," said Patty. "And now, Mrs. Van Reypen, I'm sure there's nothing more of interest in the paper; what shall I do next?"

"Heavens! Miss Fairfield, don't ask such a question as that! You are here to entertain me. I am not to provide amusement for you! Why do you suppose I have you here, if not to make my time pass pleasantly?"

Patty was bewildered at this outburst. Though she knew her duties would be light, she supposed they would be clearly defined, and not left to her own invention.

But she was anxious to please, and she said, pleasantly:

"I think that's really what I meant, but I didn't express myself very well. And, you see, I don't yet quite know your tastes. Do you like fancy work? I know a lovely new crochet stitch I could show you."

"No; I hate crocheting. The wool gets all snarled up, and the pattern gets wrong every few stitches."

"Then we'll dismiss that. Do you like to play cards? I know cribbage, and some other games that two can play."

"No; I detest cards. I think it is very foolish to sit and fumble with bits of painted pasteboard!"

Poor Patty was at her wits' end. She had not expected to be a professional entertainer, and she didn't know what to suggest next.

She felt sure Mrs. Van Reypen wouldn't care to listen to any more reading just then. She hesitated to propose music, as it had not been very successful the night before. On a sudden impulse, she said:

"Do you like to see dancing? I can do some pretty fancy dances."

It seemed an absurd thing to say, but Patty had ransacked her brain to think what professional entertainers did, and that was all she could think of, except recitations, and those she hated herself.

"Yes, I do!" cried Mrs. Van Reypen, so emphatically that Patty jumped. "I love to see dancing! If you can do it, which I doubt, I wish you would dance for me. And this evening we'll go to see that new dancer that the town is wild over. If you really can dance, you'll appreciate it as I do. To me dancing is a fine art, and should be considered so—but it rarely is. Do you require music?"

"Of course, I prefer it, but I can dance without."

"We'll try it without, first; then, if I wish to, I'll ask Delia, my parlour-maid, to play for you. She plays fairly well. Or, if it suits me, I may play myself."

Patty made no response to these suggestions, but followed Mrs. Van Reypen to the great drawing-room, at one end of which was a grand piano.

"Try it without music, first," was the order, and Patty walked to the other end of the long room, while Mrs. Van Reypen seated herself on a sofa. Serenely conscious of her proficiency in the art, Patty felt no embarrassment, and, swaying gently, as if listening to rhythm, she began a pretty little fancy dance that she had learned some years ago.

She danced beautifully, and she loved to dance, so she made a most effective picture, as she pirouetted back and forth, or from side to side of the long room.

"Beautiful!" said Mrs. Van Reypen, as Patty paused in front of her and bowed. "You are a charming dancer. I don't know when I've enjoyed anything so much. Are you tired? Will you dance again?"

"I'm not at all tired," said Patty. "I like to dance, and I'm very glad it pleases you."

"Can you do a minuet?" asked the old lady, after Patty had finished another dance, a gay little Spanish fandango.

"Yes; but I like music for that."

"Good! I will play myself." With great dignity, Mrs. Van Reypen rose and walked to the piano.

Patty adjusted the music-stool for her, and she ran her delicate old fingers lightly over the keys.

"I'm sadly out of practice," she said, "but I can play a tinkling minuet and you may dance to it."

She began a melodious little air, and Patty, after listening a moment, nodded her head, and ran to take her place.

Mrs. Van Reypen was so seated at the piano that she could watch Patty's dance, and in a moment the two were in harmony, and Patty was gliding and bowing in a charming minuet, while Mrs. Van Reypen played in perfect sympathy.

The dance was nearly over when Patty discovered the smiling face of Mr. Philip Van Reypen in the doorway.

His aunt could not see him, and Patty saw only his reflection in the mirror. He gave her a pleading glance, and put his finger on his lip, entreating her silence.

So she went on, without seeming to see him. But she wondered what his aunt would say after the dance was over.

Indeed, the funny side of the situation struck her so forcibly that she unconsciously smiled broadly at her own thoughts.

"That's right," said Mrs. Van Reypen, as the dancing and music both came to an end; "I am glad to see you smile as you dance. I have seen some dancers who look positively agonised as they do difficult steps."

Patty smiled again, remembering that she had had a reason to smile as she danced, and she wondered why Philip didn't appear.

But he didn't, and, except that she had seen him so clearly in the mirror, and he had asked her, silently but unmistakably, not to divulge the fact of his presence, she would have thought she only imagined him there in the doorway.

"You dance wonderfully well," went on Mrs. Van Reypen. "You have had very good training. I shall be glad to have you dance for me often. But—and please remember this—never when any one else is here. I wish you to dance for me only. If I have guests, or if my nephew is here, you are not to dance."

This was almost too much for Patty's gravity. For she well knew the old lady was foolishly alarmed lest her nephew should fall in love with a humble "companion," and, knowing that the said nephew had gleefully watched the dance, it was difficult not to show her amusement.

But she only said, "I will remember, Mrs. Van Reypen." She couldn't tell of the intruder after his frantic appeal to her for silence, so she determined to ignore the episode.

"Now, you may do as you like until luncheon time," said Mrs. Van Reypen, "for I shall go to my room and lie down for a rest. My maid will attend me, so I will bid you adieu until one o'clock. Wander round the house if you choose. You will find much to interest you."

"Right you are!" thought Patty to herself. "I don't believe I'd have to wander far to find a jolly comrade to interest me!" But she well knew if Mr. Philip Van Reypen was still in the house, and if she should encounter him and chat with him, it would greatly enrage the old lady.

"And," thought Patty, "since I've made good with my dancing it's a shame to spoil my record by talking to Sir Philip. But he is pleasant."

Determined to do her duty, she went straight to her own room, though tempted to "wander round the house."

And sure enough, though she didn't know it, Mr. Van Reypen was watching her from behind the drawing-room draperies. His face fell as he saw her go up the stairs, and, though he waited some time, she did not return.

"Saucy Puss!" he thought. "But I'll have a chat with her yet."

Going to the library he scribbled a note, and sent it by a servant to Miss Fairfield's room. The note said:

"Do come down and talk to a lonely, neglected waif, if only for a few minutes.

"P. V. R."

Patty laughed as she read it, but she only said to the maid who brought it:

"Please say to Mr. Van Reypen that there is no answer."

The maid departed, but, in less than ten minutes, returned with another note:

"You're afraid of Aunty Van! Come on. I will protect you. Just for a few moments' chat on the stairs.

"P. V. R."

Again Patty sent the message, "There is no answer."

Soon came a third note:

"I think you are horrid! And you don't dance prettily at all!"

"Oho!" thought Patty. "Getting saucy, is he?"

She made no response whatever to the maid this time, but she was not greatly surprised when another note came:

"If you don't come down, I'm going out to drown myself. P."

Patty began to be annoyed. The servants must think all this very strange, and yet surely she could not help it.

"Wait a moment, Delia," she said. "Please say to Mr. Van Reypen that I will see him in the library, at once."

After a moment she followed the maid downstairs, and went straight to the library, where the young man awaited her. His face lighted up with gladness, as he held out his hand.

"Forgive me if I was impertinent," he said, with such a charming air of apology that Patty had to smile.

"I forgive the impertinence," she returned, "but you are making real trouble for me."

"What do you mean?" he cried, looking dismayed.

"I mean that I am your aunt's companion, and trying to earn my living thereby. Now if you persist in secretly coming to the house,—pardon me if I am frank,—and if you persist in sending foolish notes to me, your aunt will not let me stay here, and I shall lose a good position through your unkindness."

Patty was very much in earnest, and her words were sincere, but her innate sense of humour couldn't fail to see the ridiculous side of it all, and the corners of her mouth dimpled though she kept her eyes resolutely cast down.

"It's a shame the way she keeps you tied to her apron string," he blurted out, uncertain whether Patty was coquetting, or really distressed.

"Not at all," she replied. "I'm here to attend on her pleasure, and my place is by her side whenever she wants me there."

"How can any one help wanting you there?" broke out Philip, so explosively that Patty, instead of being offended, burst into a ringing laugh.

"Oh, you are too funny!" she exclaimed. "Mrs. Van Reypen said you were given to saying things like that to everybody."

"I don't say them to everybody!"

"Yes, you do; your aunt says so. But now that you've said it to me, won't you go away and stay away?"

"How long?"

Patty thought quickly. "Till next Friday—a week from to-day."

"Oh, you want to get acclimatised, all by yourself!"

"Yes," said Patty, demurely, "I do. And if you'll only keep away,—you know your aunt asked you not to come back for a week,—if you'll keep away till next Friday, I'll never ask you another favour."

"Huh! that's no inducement. I love to have you ask me favours."

"Well, then, I never shall if you don't grant this first one."

"And if I do?"

"If you do I'll promise you almost anything you ask."

"That's a large order! Well, if I stay away from this house until you get solid with Aunty Van——"

"I said a week."

"Well, to-day's Friday. If I stay away a week will you persuade aunty to invite me to dinner next Friday night?"

"I will."

"Can you persuade her to do that?"

"I'm sure I can by that time."

Patty's eyes were dancing. She had come to Mrs. Van Reypen's on Thursday. She would, therefore, leave on Thursday, and she was sure that lady would have no objections to inviting her nephew to dinner after her "companion's" departure.

"Are you going to stay?" demanded Philip suspiciously.

"I'm here a week on trial," said Patty, demurely. "Your aunt needn't keep me longer if I don't suit her. And I know I won't suit her if she thinks I receive notes from her nephew."

"Oh, I see! You're here a week on trial, and if I am chummy with you Aunty Van won't keep you! Oh, yes! Why, of course! To be sure! Well, Miss Fairfield, I make this sacrifice for your benefit. I will keep away from here during your trial week. Then, in return, you promise to use your influence to get me an invitation to dine here next Friday."

"I do," returned Patty. "But do you need an invitation to a house where you seem to feel so much at home?"

"Only when you're in it," declared the young man, frankly. "I think Aunty Van fears I mean to kidnap you. I don't."

"I'm sure you don't," said Patty, flashing a smile at him. "I think we could be good friends, and I hope we shall be. But not until after next Friday."



CHAPTER XVI

AN INVITATION DECLINED

Philip Van Reypen went away, and his aunt never knew that he had been to her house on that occasion.

"I'm glad that boy has sense enough to keep away when I tell him to," she remarked at luncheon, and Patty hastily took a sip of water to hide her uncontrollable smile.

"Yes, he seems to obey you," she said, by way of being agreeable.

"He does. He's a good boy, but too impressionable. He's captivated by every girl he meets, so I warn you again, Miss Fairfield, not to notice his pretended interest in you."

Patty tossed her head a little haughtily.

"Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Van Reypen," she said, "I have no interest whatever in your nephew."

She was a little annoyed at the absurd speeches of the old lady, and determined to put a stop to them.

"I should hope not," was the reply. "A person in your position should not aspire to association with young gentlemen like my nephew."

Patty was really angry at this, but her common sense came to her aid. If she elected to play the part of a dependent, she must accept the consequences. But she allowed herself a pointed rejoinder.

"Perhaps not," she said. "Yet I suppose a companion of Mrs. Van Reypen's would meet only the best people."

"That, of course. But you cannot meet them as an equal."

"No," agreed Patty, meekly. Then to herself she said: "Only a week of this! Only six days now."

That afternoon they went to the dressmaker's.

Patty put on a smart tailored costume, and almost regretted that she had left her white furs at home. But she and Nan had agreed that they were too elaborate for her use as a companion, so she wore a small neckpiece and muff of chinchilla. But it suited well her dark-blue cloth suit and plain but chic black velvet hat.

The dressmaker, an ultra-fashionable modiste, looked at Patty with interest, recognising in her costume the work of adept hands.

Moreover, Patty's praise and criticism of Mrs. Van Reypen's new gowns showed her to be a young woman of taste and knowledge in such matters.

Both the modiste and her aristocratic patron were a little puzzled at Patty's attitude, which, though modest and deferential, was yet sure and true in its judgments and opinions.

At last, when Mrs. Van Reypen was undergoing some tedious fitting, Patty had an inspiration.

"May I be excused long enough to telephone?" she asked.

"Certainly," said Mrs. Van Reypen, who was in high good humour, because of her new finery. "Take all the time you like."

Patty had noticed a telephone booth in the hall, and, shutting herself in it, she called up Nan.

By good fortune Nan was at home, and answered at once.

"Oh!" began Patty, giggling, "I've so much to tell you, and it's all so funny, I can't say a word. We're at the dressmaker's now, and I took this chance to call you up, because I won't be overheard. Oh, Nan, it's great fun!"

"Tell me the principal facts, Patty. And stop giggling. Is she kind to you? Is she patronising? Have you a pleasant room? Do you want to come home? Are you happy there?"

"Oh, Nan, wait a minute, for goodness' sake! Yes, she's patronising—she won't let me speak to her grand nephew. Oh—I don't mean her grand nephew! I mean her grand, gorgeous, extraordinary nephew. But I don't care; I've no desire to speak to him."

"Does he live there?"

"No; and never mind about him, anyway. How are you all? Is father well? Oh, Nan, it seems as if I'd been away from home a year! And what do you think? I have to dance for her to amuse her!"

"Patty! Not really? Well, you can do that all right."

"Sure I can! Oh, she's a peach! Don't reprove my slang, Nan; I have to be so precise when I'm on duty. Well, I must say good-by now. I'll write you a long letter as soon as I get a chance. To-night we're going to see Mlle. Thingamajig dance, and to-morrow night, to the opera. So you see I'm not dull."

"Oh, Patty, I wish you'd drop it all and come home! I don't like it, and Fred doesn't either."

"Tra-la-la! 'Twill all be over soon! Only six days more. Expect me home next Thursday afternoon. Love to all. Good-by. Patty!"

Patty hung up the receiver, for she knew if she talked any longer she'd get homesick. The sound of Nan's familiar voice made her long for her home and her people. But Patty was plucky, and, also, she was doggedly determined to succeed this time.

So she went back to Mrs. Van Reypen with a placid countenance, and sat for an hour or more complimenting and admiring the costumes in process of construction.

Somehow the afternoon dragged itself away, and the evening, at the theatre, passed pleasantly enough.

But the succeeding days went slowly.

Mrs. Van Reypen was difficult to please. She was fretty, irritable, inconsequent, and unjust.

What suited her one day displeased her highly the next.

So long as Patty praised, complimented, and flattered her all went fairly well.

But if Patty inadvertently disagreed with her, or expressed a contrary opinion, there was a scene.

And again, if Patty seemed especially meek and mild Mrs. Van Reypen would say:

"Don't sit there and assent to everything I say! Do have some mind of your own! Express an honest opinion, even though it may differ from mine."

Then, if Patty did this, it would bring down vials of wrath on her inoffensive head. Often she was at her wits' end to know what to say. But her sense of humour never deserted her, and if she said something, feeling sure she was going to get sorely berated for saying it, she was able to smile inwardly when the scathing retort was uttered.

Sunday was an especially hard day. It was stormy, so they could not go out.

So Mrs. Van Reypen bade Patty read sermons to her.

When Patty did so she either fell asleep and then, waking suddenly, declared that Patty had been skipping, or else she argued contrary to the doctrines expressed in the sermons and expected Patty to combat her arguments.

"I'm tired of hearing you read," she said, at last. "You do read abominably. First you go along in staccato jerks, then you drone in a monotone. Philip is a fine reader. I love to hear Philip read. I wish he'd come in to-day. I wonder why he doesn't? Probably because you're here. He must have taken a violent dislike to you, Miss Fairfield."

"Do you think so?" said Patty, almost choking with suppressed laughter at this version of Philip's attitude toward her.

"Yes, I'm sure he did. For usually he likes my companions—especially if they're pretty. And you're pretty, Miss Fairfield. Not the type I admire myself,—I prefer brunettes,—but still you are pretty in your own way."

"Thank you," said Patty, meekly.

"And you're especially pretty when you dance. I wish you could dance for me now; but, of course, I wouldn't let you dance on Sunday. That's the worst of Sundays. There's so little one can do."

"Shall I sing hymns to you?" inquired Patty, gently, for she really felt sorry for the discontented old lady.

"Yes, if you like," was the not very gracious rejoinder, and, without accompaniment, Patty sang the old, well-known hymns in her true, sweet voice.

The twilight was falling, and, as Patty's soothing music continued, Mrs. Van Reypen fell asleep in her chair.

Exhausted by a really difficult day Patty also dropped into a doze, and the two slept peacefully in their chairs in front of the dying embers of the wood fire.

It was thus that Philip Van Reypen found them as he came softly in at five o'clock.

"Well, I'll be excused," he said, to himself, "if I ever saw anything to beat that!"

His gaze had wandered from his sleeping aunt to Patty, now sound asleep in a big armchair.

The crimson velvet made a perfect background for her golden curls, a bit tumbled by her afternoon exertions at being entertaining.

Her posture was one of graceful relaxation, and pretty Patty had never looked prettier than she did then, asleep in the faint firelight.

"By Jove!" exclaimed the young man, but not aloud, "if that isn't the prettiest sight ever. I believe there's a tradition that one may kiss a lady whom one finds asleep in her chair, but I won't. She's a dear little girl, and she shan't be teased."

Then Mr. Philip Van Reypen deliberately, and noiselessly, lifted another large armchair and, carefully disposing his own goodly proportioned frame within it, proceeded to fall asleep himself—or if not really asleep, he gave an exceedingly good imitation of it.

Patty woke first. As she slowly opened her eyes she saw Philip dimly through the now rapidly gathering dusk.

Quick as a flash she took in the situation, and shut her eyes again, though not until Philip had seen her from beneath his own quivering lids.

After a time she peeped again.

"Why play hide-and-seek?" he whispered.

"What about your promise?" she returned, also under her breath.

"Had to come. Aunty telephoned for me."

"Oh!"

Then Mrs. Van Reypen awoke.

"Who's here?" she cried out. "Oh, Philip, you!"

She heartily kissed her nephew, and then rang for lights and tea.

"Miss Fairfield," she said, not untimidly, but with decision, "you are weary and I'm not surprised at it. Go to your room and rest until dinner time! I will send your tea to you there."

"Yes, Mrs. Van Reypen," said Patty, demurely, and, with a slight impersonal bow to Philip, she left the room.

"Oh, I say! Aunty Van!" exclaimed the young man, as Patty disappeared, "don't send her away."

"Be quiet, Philip," said his aunt. "You know you don't like her, and she needs a rest."

"Don't like her!" echoed Philip. "Does a cat like cream? Aunty Van, what's the matter with you, anyway? Who is she?"

"She's my companion," was the stern response, "my hired companion, and I do not wish you to treat her as an equal."

"Equal! She's superior to anything I've ever seen yet."

"Oh, you rogue! You say that, or its equivalent, about every girl you meet."

"Pooh! Nonsense! But I say, aunty, she'll come down to dinner, won't she?"

"Yes—I suppose so. But mind now, Philip, you're not to talk to her as if she were of your own class."

"No'm; I won't."

Reassured by the knowledge that he should see her again, Philip was most affable and agreeable, and chatted with his aunt in a happy frame of mind.

Patty, exiled to her own room, decided to write to Nan.

She filled several sheets with accounts of her doings at Mrs. Van Reypen's, and gloated over the fact that there were now but four days of her week left.

"I shall win this time," she wrote, "and, though life here is not a bed of roses, yet it is not so very bad, and when the week is over I shall look back at it with lots of funny thoughts. Oh, Nan, prepare a fatted calf for Thursday night, for I shall come home a veritable Prodigal Son! Of course, I don't mean this literally; we have lovely things to eat here, but it's 'hame, hame, fain wad I be.' I won't write again, I'll probably get no chance, but send Miller for me at four o'clock on Thursday afternoon."

After writing the letter Patty felt less homesick. It seemed, somehow, to bring Thursday nearer, to write about it. She began to dress for dinner, and, in a spirit of mischief, she took pains to make a most fetching toilette.

Her frock was of white mousseline de soie that twinkled into foolish little ruffles all round the hem.

More tiny frills gambolled around the low-cut circular neck and nestled against Patty's soft, round arms.

Her curly hair was parted, and massed low at the back of her neck, and behind one ear she tucked a half-blown pink rosebud.

The long, dreamy day had roused in Patty a contrary wilfulness, and she was quite ready for fun if any came her way.

At dinner Mrs. Van Reypen monopolised the conversation. She talked mostly to Philip, but occasionally addressed a remark to Patty. She was exceedingly polite to her, but made her feel that her share of the conversation must be formal and conventional. Then she would chatter to her nephew about matters unknown to Patty, and then perhaps again throw an observation about the weather at her "companion."

Patty accepted all this willingly enough, but Philip didn't.

He couldn't keep his eyes off Patty, who was looking her very prettiest, and whose own eyes, when she raised them, were full of smiles.

But in vain he endeavoured to make her talk to him.

Patty remembered Mrs. Van Reypen's injunctions, and, though her bewitching personality made such effort useless, she tried to be absolutely and uninterestingly silent.

"Aunty Van," said Philip, at last, giving up his attempts to make Patty converse, "let's have a little theatre party to-morrow night. Shall us? I'll get a box, and if you and Miss Fairfield will go, I'll be delighted."

"I'll go, with pleasure," replied his aunt, "but Miss Fairfield will be obliged to decline. She has been out late too often since she has been here, and she needs rest. So invite the Delafields instead, and that will make a pleasant quartette."

For an instant Patty was furiously angry at this summary disposal of herself, but when she saw Philip's face she almost screamed with laughter.

Crestfallen faintly expressed his appearance. He was crushed, and looked absolutely stunned.

"How he is under his aunt's thumb!" thought Patty, secretly disgusted at his lack of self-assertion, but she suddenly changed her mind.

"Thank you, Aunty Van," she heard him saying, in a cool, determined voice, "but I prefer to choose my own guests. I do not care to ask the Delafields—unless you especially desire it. I am sorry Miss Fairfield cannot go, but I trust you will honour me with your presence." Philip had scored.

Mrs. Van Reypen well knew if she went alone with her nephew, under such conditions, he would be sulky all the evening. Nor could she insist on having the Delafields asked after the way he had put it.

She then nobly endeavoured to undo the mischief she had wrought.

"No, Philip, I don't care especially about the Delafields. And if Miss Fairfield thinks it will not tire her too much I shall be glad to have her accept your kindness."

His kindness, indeed! Patty felt like saying, "Do you know I am Patricia Fairfield, and it is I who confer an honour when I accept an invitation?"

It wasn't exactly pride, but Patty had been brought up in an atmosphere of somewhat old-fashioned chivalry, and it jarred on her sense of the fitness of things to have Philip's invitation to her referred to as a "kindness."

So she decided to take a stand herself.

"I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Van Reypen," she said, with just the slightest emphasis on kindness, "but I cannot accept it. I quite agree with Mrs. Van Reypen that I need rest."

The speech was absurd on the face of it, for Patty's rosy, dimpled cheeks and sparkling eyes betokened no weariness or lassitude.

But Mrs. Van Reypen accepted this evidence of the girl's obedience to her wishes, and said:

"You are right, Miss Fairfield, and my nephew will excuse you from his party."

Philip sent her a reproachful glance, and Patty dropped her eyes again, wishing dinner was over.

At last the ladies left the table, and Philip rose and held aside the portiere while his aunt passed through.

As Patty followed, he detained her a moment, and whispered:

"It is cruel of you to punish me for my aunt's unkindness."

"I can't help it," said Patty, and as her troubled eyes met his angry ones they both smiled, and peace was restored.

"After Friday," whispered Patty, as she went through the doorway.

"After Friday," he repeated, puzzled by her words, but reassured by her smiles.

And then Mrs. Van Reypen sent Patty to her room for the night, and when Philip came to the drawing-room he found he was destined to be entertained by his aunt alone.

"Of course," said Patty, to her own reflection in her mirror, "a companion can't expect to sit with 'the quality,' but it does seem a shame to dress up pretty like this and then be sent to bed at nine o'clock! Never mind, only three evenings more in this house, and then victory for Patty Fairfield!"



CHAPTER XVII

THE ROAD TO SUCCESS

Patty adhered to her resolution not to go to the theatre on Monday night, but when she saw Mrs. Van Reypen and Philip start off she secretly regretted her decision.

She loved fun and gaiety, and it suddenly seemed to her that she had been foolishly sensitive about Mrs. Van Reypen's attitude toward her.

However, it couldn't be helped now, so she prepared to spend the evening reading in the library.

She would have liked to hold a long telephone conversation with Nan and her father, but she thought she had better not, for there were so many house servants on duty that a maid or a footman would be likely to overhear her.

She played the piano and sang a little, then she wandered about the large and lonely rooms. Patty was a sociable creature, and had never before spent an evening entirely alone, unless when engaged in some important and engrossing work.

But after a while the telephone rang, and when the parlour-maid told her the call was for her she flew to the instrument with glad anticipation.

"Hello!" she cried, and "Hello!" returned a familiar voice.

"Oh, Ken! of all people. How did you know I was here?"

"Oh, I found it out! How are you? May I come to see you?"

"No, indeed! I'm a companion. I'm not expected to have callers. But I'm glad to talk to you this way. I'm alone in the house, except for the servants."

"Alone! Then let me come up for a few minutes, and chat."

"No; Mrs. Van Reypen wouldn't like it, I'm sure. But, oh, Ken, I'm making good this time! On Thursday the week will be up, and I'll get my fifteen dollars. Isn't that gay?"

"You're a plucky girl, Patty, and I congratulate you. Is it very horrid?"

"No, it isn't exactly horrid, but I'm fearfully homesick. But it's only three more days now, and won't I be glad to get home!"

"And we'll be glad to have you. The goldfish are dull and moping, and we all want our Patty back again."

"That's nice of you. But, Ken, how did you know where to find me? I made Nan and father promise not to tell."

"Well, I may as well confess: I basely worried it out of Miller. I asked him where he took you to last Thursday afternoon."

"Oh! I meant to tell him not to tell, but I forgot it. Well, it doesn't matter much, as you chanced to strike a time when I'm alone. But don't call me up again. I'm not supposed to have any social acquaintances."

"Good for you, Patty! If you play the game, play it well. I expect you're a prim, demure companion as ever was."

"Of course I am. And if the lady didn't have such a fishy nephew I'd get along beautifully."

"Oho! A nephew, eh? And he's smitten with your charms, as they always are in novels."

"Yes," said Patty, in a simpering tone.

"Oh, yes! I can't see you, but I know you have your finger in your mouth and your eyes shyly cast down."

"You're so clever!" murmured Patty, giggling. "But now you may go, Ken, for I don't want to talk to you any more. Come round Thursday night, can't you, and welcome me home?"

"Pooh, you're late with your invitation. Mrs. Fairfield has already invited me to dinner that very evening."

"Good! Well, good-by for now. I have reasons for wishing to discontinue this conversation."

"And I have reasons for wishing to keep on. If you're tired talking, sing to me."

"'Thou art so near and yet so far,'" hummed Patty, in her clear, sweet voice.

"No, don't sing. Central will think you're a concert. Well, good-by till Thursday."

"Good-by," said Patty, and hung up the receiver.

But she felt much more cheerful at having talked with Kenneth, and the coming days seemed easier to bear.

They proved, however, to be quite hard enough.

The very next day, when Patty went down to the breakfast room, determined to do her best to please Mrs. Van Reypen, she found that lady suffering from an attack of neuralgia.

Though not a serious one, it seriously affected her temper, and she was cross and irritable to a degree that Patty had never seen equalled.

She snapped at the servants; she was short of speech to Patty; she found fault with everything, from the coffee to the cat.

After breakfast they went to the sunny, pleasant morning room, and Patty made up her mind to a hard day.

Then she had an inspiration. She remembered how susceptible Mrs. Van Reypen was to flattery, and she determined to see if large doses of it wouldn't cure her ill temper.

"How lovely your hair is," said Patty, apropos of nothing. "I do so admire white hair, and yours is so abundant and of such fine texture."

As she had hoped, Mrs. Van Reypen smiled in a pleased way.

"Ah, Miss Fairfield, you should have seen it when I was a girl. It was phenomenal. But of late years it has come out sadly."

"You still have quantities," said Patty, and very truthfully, too, "and its silvery whiteness is so becoming to your complexion."

"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Van Reypen, smiling most amiably. "I think it's much wiser not to colour one's hair, for now-a-days so many people turn gray quite young."

"Yes, they do. I've several friends with gray hair who are very young women indeed."

"Yes," agreed the other, comfortably, "white hair no longer indicates that a woman is advanced in years. You speak very sensibly, Miss Fairfield."

Patty smiled to herself at the success of her little ruse, "And, after all," she thought, "I'm telling her only the truth. Her hair is lovely, and she may as well know I appreciate it."

"Have you ever tried," she went on, "wearing it in a coronet braid?"

"No; I've thought I should like to, but I've worn puffs so long I don't know how to change."

"Let me do it for you," said Patty. "I'm sure I could dress it to please you. At any rate, it would do no harm to try."

So up they went to Mrs. Van Reypen's dressing room, and Patty spent most of the morning trying and discussing different modes of hair-dressing.

Mrs. Van Reypen's maid was present, and she admired Patty's cleverness and deftness at the work.

"You have a touch," declared Mrs. Van Reypen, as she surveyed herself by the aid of a hand-mirror. "You're positively Frenchy in your touch. Where did you learn it? Have you ever been a lady's-maid?"

"No," said Patty, suppressing her smiles, "I never have. But I've spent a winter in Paris, and I picked up some French notions, I suppose."

"You certainly did. You are clever with your fingers, I can see that. Can you trim hats?"

"Yes, I can," said Patty, smiling to herself at the recollection of her experiences with Mme. Villard.

"Humph! You seem pretty sure of yourself. I wish you'd trim one for me, then; but I don't want you to spoil the materials."

"I'll do my best," said Patty, meekly, and Mrs. Van Reypen instructed her maid to bring out some boxes.

"This," she said, taking up a finished hat, "is one my milliner has just sent home, and I think it a fright. Now here's a last year's hat, but the plumes are lovely. If you could untrim this first one, and transfer these plumes, and then add these roses—what do you think?"

Secretly Patty thought the new hat was lovely just as it was, but her plan that morning was to humour the testy old lady and, if possible, make her forget her neuralgic pains.

So she took the hats, and sat down to rip and retrim them.

Meantime, Mrs. Van Reypen instructed her maid to practise dressing her hair in the fashion Patty had done it.

But the maid was not very deft in the art, and soon Patty heard Mrs. Van Reypen shrilly exclaiming:

"Stupid! Not that way! You have neither taste nor brains! Place the braid higher. No, not so high as that! Oh, you are an idiot!"

Deeming it best not to interfere, Patty went on with her work.

Also, Mrs. Van Reypen went on with her scolding, which so upset the long-suffering maid that she fell to weeping and thereby roused her mistress to still greater ire.

"Crying, are you!" she exclaimed. "If you had such a painful neck and shoulder as I have you well might cry. But to cry about nothing! Bah! Leave me, and do not return until you can be pleasant. Miss Fairfield, will you please finish putting up my hair?"

Patty laid down her work, and did as she was requested. She was sorry for the maid and incensed at Mrs. Van Reypen's injustice and disagreeableness, but she felt intuitively that it was the best plan to be, herself, kind and affable.

"Oh, yes, I'll do it!" she said, pleasantly. "Your hat is almost finished, and we can try it on with your hair done this way. I'm sure the effect will be charming."

Mollified at this, Mrs. Van Reypen smiled benignly on her companion, and also smiled admiringly at her own mirrored reflection.

"Now," said Patty, as, a little later, she brought the completed hat for inspection, "I will try this on and see how it looks."

Mrs. Van Reypen seated herself again in front of her dressing mirror, and with gestures worthy of Madame Villard herself, Patty placed the hat on her head.

"It's most becoming," began Patty, when Mrs. Van Reypen interrupted her.

"Becoming?" she cried. "It is dreadful! It is fearful. It makes me look like an old woman!"

With an angry jerk she snatched the offending hat from her head and threw it across the room.

Patty was about to give a horrified exclamation when the funny side of it struck her, and she burst into laughter. Mrs. Van Reypen was really an elderly lady, and her angry surprise at being made to look like one seemed very funny to Patty.

But in a moment she understood the case.

She had thought the hat in question of too youthful a type for Mrs. Van Reypen, and in retrimming it had made it more subdued and of a quieter, more elderly fashion.

But she now realised that she had been expected to make it of even gayer effect than it had shown at first. This was an easy matter, and picking up the hat she straightened it out, and hastily catching up a bunch of pink roses and a glittering buckle, she said:

"Oh, it isn't finished yet; these other trimmings I want to put in place while the hat is on your head."

"Oh," said Mrs. Van Reypen, only half-convinced.

But she sat down again, and Patty replaced the hat, and then adjusted the roses and the buckle, giving the whole a dainty, pretty effect, which though over-youthful, perhaps, was really very becoming to the fine-looking old lady.

"Charming!" she exclaimed, letting her recent display of bad temper go without apology. "I felt sure you could do it. This afternoon we will go out to the shops and buy some materials, and you shall make me another hat."

They did so, and, though it meant an afternoon of rather strenuous shopping, Patty didn't mind it much, for Mrs. Van Reypen couldn't fly into a rage in the presence of the salespeople.

And so the days dragged by. Patty had hard work to keep her own temper when her employer was unreasonably cross and snappish, but she stuck to her plan of flattering her, and it worked well more often than not.

Nor was she insincere. There were so many admirable qualities and traits of Mrs. Van Reypen that she really admired, it was easy enough to tell her so, and invariably the lady was pleased.

But she often broke out into foolish, unjustifiable rages, and then Patty had to wait meekly until they passed over.

But when, at last, Wednesday evening had gone by, and she went to her room, knowing it was the last night she should spend under that roof, she was glad indeed.

"Another week of this would give me nervous prostration!" she said to herself. "But to-morrow my week is up, and that means Success! I have really and truly succeeded in earning my own living for a week, and I'm glad and proud of it. I knew I should succeed, but I confess I didn't think I'd score so many failures first. But perhaps that makes my success all the sweeter. Anyway, I'm jolly glad I'm going home to-morrow. Wow! but I'm homesick."

Then she tumbled into bed, and soon forgot her homesickness in a sound, dreamless sleep.

Patty had been uncertain whether to tell Mrs. Van Reypen the true story of her week of companionship or not; but on Thursday morning she decided she would do so.

And, as it chanced, after breakfast Mrs. Van Reypen herself opened the way for Patty's confidences.

"Miss Fairfield," she said, as they sat down in the library, "you know our trial week is up to-day."

"Yes, Mrs. Van Reypen, and you remember that either of us has the privilege of terminating our engagement to-day."

"I do remember, and, though I fear you will be greatly disappointed, I must tell you that I have decided that I cannot keep you as my companion."

As Patty afterward told Nan, she was "struck all of a heap."

She had been wondering how she should persuade Mrs. Van Reypen to let her go, and now the lady was voluntarily dismissing her! It was so sudden and so unexpected that Patty showed her surprise by her look of blank amazement.

"I knew you'd feel dreadful about it," went on Mrs. Van Reypen, with real regret in her tone, "but I cannot help it. You are not, by nature, fitted for the position. You are—I don't exactly know how to express it, but you are not of a subservient disposition."

"No," said Patty, "I'm not. But I have tried to do as you wanted me to."

"Yes, I could see that. But you are too high-strung to be successful in a position of this kind. You should be more deferential in spirit as well as in manner. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do, Mrs. Van Reypen," said Patty, smiling; "so clear that I am going to tell you the truth about this whole business. I'm not really obliged to earn my own living. I have a happy home and loving parents. My father, though not a millionaire, is wealthy and generous enough to supply all my wants, and the reason I took this position with you is a special and peculiar one, which I will tell you about if you care to hear."

"You sly puss!" cried Mrs. Van Reypen, with a smile that indicated relief rather than dismay at Patty's revelation. "Then you've been only masquerading as a companion?"

"Yes," said Patty, smiling back at her, "that's about the size of it."



CHAPTER XVIII

HOME AGAIN

After Patty had told Mrs. Van Reypen the whole story of her efforts to earn her living for a week, and why she had undertaken such a thing, she found herself occupying a changed place in that lady's regard.

"It was fine of you, perfectly fine!" Mrs. Van Reypen declared, "to sacrifice yourself, your tastes, and your time for a noble end like that."

"Don't praise me more than I deserve," said Patty, smiling. "I did begin the game with a charitable motive, but I thought it was going to be easy. When I found it difficult I fear I kept on rather from stubbornness than anything else."

"I don't call it stubbornness, Miss Fairfield; I call it commendable perseverance, and I'm glad you've told me your story. Of course, I wouldn't have wished you to tell me at first, for had I known it I wouldn't have taken you. But you have honestly tried to do your work well, and you succeeded as well as you could. But, as I told you, you are not made for that sort of thing. Your disposition is not that of a subordinate, and I am glad you do not really have to be one. You have earned your salary this week, however, and I gladly pay you the fifteen dollars we agreed upon."

Mrs. Van Reypen handed Patty the money, and as the girl took it she said, earnestly: "As you may well believe, Mrs. Van Reypen, this money means more to me than any I have ever before received in my life. It is the first I have ever earned by my own exertions, and, unless I meet with reverses of fortune, it will probably be the last. But, more than that, it proves my success in the somewhat doubtful enterprise I undertook and it assures a chance, at least, of another girl's success in life."

"I am greatly interested in your young art student," went on Mrs. Van Reypen. "Can you not bring her to see me when she comes, and perhaps I may be of use to her in some friendly way?"

"How good you are!" exclaimed Patty.

She was surprised at the complete change of demeanour in Mrs. Van Reypen, though of course she realised it was due to the fact that she was now looked upon as a social equal and not a dependent.

"It is all so uncertain yet," Patty went on. "I don't know exactly how we are to persuade the girl to come North at all. She is of a proud and sensitive nature that would reject anything like charity."

"Well, you will doubtless arrange the matter somehow, and when you do, remember that I shall be glad to help in any way I can."

"Thank you very much," said Patty. "It may be that you can indeed help us. And now, Mrs. Van Reypen, mayn't I read to you, or something? You know my week isn't up until this afternoon."

"Not literally, perhaps; but for the few hours that are left of your stay with me I shall look upon you as a guest, not a 'companion.' And as I always like to entertain my guests pleasantly, I shall, if you agree, telephone for Philip to come to luncheon with us."

The old lady's eyes twinkled at the idea of Philip's surprise at the changed conditions, and Patty smiled, too, as she expressed her assent.

When Philip arrived he was, of course, amazed at his aunt's demeanour. She not only seemed to approve of Miss Fairfield, but treated her as an honoured guest and seemed more than willing that Philip should chat socially with her. Soon she explained to him the cause of her sudden change of attitude.

Philip laughed heartily. "I suspected something of the sort," he said. "Miss Fairfield didn't strike me as being of the 'thankful and willin' to please' variety. She tried her best, but her deference was forced and her meekness assumed."

"But she did it well," said Mrs. Van Reypen.

"Oh, yes; very well. Still I like her better in her natural role of society lady."

"Oh, not that!" protested Patty. "I'm not really a society lady. In fact, I'm not 'out' yet. I'm just a New York girl."

"Were you born here?" asked Mrs. Van Reypen.

"No," said Patty, laughing; "I was born South, and I've only lived North about five years. One of those I've spent abroad, and one or two outside of New York. So when I say I'm a New York girl I only mean that I live here now."

"Mayn't I come to see you?" asked Philip. "Where do you live?"

"I live on Seventy-second Street," said Patty, "and you may come to tea some Wednesday if you like. That's my mother's 'day,' and I often receive with her."

"I see you're well brought up," said Mrs. Van Reypen, nodding her head approvingly. "I'm a bit surprised though that your mother allowed you to undertake this escapade."

"Well, you see, she's my stepmother—she's only six years older than I am. So she hasn't much jurisdiction over me; and as for my father—well, really, I ran away!"

The luncheon was a merry feast, for Mrs. Van Reypen made a gala affair of it, and, though there were but the three at table, there was extra elaboration of viands and decorations.

Philip Van Reypen was in his gayest humour, and his aunt was beaming and affable.

So they were really sorry when it was time for Patty to say good-by.

At four o'clock Miller came for her, and when Patty saw the familiar motor-car her homesickness came back like a big wave, and with farewells, speedy though cordial, she gladly let Philip hand her into the limousine.

"Home, Miller!" she said, with a glad ring in her voice, and then, with a final bow and smile to the Van Reypens, she started off.

"Discharged!" she thought, smiling to herself. "Didn't give satisfaction! Too high-falutin to be a companion! Huh, Patty Fairfield, I don't think you're much of a success!"

She was talking to the reflection of herself in the small mirror opposite her face, but the happy and smiling countenance she saw there didn't tally with her remarks. "Oh, well," she thought, "I only agreed to earn my living for a week, and I've done it—I've done it!"

She opened her purse to make sure the precious fifteen dollars was still there, and she looked at it proudly. She had more money than that in another part of her purse, but no bills could ever look so valuable as the ten and five Mrs. Van Reypen had paid her.

At last she reached home, and as she ran up the steps the door flew open, and she saw Nan and her father, with smiling faces, awaiting her.

"Oh, people!" she cried. "Oh, you dear people!"

She flung herself indiscriminately into their open arms, embracing both at once.

Then she produced her precious bills, and, waving them aloft, cried:

"I've succeeded! I've really succeeded! Behold the proofs of Patty's success!"

"Good for you, girlie!" cried her father. "You have succeeded, indeed! But don't you ever dare cut up such a prank again!"

"No, don't!" implored Nan. "I've had the most awful time the whole week! Every night Fred vowed he was going to bring you home, and I had to beg him not to. I wanted you to win,—and I felt sure you would this time,—but you owe it to me. For if I hadn't worked so hard to prevent it your father would have gone after you long ago——"

"Good for you, Nan!" cried Patty. "You've been a trump! You've helped me through every time, in all my failures and in my one success. Oh, I've so much to tell you of my experiences! They were awfully funny."

"They'll keep till later," said Nan. "You must run and dress now; Ken and the Farringtons are coming to dinner to help us celebrate your success."

So Patty went dancing away to her own room, singing gaily in her delight at being once more at home.

"Oh, you booful room!" she cried, aloud, as she reached her own door. "All full of pretty homey things, and fresh flowers, and my own dear books and pictures, and—and everything!"

She threw herself on the couch and kissed the very sofa cushions in her joy at seeing them again.

Then she made her toilette, and put on one of her prettiest and most becoming frocks.

"Oh, daddy, dear," she cried, meeting him in the hall on her way down, "it has done me lots of good to be homeless for a week! I appreciate my own dear home so much more."

"But you were away from it for a year."

"Oh, that's different! Travelling or visiting is one thing, but working for your living is quite another! Oh, don't lose all your fortune, will you, father? I don't want to have to go out into the cold world and earn my own support."

"Then it isn't as easy as you thought it was?"

"Oh, dear no! It isn't easy at all! It's dreadful! Every way I tried was worse than every other. But I succeeded, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. You fulfilled your part of the contract, and when the time comes I'm ready to fulfil mine."

"We'll have to see Mr. Hepworth about that," replied Patty.

Then Kenneth and the two Farringtons came, and the wonderful fifteen dollars had to be shown to them, and they had to be told all about Patty's harrowing experiences.

"I'll never again express an opinion on matters I don't know anything about," declared Patty. "Just think! I only said I thought it would be easy to earn fifteen dollars a week, and look what I've been through in consequence! But I've won at last!"

"Plucky Patty!" said Kenneth, appreciatively. "I knew you'd win if it took all summer!"

"But it wasn't a complete triumph," confessed Patty, "for she wouldn't have kept me another week. She practically discharged me to-day."

"Fired?" cried Roger, in glee. "Fired from your last place! Wanted, a situation! Oh, Patty, you do beat all!"

Then Patty told them of her own surprise when Mrs. Van Reypen told her she would not do as a permanent companion, and they all laughed heartily at the funny description she gave of the scene.

"Never mind," said her father, "you fulfilled the conditions. A week was the stipulated time, and nothing was said about your outlook for a second week."

The next night Mr. Hepworth came, and the whole story was told over again to him. He didn't take it so lightly as the young people had done, but looked at Patty sympathetically, and said:

"Poor little girl, you did have a hard time, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," replied Patty, "though nobody else seems to realise that."

The kindness in Mr. Hepworth's glance seemed to bring back to her all those long, lonely, weary hours, and she felt grateful that one, at least, understood what she had suffered.

"It was worth spending that awful week to achieve your purpose," he went on, "but I well know how hard it was for a home-loving girl like you. And I fancy it was none too easy to find yourself at the beck and call of another woman."

"No, it wasn't," said Patty, surprised at his insight. "How did you know that?"

"Because you are an independent young person, and accustomed to ordering your own times and seasons. So I'm sure to be obedient to another's orders was somewhat galling."

"It was so!" and Patty's emphatic nod of her head proved to Mr. Hepworth that he had struck a true chord.

"And now," said Mr. Fairfield, "when can I make my offer good? How can we induce the rising young artist to come to the metropolis to seek fame and fortune?"

"It will be difficult," said Mr. Hepworth, "as she is not only proud and sensitive, but very shy. I think if Mrs. Fairfield would write one of her kind and tactful letters that Miss Farley would be persuaded by it."

"Why can't I write a kind and tactful letter?" asked Patty. "It's my picnic."

"You couldn't write a tactful letter to save your life," said Mr. Hepworth, looking at her with a grave smile.

Patty returned his look, and she wondered to herself why she wasn't angry with him for making such a speech.

But, as she well knew, when Mr. Hepworth made a seemingly rude speech it wasn't really rude, but it was usually true.

She knew herself she couldn't write such a letter as this occasion required, and she knew that Nan could. So she smiled meekly at Mr. Hepworth, and said:

"No, I couldn't. But Nan can be tactful to beat the band!"

"Oh, Patty!" said her father. "Did you talk like that to Mrs. Van Reypen? No wonder she discharged you!"

"No, I didn't, daddy; truly I didn't. I never used a word of slang that whole week, except one day when I talked to Nan over the telephone."

"Soon you'll be old enough to begin to think it's time to stop using it at all," observed Mr. Hepworth, and again Patty took his mild reproof in good part.

"Well, I'll write," said Nan. "Shall I ask Miss Farley to come to visit us? Won't she think that rather queer?"

"Don't put it just that way," advised Mr. Hepworth. "Say that you, as a friend of mine, are interested in her career. And say that if she will come to New York for a week and stay with you, you think you can help her make arrangements for a course in the Art School. Your own tact will dress up the idea so as to make it palatable to her pride."

"Won't it be fun?" exclaimed Patty. "It will be almost like adopting a sister. What is she like, Mr. Hepworth? Like me?"

"She is about as unlike you as it is possible for a girl to be. She is very slender, dark, and timid, with the air of a frightened animal."

"I'll scare her to death," declared Patty, with conviction. "I'm sure I shall! I don't mean on purpose, but I'm so—so sudden, you know."

"Yes, you are," agreed Mr. Hepworth, as he joined in the general laughter. "But that 'suddenness' of yours is a quality that I wish Miss Farley possessed. It is really a sort of brave impulse and quick determination that makes you dash into danger or enterprise of any kind."

"And win!" added Patty saucily.

"Yes, and win—after a time."

"Oh well," she replied, tossing her head, "Mr. Bruce's spider made seven attempts before he succeeded. So I think my record's pretty fair."

"I think so, too," said Mr. Hepworth, heartily. "And I congratulate you on your plucky perseverance and your indomitable will. You put up a brave fight, and you won. I know how you suffered under that petty tyranny, and your success in such circumstances was a triumph!"

"Thank you," said Patty, greatly pleased at this sincere praise from one whom she so greatly respected. "It would have been harder still if I hadn't had a good sense of humour. Lots of times when I wanted to cry I laughed instead."

"Hurrah for you, Patty girl!" cried her father. "I'd rather you'd have a good sense of humour than a talent for spatter-work!"

"Oh, you back number!" exclaimed Patty. "They don't do spatter-work now, daddy."

"Well, china painting—or whatever the present fad is."

But Mr. Hepworth seemed not to place so high a value on a sense of humour, for he said, gravely:

"I congratulate you on your steadfastness of purpose, which is one of the finest traits of your character."

"Thank you," said Patty, with dancing eyes. "You give it a nice name. But it is a family trait with us Fairfields, and has usually been called 'stubbornness.'"

"Well," supplemented her father, "I'm sure that's just as good a name."



CHAPTER XIX

CHRISTINE COMES

With her usual tact and cleverness, Nan managed the whole matter successfully. She wrote to the friends of Mr. Hepworth in the South who were interested in Miss Farley, and they persuaded the girl to go North for a week and see if she could see her way clear to staying there.

As it turned out, Miss Farley had some acquaintances in New York, and when their invitation was added to that of Mrs. Fairfield, she decided to make the trip.

Patty and Nan made ready for her with great care and kindness. A guest room was specially prepared for her use, and Patty adorned it with some of her own pet pictures, a few good casts, and certain bits of bric-a-brac that she thought would appeal to an "art student."

"If Mr. Hepworth hadn't said the girl had real talent I'd be hopeless of the whole thing," said Nan, "for I do think the most futile sort of young woman is the one who dabbles in Art, with a big A."

"Oh, Christine Farley isn't that sort," declared Patty. "I don't believe she wears her hair tumbling down and a Byron collar with a big, black ribbon bow at her throat. I used to see that sort copying in the art galleries in Paris, and they are hopeless. But I imagine Miss Farley is a tidy little thing and her genius is too real for those near-art effects."

"Well, then, I'll put this photograph of the Hermes in here in place of this fiddle-de-dee Art Calendar. She'll like it better."

"Of course she will. And I'm going to put a pretty kimono and slippers in the wardrobe. Probably she won't have pretty ones, and I know she'll love 'em."

"If you owned a white elephant, Patty, you'd get a kimono for it, wouldn't you?"

"'Course I would. I love kimonos—pretty ones. And besides, it would fit an elephant better than a Directoire gown would."

"Patty! What a goose you are! There, now the room looks lovely! The flowers are just right—not too many and just in the right places."

"Yes," agreed Patty; "if she doesn't like this room I wash my hands of her. But she will."

And she did. When the small, shy Southern girl arrived that afternoon, and Patty herself showed her up to her room, she seemed to respond at once to the warm cosiness of the place.

"It's just such a room as I've often imagined, but I've never seen," she said, smiling round upon the dainty, attractive appointments.

"You dear!" cried Patty, throwing her arms round her guest and kissing her.

When she had first met Christine downstairs she was embarrassed herself at the Southern girl's painful shyness.

When Miss Farley had tried to speak words of greeting a lump came into her throat and she couldn't speak at all.

To put her more at her ease Patty had led her at once upstairs, and now the presence of only warm-hearted Patty and the view of the welcoming room made her forget her embarrassment and seem more like her natural self.

"I cannot thank you," she began. "I am a bit bewildered by it all."

"Of course you are," said Patty, cheerily. "Don't bother about thanks. And don't feel shy. Let's pretend we've known each other for years—long enough to use first names. May I take your hat off, Christine?"

Tears sprang to Christine Farley's eyes at this whole-souled welcome, and she said:

"You make me ashamed of my stupid shyness. Really I'll try to overcome it—Patty."

And soon the two girls were chatting cosily and veritably as if they had been acquainted a long time.

Presently Nan came in. "If you prefer, Miss Farley," she said, "you needn't come down to dinner to-night. I'll have a tray sent up here. I know you're tired with your journey."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Fairfield; I'm not tired—and I think I'll go down."

The girl would have greatly preferred to accept the offer of dining in her own room, but she felt it her duty to conquer the absurd timidity which made her dread facing strangers at dinner.

"I'll be glad if you will," said Nan, simply. "Mr. Fairfield will like to welcome you, and Mr. Hepworth will be the only other guest. You are not afraid of him?"

"Oh, no," said Christine, her face lighting up at thought of her kind friend. "He has been so good to me. His criticisms of my work helped me more than any of my teachers'."

"Yes, he is an able artist and a man of true kindness and worth," agreed Nan. "Very well, Miss Farley, we dine at seven."

"Now, Nan," began Patty, smiling, "that's the wrong tone. We're going to make this girlie feel homelike and comfortable and omit all formality. We're going to call her by her first name, and we're going to treat her as one of ourselves. Now you just revise that little speech of 'We dine at seven, Miss Farley.'"

"All right," said Nan, quickly catching Patty's idea. "I'm glad to revise it. How's this? Dinner's at seven, Christine, but you hop into your clothes and come on down earlier."

"That's a lot better," said Patty, approvingly patting her stepmother's shoulder, while Christine Farley, who was all unaccustomed to this sort of raillery, looked on in admiration.

"You see," she said, "I've only very plain clothes. I'm not at all familiar with the ways of society, or even of well-to-do people."

"Oh, pooh!" said Patty, emphatically, if not very elegantly. "Don't you bother about that in this house. Trot out your frocks and I'll tell you what to put on."

After some consideration she selected a frock of that peculiar shade known as "ashes of roses." It was of soft merino and made very simply, with long, straight lines.

"Do you like that?" said Christine, looking pleased. "That's my newest one, and I designed it myself. See, I wear this with it."

She took from her box a dull silver girdle and chatelaine of antique, carved silver, and a comb for her hair of similar style.

"Lovely!" cried Patty. "Oh, you're an artist, all right! Dress your hair low—in a soft coil; but of course you know how to do that. I'll send Louise to hook you up, and I'll come back for you when I'm dressed. Good-by for now."

Waving her hand gaily, laughing Patty ran away to her own room, and Christine sank down in a big chair to collect her senses.

It was all so new and strange to her. Brought up in the plainest circumstances, the warmth and light and fragrance of this home seemed to her like fairyland.

And Nan and Patty, in their gay moods and their happy self-assuredness, seemed as if of a different race of beings from herself.

"But I'll learn it," she thought, with a determination which she had rarely felt and scarce knew she possessed. Her nature was one that needed a spur or help from another, and then she was ready to do her part, too.

But she could not take the initiative. And now, realising the disinterested kindness of these good people, her sense of gratitude made her resolve to meet their kindness with appreciation.

"Yes," she said to herself, as she deftly dressed her hair in front of the mirror, "I'll conquer this silly timidity if it kills me! I'll take Patty Fairfield for a model, and I'll acquire that very same ease and grace that she has."

Christine was imitative by nature, and it seemed to her now that she could never feel stupidly embarrassed again.

But after Patty came to take her downstairs, and as they neared the drawing-room door, the foolish shyness all returned, and she was white and trembling as she crossed the hall.

"Brace up," whispered Patty, understanding, "you're looking lovely, Christine. Now be gay and chattery."

"Chattery," indeed! Her tongue seemed paralysed, her very neck felt strained and stiff, and she stumbled over the rug in her effort to stop trembling. In her own room, alone with Patty and Nan, she had overcome this, but now, in the brilliantly lighted drawing-room and the presence of other people, the terrible timidity returned, and Christine made a most unsuccessful entrance.

But Mr. Fairfield ignored the girl's embarrassment, and said, cordially but quietly: "How do you do, Miss Farley? I am very glad to welcome you here."

His kind handclasp reassured her even more than his pleasant words, and then Mr. Hepworth greeted her.

"You did well to come," he said. "I am glad to see you in New York at last."

But Christine couldn't recover herself, and so, as the kindest thing to do, the rest rather let her alone and chatted on other subjects.

Gradually she grew less agitated, and as their merry chit-chat waxed gay and frivolous, her determination returned, that she, too, would acquire this accomplishment.

Then dinner was announced, and, though outwardly calm, the Southern girl was inwardly in great trepidation lest she commit some ignorant error in etiquette.

But she was of gentle birth and breeding, and innately refined, so she knew intuitively regarding all points, save perhaps some modern trifles of conventional usage.

Nan, who was watching her, though unobserved, led the conversation around to subjects in which Christine might be likely to be interested, and was rewarded at last by seeing the girl's face light up with an enjoyment unmarred by self-consciousness.

Gradually she was induced to take some part in their talk, and once she told an anecdote of her own experience without seeming aware of her unusual surroundings.

"She'll do," thought Patty. "It isn't ignorance or inexperience that's the greatest trouble; it's just ingrowing shyness, and she's got to get over it; I'll see that she does, too!"

Mr. Hepworth read Patty's unspoken thoughts in her eyes and nodded approval.

Patty nodded back with a dimpling smile, and Christine, seeing it, vowed afresh to gain the ability to do that sort of thing herself.

For all Southern girls have a touch of the coquette in their natures, but poor Christine's was nearly choked out by the weeds of timidity and self-consciousness.

After dinner it was easier. They went to the cosy library, and the atmosphere seemed more informal.

Mr. Hepworth brought up the subject of Miss Farley's work, and she was persuaded to fetch some sketches to show them.

Though not able to appreciate the fine points of promise as Mr. Hepworth did, they were all greatly pleased with them, and Mr. Fairfield declared them wonderful.

In her own field Christine was fearless and quite sure of herself.

She talked intelligently about pictures, and many pleasant plans were made for taking her to see several collections then on exhibition, as well as to the Metropolitan and other art galleries.