Patty's Social Season. Wells Carolyn

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      “Why, yes, of course; how could it be otherwise? with the nicest people and the nicest flowers and the nicest girl in New York City!”

      “In the whole United States, you mean,” said Patty, complacently, as she took a spoonful of chocolate. “Yes, the party in all its parts was all right. There wasn’t a flaw. But, oh, Nan, I got into a scrap with the boys.”

      “What boys? and what is a scrap? Patty, now that you’re out, you mustn’t use those slang words you’re so fond of.”

      “Nan,” and Patty shook her spoon solemnly at her stepmother, “I’ve come to realise that there is slang and slang. Now, the few little innocent bits I use, don’t count at all, because I just say them for fun and to help make my meaning clear. But that man last night,—that Lansing man,—why, Nan, his slang is altogether a different matter.”

      “Well, Patty, he, himself, seems to be an altogether different matter from the people we know.”

      “Yes, doesn’t he? And yet, Nan, he isn’t so bad. Well, anyway, let me tell you what Mr. Galbraith says.”

      “That’s just it!” declared Nan, after Patty had finished her story. “That man is a fortune-hunter, and he means to try to marry Mona for the sake of her father’s money!”

      “Oh, my!” exclaimed Patty, laughing; “isn’t it grand to be grown up! I see I’m mixed up in a matrimonial tangle already!”

      “Nothing of the sort, you foolish child! There won’t be any matrimonial tangle. Mr. Galbraith is quite right; this man must be discouraged, and Mona must be made to see him in his true light.”

      “But, Nan, he isn’t so awful. You know, sometimes he was quite fascinating.”

      “Yes, you think that, because he has big dark eyes and rolled them at you.”

      “Goodness! it sounds like a game of bowls. No, I don’t mean that; but—well, I’ll tell you what I do mean. He said we weren’t fair to him, to judge him adversely, not knowing anything about him. And I think so, too, Nan; it doesn’t seem fair or right to say a man is a bounder,—that’s what Roger called him,—when we don’t know anything about him, really.”

      “Patty, you’re a goose! Don’t you suppose we’ll find out about him? Of course, we can’t, but your father and Mr. Galbraith,—yes, and Roger Farrington, will soon find out his standing.”

      “Well,” said Patty, with a relieved sigh, “then I needn’t bother about him any more. But, Nan, I have troubles of my own. Philip and Roger are both mad at me!”

      “Goodness! Patty, how awful! Do you suppose they’ll stay mad all day?”

      “Oh, it isn’t just a momentary tiff; they are up and down angry! Why, neither of them danced with me or even spoke to me after supper last night!”

      “Well, it was probably your own fault.”

      “My own fault, indeed! It was all because of that horrid Lansing man. Well, if they want to stay mad, they may! I shan’t make any advances.”

      “Don’t worry, my child. Into each life some little squabbles must fall,—and though you’re fairly good-natured, as a rule, you can’t expect it always to be smooth sailing.”

      Seeing she could get no sympathy from her stepmother, Patty dropped the subject of her quarrels, and remarked, with a yawn, “Well, I suppose I may as well get up, and begin on those flower notes. What shall I say, Nan, something like this? ‘Miss Patricia Fairfield thanks you for your kind donation of expensive blossoms, but as it’s such a bother to write the notes of acknowledgment, she really wishes you hadn’t sent them.’”

      “What base ingratitude! Patty, I’m ashamed of you! or I would be, if I thought you meant a word of it, but I know you don’t. What are you doing this afternoon?”

      “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’re going to have a club, just a little club,—only four of us girls. And, Nan, you know there are so many clubs that make an awful fuss and yet don’t really do anything. Well, this is going to be a Doing Club. We’re going to be real doers.”

      “It sounds lovely, Patty. What are you going to do?”

      “We don’t know yet, that’s what the meeting’s for this afternoon. But we’re going to do good, you know—some kind of good. You know, Nan, I always said I didn’t want to be just a social butterfly and nothing else. I want to accomplish something that will give some joy or comfort to somebody.”

      Patty’s blue eyes looked very earnest and sincere as she said this, and Nan kissed her, saying, “I know you do, Patty, dearest, and I know you’ll succeed in your doing. If I can help you in any way, be sure to ask me; and now I’ll run away and let you dress.”

      Patty made a leisurely toilette; and then, in a trailing blue silk négligée, she went into her boudoir and began to write her notes.

      It was not a difficult task, and she did not really mind it, though it was a long list. But Patty had a knack at writing graceful little notes, and although she jested about it, she was really grateful to the kind friends who had sent the flowers.

      “I don’t know why I have so many friends,” she said to herself, as she scanned the rows of names. “To be sure, a great many are really friends of father’s and Nan’s, but there’s a lot of our crowd, too, and lots of out of town people. Perhaps it would be a good idea to do the farthest away first, and so work back to New York.”

      Patty picked up Mr. Farnsworth’s card, and read again the message on it. “H’m,” she said to herself, “it sounds to me a trifle formal and conventional—considering all things. Now, Little Billee is a Western man,—but how different he is from that Lansing person! I wonder what makes the difference. Little Billee isn’t formal or conventional a bit, and yet his manners are as far removed from Horace Lansing’s as white is from black. Oh, well, I know the reason well enough. It’s because Little Billee is a thorough gentleman at heart; and the other one is,—well, I guess he’s what Roger called him. Now, what shall I say to Mr. William Farnsworth by way of thanks for his truly beautiful pink roses? I’d like to write a nice, every-day letter, and tell him all about the party and everything; but, as he just sent his visiting card, with a mere line on it, I suppose I must reply very formally.”

      Patty began her formal note, but tore up half a dozen beginnings before she completed one to her satisfaction. This one read, “Miss Patricia Fairfield thanks Mr. William Farnsworth sincerely for his exquisite gift of roses, and for his kind congratulations.”

      Patty gave a little sigh as she sealed this missive and addressed it to her friend in Arizona.

      With the exception of the roses, Patty had never heard a word from Big Bill since they were at Spring Beach together. She had told her father and Nan of what Mr. Farnsworth had said to her down there, and as they had agreed that Patty was altogether too young even to think of such a thing as being engaged to anybody, it was wiser to hold no correspondence with him at all.

      Apparently, this in no way disappointed the young man, for he had made no effort on his part to recall himself to Patty’s remembrance, until the occasion of sending the flowers.

      Patty had liked Bill extremely, but as Arizona was far away, and she had no reason to think she would ever see him again, she gave him few thoughts. However, the СКАЧАТЬ