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 as yet it’s such a novelty to me that I enjoy every speck of it.”
Mr. Hepworth suddenly realised how many social seasons he had been through, and how far removed he was from this young débutante in his views on such matters. He assured himself that he need never hope she would take any special interest in him, and he vowed she should never know of his feelings toward her. So he adapted his mood to hers, and chatted gaily of the events of the evening. Patty told him of the many pleasures that had been planned for her, during the rest of her visit at Mrs. Allen’s, and he was truly glad that the girl was to have a taste of the social gaiety that so strongly appealed to her.
“Miss Fairfield,” said Ethel Banks, coming up to Patty, as the music stopped, “I’ve been talking with my father, and he says if you and Mr. and Mrs. Allen will go, he’ll take us all in the automobile down to Atlantic City for the week-end.”
“How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with delight. “I’d love to go. I’ve never been in an automobile but a few times in my life, and never for such a long trip as that. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Allen at once.”
Without further thought of Mr. Hepworth, save to give him a smiling nod as she turned away, Patty went with Ethel to ask Mrs. Allen about the projected trip.
Mrs. Allen was delighted to go, and said she would also answer for her husband. So it was arranged, and the girls went dancing back to Mr. Banks to tell him so. Ethel’s father was a kind-hearted, hospitable man, whose principal thought was to give pleasure to his only child. Ethel had no mother, and Mrs. Allen had often before chaperoned the girl on similar excursions to the one now in prospect.
As Mr. Banks was an enthusiastic motorist, and drove his own car, there was ample room for Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Patty.
Soon the wedding guests departed, and Patty was glad to take off her pretty gown and tumble into bed.
She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Mrs. Allen sitting on the bed beside her, caressing her curly hair.
“I hate to waken you,” said that lady, “but it’s after ten o’clock, and you know you are to go to your Cousin Helen’s to spend the day. I want you to come home early this evening, as I have a little party planned for you, and so it’s only right that you should start as soon as possible this morning. Here is a nice cup of cocoa and a bit of toast. Let me slip a kimono around you, while you breakfast.”
In her usual busy way, Mrs. Allen fluttered about, while she talked, and after putting a kimono round her visitor, she drew up beside her a small table, containing a dainty breakfast tray.
“It’s just as well you’re going away to-day,” Mrs. Allen chattered on, “because the house is a perfect sight. Not one thing is in its place, and about a dozen men have already arrived to try to straighten out the chaos. So, as you may judge, my dear, since I have to superintend all these things, I’ll really get along better without you. Now, you get dressed, and run right along to the Barlows’. James will take you over in the pony cart, and he’ll come for you again at eight o’clock this evening. Mind, now, you’re not to stay a minute after eight o’clock, for I have invited some young people here to see you. I’ll send the carriage to-night, and then you can bring your Barlow cousins back with you.”
As Mrs. Allen rattled on, she had been fussing around the room getting out Patty’s clothes to wear that day, and acting in such a generally motherly manner that Patty felt sure she must be missing Nan, and she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her, and told her so.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Allen, “it’s awful. I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve lost my girl; still it had to come, I suppose, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t put a straw in the way of Nan’s happiness. Well, I shall get used to it in time, I suppose, and then sometimes I shall expect Nan to come and visit me.”
Chapter III.
Atlantic City
Patty’s day at the Barlows’ was a decided contrast to her visit at Mrs. Allen’s.
In the Allen home every detail of housekeeping was complete and very carefully looked after, while at the Barlows’ everything went along in a slipshod, hit-or-miss fashion.
Patty well remembered her visit at their summer home which they called the Hurly-Burly, and she could not see that their city residence was any less deserving of the name. Her Aunt Grace and Uncle Ted were jolly, good-natured people, who cared little about system or method in their home. The result was that things often went wrong, but nobody cared especially if they did.
“I meant to have a nicer luncheon for you, Patty,” said her aunt, as they sat down at the table, “but the cook forgot to order lobsters, and when I telephoned for fresh peas the grocer said I was too late, for they were all sold. I’m so sorry, for I do love hothouse peas, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what I have to eat, Aunt Grace. I just came to visit you people, you know, and the luncheon doesn’t matter a bit.”
“That’s nice of you to say so, child. I remember what an adaptable little thing you were when you were with us down in the country, and really, you did us quite a lot of good that summer. You taught Bumble how to keep her bureau drawers in order. She’s forgotten it now, but it was nice while it lasted.”
“Helen, Mother, I do wish you would call me Helen. Bumble is such a silly name.”
“I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. Barlow, placidly, “and I do mean to, but you see I forget.”
“I forget it, too,” said Patty. “But I’ll try to call you Helen if you want me to. What time does Uncle Ted come home, Aunt Grace?”
“Oh, about five o’clock, or perhaps six; and sometimes he gets here at four. I never know what time he’s coming home.”
“It isn’t only that,” said Bob; “in fact, father usually comes home about the same time. But our clocks are all so different that it depends on which room mother is in, as to what time she thinks it is.”
“That’s so,” said Helen. “We have eleven clocks in this house, Patty, and every one of them is always wrong. Still, it’s convenient in a way; if you want to go anywhere at a certain time, no matter what time you start, you can always find at least one clock that’s about where you want it to be.”
“I’m sure I don’t see why the clocks don’t keep the right time,” said Mrs. Barlow. “A man comes every Saturday on purpose to wind and set them all.”
“We fool with them,” confessed Bob. “You see, Patty, we all like to get up late, and we set our clocks back every night, so that we can do it with a good grace.”
“Yes,” said Helen, “and then if we want each other to go anywhere through the day,—on time, you know,—we go around the house, and set all the clocks forward. That’s the only possible way to make anybody hurry up.”
Patty laughed. The whole conversation was so characteristic of the Barlows as she remembered them, and she wondered how they could enjoy living in such a careless way.
But they were an especially happy family, and most hospitable and entertaining. Patty thoroughly enjoyed her afternoon, although they did nothing in particular for her entertainment. But Aunt Grace was very fond of her motherless niece, and the twins just adored Patty.