as Kenneth, and Kenneth’s only two years older than I am.”
“That sounds a little complicated, Patty, but I’m sure you mean it as a compliment, so I’ll take it as such.”
A little before eight o’clock, Patty, in her shimmering gown, went dancing downstairs.
The rooms were already crowded with guests, and the first familiar face Patty saw was that of Mr. Hepworth, who came toward her with a glad smile of greeting.
“How grown-up we are looking to-night,” he said. “I shall have to paint your portrait all over again, and you must wear that gown, and we will call it, ‘A Moonlight Sonata,’ and send it to the exhibition.”
“That will be lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “but can you paint silver?”
“Well, I could try to get a silvery effect, at least.”
“That wouldn’t do; it must be the real thing. I think you could only get it right by using aluminum paint like they paint the letter-boxes with.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “that would be realistic, at least, but I see a crowd of your young friends coming this way, and I feel quite sure they mean to carry you off. So won’t you promise me a dance or two, when the time comes for that part of the programme?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “and there is going to be dancing after the supper.”
Mr. Hepworth looked after Patty, as, all unconscious of his gaze, she went on through the rooms with the young friends who had claimed her.
Gilbert Hepworth had long realised his growing interest in Patty, and acknowledged to himself that he loved the girl devotedly. But he had never by word or look intimated this, and had no intention of doing so until she should be some years older. He, himself, was thirty-four, and he knew that must seem old indeed to a girl of seventeen. So he really had little hope that he ever could win her for his own, but he allowed himself the pleasure of her society whenever opportunity offered, and it pleased him to do for her such acts of courtesy and kindness as could not be construed into special attentions, or indication of an unwelcome devotion.
Among the group that surrounded Patty was Kenneth Harper, a college boy who was a good chum of Patty’s and a favourite with Mr. Fairfield. Marian and Frank were with them, also Bob and Bumble, the Barlow Twins, and a number of the Philadelphia young people.
This group laughed and chatted merrily until the orchestra struck up the wedding march, and an expectant hush fell upon the assembly.
At Nan’s special request, there were no bridesmaids, and when the bride entered with her father, she was, as Patty had prophesied, a perfect picture in her beautiful wedding gown.
Mr. Fairfield seemed to think so too, and his happy smile as he came to meet her, gave Patty a thrill of gladness to think that this happiness had come to her father. His life had been lonely, and she was glad that it was to be shared by such a truly sweet and lovely woman as Nan.
Patty was the first to congratulate the wedded pair, and Mr. Hepworth, who was an usher, escorted her up to them that she might do so. Patty kissed both the bride and the bridegroom with whole-hearted affection, and after a few merry words turned away to give place to others.
“Come on, Patty,” said Kenneth, “a whole crowd of us are going to camp out in one of those jolly cozy corners on the verandah, and have our supper there.”
So Patty went with the merry crowd, and found that Kenneth had selected a conveniently located spot near one of the dining-room windows.
“I’m so glad it’s supper time,” she said, as they settled themselves comfortably in their chosen retreat. “I’ve been so busy and excited to-day that I’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I’m starving with hunger. And now that I’ve got my father safely married, and off my hands, I feel relieved of a great responsibility, and can eat my supper with a mind at rest.”
“When I’m married,” said Helen Barlow, “I mean to have a wedding exactly like this one. I think it’s the loveliest one I ever saw.”
“You won’t, though, Bumble,” said Patty, laughing. “In the first place, you’ll forget to order your wedding gown until a day or two before the occasion, and of course it won’t be done. And then you’ll forget to send out the invitations, so of course you’ll have no guests. And I’m sure you’ll forget to invite the minister, so there’ll be no ceremony, anyway.”
Bumble laughed good-naturedly at this, for the helter-skelter ways of the Barlow family were well known to everybody.
“It would be that way,” she said, “if I looked after things myself, but I shall expect you, Patty, to take entire charge of the occasion, and then everything will go along like clockwork.”
“Are you staying long in Philadelphia, Miss Fairfield?” asked Ethel Banks, a Philadelphia girl, who lived not far from the Allens.
“A few days longer,” said Patty. “I have to go back to New York next Tuesday, and then no more gaiety for me. I don’t know how I shall survive such a sudden change, but after this mad whirl of parties and things, I have to come down to plain everyday studying of lessons,—but we won’t talk about that now; it’s a painful subject to me at any time, but especially when I’m at a party.”
“Me, too,” said Kenneth. “If ever I get through college, I don’t think I’ll want to see a book for the next twenty years.”
“I didn’t know you hated your lessons so, Kenneth,” said Marian. “I thought Patty was the only one of my friends who was willing to avow that she was like that ‘Poor little Paul, who didn’t like study at all.’”
“Yes, I’m a Paul too,” said Kenneth, “and I may as well own up to it.”
“But you don’t let it interfere with your work,” said Patty; “you dig just as hard as if you really enjoyed it.”
“So do you,” said Kenneth, “but some day after we have both been graduated, I suppose we’ll be glad that we did our digging after all.”
A little later, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went away, amid showers of confetti, and after that there was an hour of informal dancing.
Patty was besieged with partners asking for a dance, and as there was no programme, she would make no promises, but accepted whoever might ask her first at the beginning of each dance. She liked to dance with Kenneth, for his step suited hers perfectly, and her cousin Bob was also an exceptionally good dancer.
But Patty showed no partiality, and enjoyed all the dances with her usual enthusiasm.
Suddenly she remembered that she had promised Mr. Hepworth a dance, but he had not come to claim it. Wondering, she looked around to see where he might be, and discovered him watching her from across the room.
There was an amused smile on his face, and Patty went to him, and asked him in her direct way, why he didn’t claim his dance.
“You are so surrounded,” he said, “by other and more attractive partners, that I hated to disturb you.”
“Nonsense,” said Patty, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “I like you better than lots of these Philadelphia boys. Come on.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” said Mr. Hepworth, as they began to dance, “but you seemed to be finding these Philadelphia boys very agreeable.”
“They’re nice enough,” said Patty, carelessly, “and some of them are good dancers, but not as good as you are, Mr. Hepworth. Do you know you dance like a—like a—will-o’-the-wisp.”
“I never met a will-o’-the-wisp, but I’m sure they must be delightful people, to judge from the enthusiastic tone in which you mention them. Do you never get tired of parties and dancing, Patty?”
“Oh, no, indeed. I love it all. But you see I haven’t had very much. I’ve never been to but two or three real dancing-parties in my life. Why, I’ve only just outgrown children’s parties. I may get tired of it all, after two or three seasons, but