his hair, with his elbow on the upper window sash and stood staring out into the beauty of the hotel grounds, and off at the purple misty mountains in the distance. But he was not seeing the beauty. He was thinking of what he had just said to his uncle, and his blood was still boiling over the remembrance of his mother and the indignities she had suffered from the old despot. And yet, in spite of it all, there had been an appeal in the old reprobate's eyes that somehow would not be denied. He had not meant to stay all night – not definitely – yet here he was staying, and he wondered if he had done right to yield even so much?
A car was driving up to the veranda below, and its Klaxon attracted his gaze idly. Two travelers were getting out, one an old lady, quite crippled with rheumatism apparently, and one a lithe young girl who sprang from the car nimbly and turned a charming face up to the front of the building with an appraising glance, then dropped her eyes with a quick motion and put out her hands to assist her companion. John Treeves started and said aloud to himself:
“That looks like Patty Merrill! I believe it is! I’m going down to see!”
CHAPTER VI
Miss Sylvia Cole was generally regarded by her friends and family as an old crab who was too important to be put in her place and punished for her biting sarcasm. Her keen insight into shams and a peculiar sense of humor were not generally understood nor appreciated by her victims. When she sat facing Patricia in the sleeper that night regarding her future companion much in the same light that a cat regards a mouse with whom it intends to enjoy a playful hour before devouring, she suddenly came face to face with her own sense of humor, and burst out laughing in a dry cackle or two at the thought of being attended in her invalidism by this handsome infant.
“Marjorie would have been far more suitable in appearance!” she declared, thinking her thoughts aloud as was her custom.
“Yes, but Marjorie wouldn’t have done as you told her to and I shall,” declared Patty brightly.
“You're no more used to doing as you are told than Marjorie, I can see that with half an eye!” said the old lady, scrutinizing the girl.
“Oh, yes, rather,” reflected the girl pleasantly. “I’m not long out of school, you know. Besides, I am earning my living now and I have to do as I'm told. Will you have that hot water-bag?”
"No, I don't want that hot water-bag now or ever. Such bosh lugging a drug store along just because I'm going a few miles from home! Well, if you're going to do as you're told, you better understand that I don't want to be nagged and bothered. When I want anything I’ll tell you, and I don't hire you to know more about my wants than I do. Understand? Now all I want to-night is a drink of water and to be let alone."
“That sounds easy,” said Patty, smiling; “I’ll get the water. I’d hate to be nagged myself. It makes one feel all riffley inside.”
“Exactly,” said the old lady grimly. “I think we shall get on very well. And you needn't tell me any more about yourself than you want to. I shan't ask you.”
“Thank you,” said Patty pleasantly, “I appreciate that. Perhaps I shan't. Now, which bed is mine, or do I sit up?"
“I'll take the lower berth and you may have the couch. And I like the light turned out and a screen in the window at the foot. I believe that’s all. Good night.”
So they slept. And in the morning they were in Washington and drove straight to the New Willard, took a room, and rested – at least the old lady rested. The girl sat by the window and silently studied out the city trying to locate the different points of interest and wished she might go out and take a walk. But she was a working woman now and must do as her employer wished, and her business was to stick by the old lady. So far that had not been difficult, but she could see that Miss Cole was used to having her own way and might not be pleasant to live with if by any chance that way were crossed.
They took the afternoon train soon after lunch and arrived at the Pine Crest Inn as the sun was beginning to slip behind the blue hills and send long slant shadows among the autumn foliage.
“Isn't it perfectly gorgeous here?” said Patty joyously as she got out of the hack and looked up at the face of the great hotel sitting majestically above the grandeur in its frame of autumn color. The sunset rays touched her face into vivid beauty, and Miss Sylvia reflected with grim satisfaction that perhaps people would think she was bringing a lovely daughter to the Springs for a bit of rest before the winter's season should begin. She resolved to have some pleasure out of that idea and tucked it away in her mind for further consideration.
The hall porter glided out of the door to meet them and attached himself to their baggage and Patty helped Miss Cole up the steps.
It was just inside the door that Patty saw John Treeves, hurrying down the wide staircase at the opposite end of the long hotel lobby, and her heart stood still within her for one brief second. Not since five long years ago had she seen that face, yet she knew it instantly, and with a bound of joy for the comrade of a blessed summer when she had been left behind in a little New York village while her family went abroad. Then came the instant realization that she must not be recognized and she turned her face away and looked coolly toward the office desk. She was trembling all over, and trying with all her might to look natural and unconcerned, telling herself that of course he would not recognize her. She was only a little girl with short skirts and her hair down in two long plaits when he knew her.
She managed to write in the register with a tolerably firm hand, but as she turned away toward the elevator she came almost face to face with Treeves. This time, however, she was prepared, and managed a blank unseeing stare straight past him, although he had stepped up and was just about to speak to her. In sudden panic she turned abruptly toward Miss Coles and began to speak to her, and in a second more they were shut into the elevator and gliding upward, while the disappointed young man stood below hesitating, dismayed, but in nowise uncertain as to her identity, or daunted as to the final issue. She didn’t know him. That was natural after five years, and she not expecting to meet him. He was changed, of course, but not so much. He passed his hand over his smoothly shaven face, and looked down at his trim new suit and shining footgear, glad that he was in proper civilian garb to meet her. Then he strode to the register to get the number of her room and send up his card. She would know that anyway, if she did not recognize his grown-up face.
But he stood before the register page with a startled, unbelieving look, for there before him right on the page, where he had seen her writing there glared out at him two strange names: “Miss Sylvia Cole, New York; Miss Edith Fisher, New York.”
Her name was not there! What could it mean? Had his eyes deceived him? He had been mistaken, of course, but how strange that there could be two people in the world with that look in their eyes. Well, it had shown him one thing and that was that he wanted to look up Patricia Merrill right away and have a talk with her. He had felt a desire for something to comfort his homesick soul ever since he landed, and now he knew what it was. He needed the soothing, uplifting presence of a woman who understood him. His mother was gone, but there was one girl who had seemed to understand him once and who was closely associated with his mother's sweet memory. He would like to see that girl! This stranger, Edith Fisher, or Sylvia Cole, whichever she might be, had looked enough like Patricia to be her sister. He was glad he had seen her. He would watch for her in the dining- room. It would be good to look again and recall the sweet lines of the face of his little pal, Patty. And then, just as soon as he could get free from his old rascal of an uncle, and get a few other things fixed up, he would take a trip out West and see if he could find her. Perhaps he might manage to satisfy his antique relative's curiosity and get away in the morning, in which case he could take the western trip at once. He turned with a sigh and made his way back to his room, where he found his impatient uncle's servitor already demanding his presence again. He hastened through a brief toilet and presented himself before his uncle.
The old man sat in his wheeled chair in full evening garb looking more