“I’m Susan, Miss. Will you give me the keys of your boxes, and I’ll unpack them.”
Patty almost laughed at this casual request, in the face of what seemed to her a tragedy.
“Susan,” she said, “here are the keys, but you can’t unpack my boxes for they haven’t come.”
“Lor’, Miss; they must be downstairs. I’ll have them sent up.”
“No—wait, Susan; they’re not downstairs. They didn’t come on the train.”
“Lor’, Miss, whatever will you do?”
The girl’s eyes grew big and troubled. Here was a dreadful situation indeed! Already Susan felt drawn toward the pretty young American girl, and she was aghast at the outlook of a dinner party with no party frock.
“I can’t go to dinner at all, Susan,” said Patty, dejectedly. “You must bring me a tray up here—though I don’t feel like eating.”
“Not go to dinner, Miss? Oh, what a pity! It’s a grand dinner to-night. The Earl of Ruthven is here, and it’s one of her ladyship’s greatest dinners of the season.”
The good Susan looked so concerned, and her face was so anxious, that it went straight to Patty’s heart. To her mind there came a vivid and tantalising remembrance of her exquisite dinner frock, of white chiffon, embroidered with tiny sprays of blossoms—a soft sash and shoulder-knots—one of the loveliest dresses she had ever had, and with a sob she threw herself on to the couch and indulged in a few foolish but comforting tears.
“There, there, Miss,” said Susan, sympathisingly, “don’t ee take on so. Maybe we can find summat for ee.”
When Susan was excited or troubled, she lapsed into her old dialect, which she was striving to outgrow.
“You can’t find anything, I know,” said Patty, sitting up, and looking the picture of woe. “There are no very young ladies in the house, are there, Susan?”
“No, Miss, none so young as yourself, nor near it.”
“And I can’t wear this,” went on Patty, looking at the silk blouse that was part of her travelling gown.
“Lor’ no, Miss; not to a dinner!”
“Then what?”
“Then what, indeed, Miss!”
Patty and Susan faced each other, at last in a full realisation of the hopelessness of the situation, when, after a light tap at the door, Lady Hamilton came in.
She laughed outright at the tragic attitude of the two, and knew at once what they were troubled about.
“Listen to me, Pattypet,” she said. “Am I your fairy godmother, or am I not?”
“You are,” said Patty, with an air of conviction, and feeling sure that Lady Hamilton was about to help her out of her troubles, somehow.
“Well, I’ve carefully considered the case. I’ve sent Marie to canvass the house for clothes suitable for a mademoiselle of seventeen.”
“Nearly eighteen,” murmured Patty.
“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t what’s known as a ‘misses’ costume’ beneath this roof. Now, I simply refuse to let you be absent from this dinner. It will be both a pleasure and an education to you to see this especial kind of a formal function, and probably you’ll not often have a chance. They’ve sent a man and a wagon over to the next station, several miles away for your boxes; that’s the way they do things here. But he can’t get back until long after the dinner hour. So listen, to my command, dictum, fiat—call it what you please, but this is what you’re to do.”
“I’ll do anything you say, Kitty Lady, if it’s to go to bed at once, and sleep soundly till morning.”
“Nothing of the sort. You must and shall attend this dinner. And—you’re going to wear one of my gowns!”
“Yours?”
“Yes. We’re so nearly the same size that it will fit you quite well enough. I’ve picked out the simplest one, a white Irish point. It’s cut princess, but all my gowns are. I’m sure Marie can make it fit you perfectly, with a few pins or a stitch here and there.”
“Oh, it will fit well enough, but, Kitty, won’t I be the grown-up! I’ve never worn a real train in my life!”
“Of course it’s a lot too old for you, and truly, I hate to have you appear in a gown like that. But what else can we do? I won’t let you miss the dinner—and after all, it doesn’t matter so much. After this visit I doubt if you’ll ever see these people again, and let them think you’re five or six years older than you are. Who cares?”
“I don’t,” said Patty, gleefully. “I think it will be fun. I’ll have my hair piled high on my head. Can you do it for me, Sarah?”
“Oh, yes, Miss. I’m a hair-dresser and I’m that glad you’re going to dinner.”
Chapter VII.
For One Night Only
Sarah was indeed an expert hair-dresser, and she piled up Patty’s hair in soft coils, and twisted the curly tendrils into fluffy puffs, and though the result was beautiful, it made Patty look like her own older sister. A jewelled ornament of Lady Hamilton’s crowned the coiffure, and this gave an added effect of dignity. The lace gown was easily made to fit its new wearer. Marie pinned it, and sewed it, and patted it into place, till nobody would suspect it had not been made for Patty. But the long lines of the Princess pattern took away all of Patty’s usual simple girlish appearance, and transformed her at once into a beautiful, queenly young woman. The décolletée corsage, and the sleeves, which were merely frills of lace, were very becoming; and the long train, which billowed into a frou-frou of chiffon ruffles took away the last semblance of a girl of eighteen. Notwithstanding her softly-curved cheeks and throat, and her exquisite, fresh complexion, Patty looked quite the young woman of society and could easily have been adjudged about twenty-four years old.
Her eyes danced, as she walked sedately through the open door and into Lady Hamilton’s room.
“My word, Patty!” exclaimed that lady, “you’re simply stunning in that gown! You look as if you’d been ‘out’ for two or three seasons. Your people would never forgive me if they knew how I’ve dressed you up.”
“It was the only thing to do,” said Patty, airily, as she began to draw on her arms a pair of Lady Hamilton’s long white gloves. “The wonder is that you had plenty of all sorts of things to fit me out, and also that they do fit so well. These gloves are just right, though I confess the slippers pinch me just a speck.”
“‘Pretty never hurts,’ you know,” said Lady Hamilton, laughing. “Marie, isn’t Miss Fairfield a picture?”
“Mais oui! She is charmante. It is amazing how the gown suits her. She is très-belle!”
With the grown-up clothes, Patty had quite unconsciously assumed a grown-up air. She nonchalantly flung aside her train with just the same gesture Lady Hamilton was wont to use, and she carried herself with a dignity and graciousness of manner which would have been absurd when wearing her own simple frocks.
“Gracious, goodness, child!” cried Lady Hamilton. “Come down off that pedestal! You walk like a Duchess. It won’t do, you know, really.”
“I don’t mean to,” said Patty; “you know I’m a sort of chameleon. This gown makes me feel as if I belonged in an opera-box, or had an audience with the Queen.”
“Oh, you goose! Stop your nonsense, and we’ll go down to dinner. Mind,