But there must be some good in her, Patty, and suppose you set yourself to work to find it.”
“All right, daddy, I’ll go you; but won’t you please let me wait until after my birthday is over?”
“No, child; I quite agree with Nan that you must invite Miss Mona to your party: that is, if you invite other cottagers. If you have only your own house party, of course you needn’t ask her.”
“Well, then, I won’t ever ask her over here while the house party is on, except the night of my birthday, when I have the dance.”
“It may not be necessary to invite her,” said Nan, smiling; “she’ll very likely invite herself.”
“Well, we’ll hope she won’t,” said Patty, with a little sigh. “Now I’ll write to the others to-night, and I hope they can all come. I think they all will, unless maybe Christine will think she cannot leave her work. But I’ll urge her to come for a few days, anyway.”
Patty went off to the library to write her notes, and so interested did she become in her party, and her plans for her birthday celebration, that she quite forgot her unpleasant and unwelcome neighbour. Nor did she think of her again until the next afternoon, when, as she swung in a hammock on the front veranda, she saw Mona Galbraith come walking up the drive.
“Here you are, Patty,” called out the hearty and irrepressible voice of her neighbour; “I hoped I’d find you at home. I felt sort of lonely, and I said to myself I’ll just run over to Patty’s, and perhaps, if I ask her very prettily, she’ll give me a ride in that little gem of a motor car that she runs so well.”
Patty arose from the hammock, politely hiding her annoyance at Mona’s arrival, and said: “How do you do, Miss Galbraith? Sit down, won’t you? I’m not sure that I’m going to have the car out this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s all right; never mind. Don’t get it out purposely for me. I’ll sit here and chat this afternoon, and we can take the ride to-morrow.”
So Patty saw at once that she must either take her visitor motoring that afternoon, or merely defer the occasion, in which case she would have her on her hands for the rest of the afternoon, anyway. Of the two evils she concluded to choose the less. And she also concluded that, as her father had requested, she would be pleasant to this girl, and try to find some likable qualities in her.
So it was with a shade more cordiality that she said: “Oh, yes, we can just as well go this afternoon as any other! It’s a good day, except that there’s a pretty stiff breeze blowing. Are you dressed to go?”
“Oh, yes, this gown is all right, and you can lend me a hood and cloak or something. Haven’t you extra ones?”
“Yes, of course,” said Patty, wondering if this girl had no idea of social formalities. “But perhaps she never had anybody to teach her things,” thought Patty, who, now that she was trying to be generous-minded toward Mona, found it easier than she had thought.
Patty rang for Miller, and ordered the car; then she asked Mona to come into the house, that she might fit her out with proper wraps. It was a warm, pleasant day, so a dust cloak of Nan’s, and a silk hood belonging to that same amiable lady, were borrowed for Miss Galbraith’s use.
“Of course I have all these things at home,” she said, as she tied the ribbons under her chin; and Patty wanted to say, “Why don’t you go and get them, then?” but she well knew it was because of Mona’s unwarranted feeling of intimacy in the Fairfield household that she borrowed their wraps instead of going for her own.
This whole principle was foreign to Patty’s nature. Systematic and methodical herself, she always used her own belongings, and never would have dreamed of borrowing those of another, unless through sheer necessity.
“There’s one thing,” she thought to herself, “if I give her this ride and get it over with, she may keep away while those other people are here. I must be careful not to let her know they are coming.”
The car was at the door and they were soon started. Patty determined to be kind and pleasant to her guest, but to avoid personalities, and to say nothing which could be construed as an invitation to further acquaintance.
One point she conceded, however, and concluded to call Miss Galbraith by her first name. This she did, only because Mona persisted in calling her Patty, and it sounded so purposely stilted and ungracious to persist in saying Miss Galbraith.
Patty asked her guest to choose the road they should take, and was surprised to find that Mona knew of a great many lovely drives which Patty had not yet discovered. Though, of course, it was not surprising, as Mona had spent four summers at Spring Beach, and it was Patty’s first one.
Mona chose a route called the Blue Lake Drive, which took them through a lovely stretch of pine woods, and out into an orchard-dotted country, the goal being a small and very blue lake. On the shore was a tiny Tea House, which proved a pleasant resting-place for a half-hour.
The girls sat sipping tea and eating crumpets, and Patty began to think that Mona was not nearly as unlikable as she had thought. Her shortcomings were more those of an impulsive and untrained nature than any more serious faults. She was well educated and well read, and Patty found that they had many favourite books and authors in common. But she was pushing, and she continually asserted her intention of being Patty’s intimate friend, until Patty lost her patience and broke out, rather sharply.
“Look here, Mona,” she said, “I like you, or at least I think I’m going to like you, but I won’t be pushed or pulled into a friendship so suddenly. You don’t know me at all, but once in a while I have a way of speaking my mind right straight out, and I tell you frankly that, if you want to be friends with me, you’ll upset the whole kettle of fish by rushing it too hard!”
Mona looked utterly amazed. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Do you call me pushing?”
“I do that!” declared Patty; “just exactly that! and you know it as well as I do! I shouldn’t talk to anybody like this on such short acquaintance, but you brought it on yourself, and, if you want to get angry, you may!”
“Angry!” echoed Mona. “Why, I like you all the better for such straightforward talk! I’m sorry I seem pushing, but,—well,—‘you brought it on yourself’!”
Patty had to laugh at this, for it was really a subtle compliment to her own attractiveness. Also, she decided she could do little by scolding Mona. So she began to talk of other things, leaving the question of friendship to be settled some other time.
Soon they started homeward again, for, as Patty explained to her guest, she was under promise to get home before dark.
“How beautifully your car runs,” said Mona, as they skimmed smoothly along. “Do you never have an accident?”
“Nothing of any account,” returned Patty, and then she told Mona of the day when her wheels got stuck in the sand. “But I have never had anything more serious than that,” she went on, “and I hope I never shall. Have you never run a car yourself?”
“No, it never occurred to me to do so. We have several cars, of course, and lots of chauffeurs and grooms, but only since I’ve seen you in your car have I thought of driving one myself. But I’m going to; I’ve already asked father to get me one exactly like this.”
“Will he do it?”
“Of course; he gets me anything I want. And when I get it, Patty, we can go out together in our two cars. Won’t that be fun?”
“H’m, h’m!” murmured Patty, who wasn’t overjoyed at the proposition. “Gracious! what’s the matter?”
“Oh, my! what is the matter? Did something burst?”
“It did so,” said Patty, cheerfully; “the inner tube of this front wheel has burst, and now, if you want to see a successful imitation of a young lady