their stay in London with only a few friends, but these had introduced others, until now their circle of acquaintances was large, and the immediate result of this was a sheaf of invitations in every mail. For, during the season, Londoners are hospitable folk, and give entertainments morning, noon, and night. At first, the Fairfields had thought they would take a house, and so have a home of their own. But Mr. Fairfield concluded that if Nan had the duties of a housekeeper, her trip would not be a holiday, so he declared they would live at a large hotel, and thus have a chance to observe the gay life of London.
And so cosy and comfortable were their apartments at the Savoy, that they soon began to feel quite at home there. And Patty, as we all know, was one who could adapt herself to any mode of living.
Of a naturally happy and contented disposition, she accepted everything as it came, and enjoyed everything with the enthusiasm so often seen in American girls.
It greatly amused her to note the differences between herself and the English girls.
To her mind, they seemed to have no enthusiasm, no enterprise, and little capacity for enjoyment, while Patty enjoyed every experience that came to her, whether a visit to Windsor Castle, a day at Stratford, or a simple afternoon tea in their own rooms.
“I seem to have been set back two or three years,” she said to Nan, one day. “In New York I was almost a full-fledged young lady, but over here, I’m treated as a little girl.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Nan, sensibly. “You are what you are, and if the different countries choose to treat you differently, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Not a bit. I’m Patty Fairfield, and I’m almost eighteen, whether I’m in California or the Fiji Islands. But it does amuse me, the way the Londoners think we live at home. They really believe American ladies go to market in the morning, loaded down with diamonds. You don’t often see that in New York, do you, Nan?”
“No, I don’t think I ever saw a New York matron wearing elaborate jewelry to market. But then I never go to market myself, and I don’t know many people who do. I think that bediamonded marketer story is an old tradition, which is really pretty well worn out.”
“And the London ladies needn’t talk, anyway. If we did wear jewels to market, it wouldn’t be a bit more absurd than the way they dress to go shopping in the morning. Long, trailing, frilly gowns of pink and blue chiffon, with swishing lace-ruffled petticoats, that just drag through the dirt of the streets.”
“Now aren’t you criticising them as unfairly as they describe us?”
“No, for what I say is true. I’ve seen them fluttering about. And, anyway, I don’t mean to be mean. I like them lots. I just love the London ladies, they’re so kind to me, and invite me to such lovely things. Of course I don’t care if they choose to wear garden-party clothes along Bond Street. We all have some ridiculous ways.”
Pretty Patty was fond of pretty clothes, and the shops of Bond Street held great attractions for her, though she herself wore a real tailor-made costume when shopping. At first, Nan had exercised a supervision over her purchases, but Patty had shown such good taste, and such quick and unerring judgment as to fabrics and colors, that it had come about that Patty more often advised Nan in her choosing, than the other way.
And so, many a pleasant morning was spent in the beautiful London shops, buying things they wanted, looking at things they did not want, or noting with interest the ways and means peculiar to English shopkeepers.
Thus the days went happily by, and they had already been more than a fortnight in London, while as yet their plans for future travel were unmade. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield wanted to go to Germany, Switzerland, and other countries, but Patty didn’t care so much for that as for English country, or small nearby towns. So the matter was left unsettled, though short and desultory discussions were held now and then.
But oftener their minds were taken up with the doings of the moment, and they complacently left the future to itself.
“Well, then I think I’ll go to the musicale,” said Patty. “What would you wear?”
“That new light blue chiffon of yours, with the lace bolero, is just the thing.”
“Yes, and my new broad-leafed chip hat, with the roses piled all over it.”
Patty ran away to her own room, and after a time returned in the pretty summer costume.
“How do I look?” she asked, smilingly, of Nan.
Nan smiled back at the lovely vision, for Patty’s vanity was of a mild and innocent sort, and was rather a childish delight in dainty colors and fabrics, than any conceit over her own beauty.
For beautiful Patty certainly was, in a sweet, wholesome, girlish way, and not the least of her charms was her naturalness of manner and her entire lack of self-consciousness.
She looked especially winning in the light, filmy dress, and the big hat, weighed down with roses.
“You look all right, Patty,” answered Nan. “That’s a duck of a frock, and suits you perfectly. Are you going alone?”
“Yes; father says I may go alone in our own carriage to any afternoon thing. The Hartleys will bring me home, so sha‘n’t I send the carriage back for you?”
“Yes, I wish you would. I’m going to a tea or two, and then we’re dining out. You’re to dine with the Hartleys, aren’t you?”
“Yes, if it is dinner. It’s more likely to be schoolroom tea. Mabel Hartley is sixteen, but I doubt if she’s allowed at dinner yet.”
“Nonsense, of course she is. Well, then, if they’re sending you home, Louise needn’t go after you?”
“No; they’ll send somebody. Good-bye, Nan.”
“Good-bye, Patty. Have a lovely time.”
“Oh, yes; I always do.”
Away went Patty and her frills, and when she reached Chesterton Mansions, she was soon established under the wing of her hostess, Mrs. Hastings.
That lady was very glad to have the pretty American girl as her guest, and she introduced Patty to so many people that it was almost bewildering. But after a time, the music began, and Patty was glad to sit still and listen.
It was very fine music, for that is the sort that Londoners usually offer at their teas, and Patty thoroughly enjoyed the singing and the violin-playing. She was a little afraid that Mrs. Hastings would ask her to sing, but as it was a programme of professionals this did not happen.
When the Hartleys came, Mabel at once made her way to Patty’s side and sat down by her.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” she said, “and it’s so lovely that you’re going home with us.”
“I’m glad, too,” returned Patty, “it was lovely of you to ask me.”
Mabel Hartley was an English girl, and was about as different from Patty as could well be imagined, and perhaps for this reason the two were very good friends. Although they had met only a few times, they liked each other from the beginning, and both were ready to continue the friendship.
Mabel was large and stout, with the solidity which characterises the British young girls. She was large-boned and not very graceful, but she carried herself with a patrician air that told of past generations of good-breeding. Her complexion was of that pure pink and white seen only on English faces, but her pale, sandy hair and light blue eyes failed to add the deeper color that was needed. Her frock was an uninteresting shade of tan, and did not hang evenly, while her hat was one of those tubby affairs little short of ridiculous.
Patty fairly ached to re-clothe her, in some pretty clear color, and a becoming hat.
The girls were politely silent while the music was going on, but in the intervals between the numbers they chattered glibly.
“That’s