The Project Gutenberg EBook of Patty's Pleasure Trip, by Carolyn Wells This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Patty's Pleasure Trip Author: Carolyn Wells Release Date: February 12, 2018 [EBook #56552] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATTY'S PLEASURE TRIP *** Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Patty’s Pleasure Trip Cover Patty’s Pleasure Trip BY CAROLYN WELLS AUTHOR OF TWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES, THE MARJORIE SERIES, Etc. Colophon GRO S S ET & DUNLAP P U B L I S H E R S N E W Y O R K Copyright, 1909, by DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY Published, September, 1909 Printed in U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I Fun at the Grange 9 II A Summons Home 23 III A Pleasure Trip Offered 37 IV A Farewell Party 51 V Days in Paris 67 VI The Grandeur That Was Rome 83 VII American Friends and Others 97 VIII Playing House 113 IX A Roman Tea 130 X The Wonderers 146 XI Roman Punch 161 XII Patty and Peter 179 XIII A Noble Soldier 190 XIV Carlo as Guide 204 XV Good-by To Florence 220 XVI An Exciting Adventure 235 XVII The Other Side of the Story 250 XVIII Venice at Last 263 XIX Pigeons and Poetry 279 XX Homeward Bound 292 “Y CHAPTER I FUN AT THE GRANGE ES, indeed,” said Patty, pleasantly. “And then a broad-leafed hat, with ribbons from the edge of the brim, tied under my chin,—or, perhaps chiffon ties. Which would you have, Patty?” “Yes, indeed,” said Patty, in a voice of enthusiasm, but not looking up from her book. “Oh, Patty, you silly! Now, listen. Look at these plates, and pick out the prettiest hat so I may get it for the garden- party.” Lady Kitty spread out the sheets of millinery designs, and still absorbed in her reading, Patty lifted her hand and, without looking, pointed a finger at random till it rested on one of the pictured hats. “That one! Why, Patty, you’re crazy! I couldn’t wear that pudgy little turban,—I want a big sun-hat. Would you have a straw or lace?” “Yes, indeed,” said Patty, turning a leaf and devouring the next page of her book. “Angel child! You think you’re teasing me, don’t you? But not so! I love to see you so bent on literary pursuits! Indeed, I don’t think one book at a time is enough for a great brain like yours,—you should have two at once. You go on with yours, and I’ll read another to you.” Picking up a book from a rustic couch near by, Lady Kitty began to read aloud. Her reading was more dramatic than the text warranted, and besides much elocutionary effect, she gesticulated vigorously, and finally rose, and standing straight in front of Patty, kept on reading and declaiming in ludicrous style. The two were under a large marquee, on the lawn of Markleham Grange, the country home of Lady Hamilton, and her father, Sir Otho. Patty was comfortably tucked up among the cushions of a lengthy wicker chair, and had elected to spend the morning reading a new story-book of the very kind she liked best. So, partly because she didn’t want to be disturbed, but more for the sake of mischievously teasing her friend, Patty pretended to be oblivious to the hat subject. But she could not long keep a straight face while Kitty waved her arms and trilled her voice in ridiculous fashion, as she continued to read aloud from the book. Then she would drop into a monotonous drawl, then gallop ahead without emphasis or inflection, and sometimes she would chant the words in dramatic recitative. Of course, while this went on, Patty couldn’t read her own book, so finding herself beaten at her own game of teasing, she closed the volume, and said quietly: “I wish you’d let me advise you about that new hat you’re thinking of buying. You always selects such frights.” As Lady Hamilton’s hats were renowned for their beauty and variety, this speech was taken at its worth, and in a moment the two friends were earnestly discussing the respective merits of chiffon, lace, and straw, as protection against the rays of a garden-party sun. It was the latter part of a lovely morning in the latter part of a lovely August. Patty had drifted through the summer, making and unmaking plans continuously in her efforts to secure the greatest good to the greatest number of her family and friends. She had not joined her parents in Switzerland, as she had thought to do, for invitations to various English country-houses had seemed more attractive, and after a round of such parties, Patty had come to Markleham Grange, for the double purpose of having a few quiet weeks, and of being with her adored friend, Lady Kitty. The Grange was a typical country home, with all the appurtenances of terraces, gardens, duck-ponds, woodlands, and hunting preserves. In the great, rambling house guests came and went, and Patty greatly enjoyed the personal freedom that prevailed. Though occupations and amusements of all sorts were provided, no social obligations were exacted until afternoon tea time. At five, however, everybody assembled on the lawn, or, if rainy, in Sir Otho’s billiard-room, and the host himself accepted the attention and companionship of his guests. Dinner, too, was rather formal, and there was always pleasant entertainment in the evening. But it seemed to Patty that she liked the mornings best. She strolled, often all by herself, through the woods and parks; she chatted with the old gardener about the rare and beautiful flowers; she played with the pet fawns, or idly drifted about the lake in a small rowboat. Sometimes she met Sir Otho on her morning 9 10 11 12 13 rambles, and for a time they would chat together. The old gentleman had a decided liking for Patty, and though he was an opinionated man, and dictatorial of speech, the girl’s innate tactfulness kept her from rousing his contradictory spirit, and they were most amiable friends. But, perhaps best of all, Patty liked the mornings when boxes of new books arrived from London. Selecting an interesting story, she would make a bee-line for her favourite reading-place. This was a large tent-like affair, canopied, but without sides, and furnished with wicker chairs, tables, and lounges. Soft rugs covered the ground, and the view was across a small lake, dotted with tiny, flowery islands, to glorious green woodlands beyond. Here, Patty would read and dream until the all too short morning had flown away, and a servant, or Lady Kitty herself, would come to summon her to luncheon. And it was here that Lady Kitty came, with her sheets of new hat designs, just up from London, when teasing Patty declined to be interested. But having at last thrown herself into the discussion it proved to be an animated one, and ended by Lady Kitty’s return to the house to send an order for hats for both of them. Patty remained in her lounging chair, but did not immediately resume her book. Her thoughts flew back to Kitty’s ridiculous antics as she read aloud to tease Patty. Then her gaze wandered out to the lake, and she watched a flock of ducklings, who were enthusiastically paddling along by the side of their more sedate mother. Such funny, blundering, little balls of down they were, and when one of them nearly turned a somersault in its efforts to swim gracefully, Patty laughed aloud at him. “Do it again!” said a low but commanding voice at her side, and Patty looked round to see a grave-looking young man seated on the arm of a chair. She had not heard him approach, and she stared at him with a pardonable curiosity. He was garbed in white flannels, with a soft, white, silk shirt and Windsor tie. Though most correct in manner and bearing, he yet had an informal effect, and his large dark eyes looked almost mournfully at Patty. “I said, do it again!” he repeated, in a slightly aggrieved tone. “Do what again?” said Patty, more astonished than offended. “Make that funny noise,—something like a laugh; was it a laugh?” “Why, yes; one of my very best ones. Didn’t you like it?” “I thought it was a chime of fairy bells,” was the reply, so fervently given that Patty laughed again. The young man solemnly bowed as if in acknowledgment of her kindness. “Don’t take it so hard,” she said, smiling; “you’ll get over it; you’ll be all right in a moment.” “I’m all right now, thank you. I get used to things very quickly. And,—by the way,—you don’t mind my talking to you? Without having been properly introduced, I mean.” “I do mind very much. I think you’re forward and unconventional, and I hate both those traits.” “You’re so direct! Now, a softer, subtler insinuation would have pleased me better.” “But I’m not trying to please you!” “No? You really ought to study to please.” The young man arose and looked at Patty with an air of calm, impersonal criticism. “It would suit your personal appearance so well.” “Indeed! What is my personal appearance?” “Ah, direct and curious, both! Well, your beauty is of the sort described in most novels as ‘not a classic face, or even good-featured, but with that indescribable charm’——” “Indeed! I’ve been told that my features were very good.” “Ridiculous nonsense! Why, your eyes are too large for your face; your hair is too heavy for your head; and, and, your hands are too little for anything!” “How rude you are!” said Patty, shaking with laughter, “but as I brought it on myself, I suppose I oughtn’t to complain. Now, let’s drop personalities and talk commonplaces.” 14 15 16 “Awfully mean of you—before I had my innings. However, I don’t care; let’s. It’s a fine, well-aired morning, isn’t it?” “Are you always so funny?” asked Patty, staring at the young man, like a child pleased with a new toy. “’Most always,” was the cheerful retort; “aren’t you?” “Now you’re rude again, and I must ask you to go away. But tell me your name before you go, so that I may avoid you in future.” “What a good plan! My name, on the Grampian Hills, is Floyd Austin, and, truly, I’m well worth knowing. This performance this morning is just an escapade. Into each life some escapades must fall, you know. And, by the way, if you’ll disentangle your eyes from my gaze just for a minute, and look the other way, you’ll see the august Sir Otho coming, with ‘bless you, my children’ written legibly in every line of his shining morning face.” Sir Otho came toward them with hearty greetings. “Well, well, Patty,” he said; “so you already know our friend Austin? That’s good, that’s good! But you must be afraid of him, for he’s one of our coming poets. He’s already a celebrity, you know.” “Are you a celebrity?” demanded Patty, turning to Floyd Austin. “I am,” he said, gravely, “why?” “Why are you one?” “To pay a bet,” Austin replied, so promptly that his two hearers laughed. “He’s crazy,” said Patty to Sir Otho; “I never heard such talk!” “He’s a humorist, my dear child; you don’t know his language.” “A humorist?” said Patty, turning to Austin with simple inquiry on her pretty face. “I thought you were a poet.” Austin flashed an amused look at Sir Otho, and then looking at Patty, he said, in a smooth, even voice: “‘The force of Nature could no further go,—To make myself she joined the other two.’” “I do understand your language,” cried Patty, gaily, “that’s in Bartlett,—and it says, ‘Under Mr. Milton’s Picture’!” “Oh, my dear Patty,” said Sir Otho, “is your poetical knowledge bounded by Bartlett?” “But, Sir Otho,” observed Floyd Austin, in his slow, quiet way, “Bartlett is not such a bad boundary. His book is like a bird’s-eye view of a city,—which is always a good thing, for one can then pick out the churches and monuments so easily.” “Yes, and one can miss the most interesting bits that lurk in narrow streets and obscure corners.” “True enough, and so we both have the best of the argument.” Floyd Austin was a popular favourite, and one of the explanations of his popularity lay in the fact that he rarely continued to disagree with any one. The discomfiture of another, which is so pleasing to some clever people, was positively painful to his sensitive nature, and so easily adaptable were his own opinions, that he could adjust them to suit those of another with no trouble at all. This made his character somewhat indefinite, but added to the charm of his personality, and his sunny good nature was a quick passport to the good will of a new acquaintance. One of Austin’s minor interests was harmony of colour. He looked at Patty as she stood leaning lightly against the back of the chair from which she had risen at Sir Otho’s approach. She wore a long summer cloak of a light tan- coloured silk, lined with another silk that was pink, like a seashell. Simply cut, the long full folds almost hid her white frock, and she gathered the yielding material about her with a graceful gesture. “How well you wear that cape, Miss Fairfield,” said Floyd, and then turning to Sir Otho, he asked, “Doesn’t she?” “Why, yes; I daresay,” said the older man, uncertainly. “Do you, Patty?” “I don’t know,” said the girl, laughing. “I hope so, I’m sure, for it’s one of my favourite wraps. Are you an artist, Mr. Austin, that you’re so observant?” 17 18 19 20 “I’m an artist in most ways, yes,” he replied; “and I love colour better than anything else in the world. Those two shades in your cloak, now, are like——” “Like coffee and strawberry ice cream,” put in saucy Patty, and young Austin agreed enthusiastically. “Just that,” he cried, “and surely there’s no better combination.” “I like lemon, myself,” began Sir Otho, and just then Lady Hamilton came trailing her soft frills across the lawn toward the group. “Floyd Austin! by all that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, as she held out both hands to the young man, and smiled a welcome. “Yes, Lady Kitty,” he said, taking her hands, and smiling an acceptance of her welcome, “and so glad to see you again.” “Is Mr. Austin a long-lost brother?” asked Patty, “and if so, why have I never heard of him before?” “Yes, he’s a brother of all the world,” said Kitty; “the very dearest boy ever. I believe he lives next door to us, but he’s never there, for when he’s there he’s always here!” “Oh, is he Irish?” said Patty, and Floyd Austin’s eyes twinkled at her quick repartee. “He’s cosmopolitan,” said Sir Otho; “lives all over the world. But he’s a dear vagabond, and as long as we can keep him here, we’re going to do so.” “Not long,” said Austin, shaking his head. “I’m just down for a whiffling trip, and then off again to a summer clime.” “Oh, you can change your plans,” said Lady Kitty, easily. “I’ve known you to do it before. And I’m sure I can persuade you now, for I’ve Miss Fairfield to help me coax you.” “Oh, I’m no good at coaxing,” said saucy Patty, who was not yet quite sure that she liked this rather audacious young man. “But I’ll teach you how to coax prettily,” he said; “and then when you learn, you can coax me to do anything, and I’ll allow myself to be persuaded.” “Allow yourself indeed!” said Patty. “Probably you won’t be able to help yourself!” “Probably not,” he responded, with his unfailing concurrence. 21 22 A CHAPTER II A SUMMONS HOME FTERNOON tea was in progress, and as a light rain had set in, it was being served in the billiard-room. This large apartment was very attractive, for aside from the purpose for which it was intended, it was admirably adapted for a cosy lounging-place. A sort of extension with roof and sides of stained glass was an ideal place for the tea-table and its many appurtenances, and except for the footman, who brought in fresh supplies, Lady Kitty and her guests waited upon themselves. Though never a large group, a few neighbours usually dropped in at tea-time, and as there were always some people staying in the house, the hour was a social one. Patty, looking very dainty in a pretty little house-dress of Dresden silk, was having a very good time. Flo Carrington, a young English girl, whom she had met only the day before, came bustling in with exclamations of dismay. “I’m nearly drowned!” she cried. “The pelting rain has ruined me frock, and I’m starving for me tea. Do give me some, dear Lady Kitty.” “You shall have it at once,” declared Patty, hovering around the tea things; “cream or lemon?” “Lemon, and two lumps. You pretty Patty-thing, I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve only known you twenty-four hours, but already I feel one-sided if you’re not by me. Sit down, and let’s indulge in pleasant conversation.” So with their teacups, the girls sat down, and being largely about their two selves, the conversation was very pleasant indeed. But soon they were interrupted, as Cadwalader Oram, a typical young Englishman, approached them. “You two young women have monopolised each other long enough,” he declared; “you must now endeavour to entertain me.” “That’s easy,” said Patty, and turning to a near-by muffin-stand, she took a plate of hot, buttered ones, and offered them to young Oram; “have a muffin?” “Indeed I will, they’re very entertaining. Have you ever noticed how wonderful the Markleham muffins are? I get such nowhere else. Why is that, I wonder?” Lady Kitty, who was waiting by, answered this herself. “Because at large and formal teas,” she said, “muffins are not served; and if one’s friends drop in unexpectedly, muffins are rarely ready. It is my aim in life to have just so many people to tea as will justify muffins without prohibiting them.” “At last I understand why the teas at this house are always perfection,” said Oram, rising for a moment as Lady Kitty moved away. A newcomer had arrived, and Patty, looking up, saw Floyd Austin’s grave face in the doorway. “Owing to the inclemency of the weather, the starving people gathered in the billiard-room to partake of that nourishment which was to keep them alive until the dinner hour.” He said this in an impersonal, reading-aloud sort of voice, which seemed to Patty extremely funny. “He’s always doing that,” said Flo Carrington; “sometimes he’s screamingly droll.” After greeting his hostess, Austin made his way toward the small group clustered round Patty. With much chat and banter, he was served with tea and muffins, and so much attention was shown him that Patty concluded he must be a favourite indeed. “I fear we have rudely run into a cloudburst or something,” remarked Cadwalader Oram, unsuccessfully trying to look through a window, whose stained glass was further obscured by slipping raindrops. 23 24 25 26 “Sit down, Caddy,” said Flo; “you mar the harmony of this meeting when you’re so restless.” “Being thus admonished, young Oram crumpled himself gracefully into a chair,” drawled Floyd Austin, as Oram did that very thing, and Patty’s laughter rang out at the apt description. “Do that again,” said Austin, looking gravely at Patty, but she only smiled saucily at him, and looked over his head at another man who was approaching. “Mayn’t I be invited to join this all-star group?” If the speaker’s voice betokened a confidence in his own welcome, it was not misplaced, for smiles of greeting were bestowed on him, and Flo Carrington moved to make room for him between herself and Patty on the great settle. “Striving to act as if a literary lion were an everyday occurrence, the ladies beamed graciously upon him,” droned Austin; and so pat was his allusion that they all laughed. “This is Peter Homer, Miss Fairfield,” said Flo, and Austin added: “Beyond all doubt, the most outrageously interesting man you have ever met.” “Just queer enough to be delightful,” put in Cadwalader Oram, and Mr. Homer smiled benignly at the chaff flung at him. “He isn’t queer at all,” declared Flo; “he’s a genius, and a thoroughly sensible man.” “Both? Impossible!” exclaimed Floyd Austin. “Not at all!” said Mr. Homer, himself. “I’m writing a book in twenty volumes, Miss Fairfield,—that proves my genius. And I’ve left my work to come and chum with my friends,—that proves my sense.” “What is your book about?” asked Patty, a little uncertain how to talk to this wise man. “Tell me about your work.” “How can I talk to you of work,” said Mr. Homer, “when you don’t even know what the word means? Have you ever done any work in your life?” “No,” admitted Patty; “I’m too busy being idle to have any time for work. My life is nothing but folly.” “But folly and happiness are twins,” said he, looking kindly at the girl, and when kindness shone in Peter Homer’s blue eyes he was indeed attractive. “They are,” agreed Patty; “but pray how do you know what the word folly means?” “His folly is being wise,” broke in Cadwalader Oram. “Good for you, Caddy!” exclaimed Floyd Austin. “If that didn’t have a vaguely familiar ring about it, I should say you’d made an epigram.” “Well, let’s say it all the same,” said Flo Carrington; “he may never come any nearer to one.” “I don’t want to,” returned Oram. “Stevenson says, ‘There’s nothing so disenchanting as attainment,’ and that’s a delightful principle to work on. I hope to goodness I shall always fail just as I’m about to attain.” “What nonsense!” cried Patty. “Then if you ever ask a lovely girl to marry you, you’ll be secretly hoping she’ll say ‘no!’” “My word! but Americans are clever!” said Mr. Oram, bowing to her; “but for the sake of my argument, I must even subscribe to that.” “Oh, pshaw, Caddy!” said Mr. Homer, “don’t worry over it. You know you’re a younger son, and very few girls would marry you anyway.” “Very few would be enough,” observed Cadwalader, quickly and Floyd Austin immediately chimed in: “Having neatly vanquished his opponent, the younger son chuckled softly to himself.” Then as Lady Kitty came, and took Mr. Homer away, the little group broke up and somehow Patty found herself talking to Floyd Austin. “Say some more of those funny things,” she demanded; “I never heard any one do that before.” “The young man glanced furtively at his watch, and a spasm of pain crossed his features as he realised he must say 27 28 29 30 adieu to the fair young girl before him.” Austin said this in a whimsical, high-pitched tone, and Patty laughed aloud in spite of herself. “Thank you,” he said, earnestly, for his admiration of her musical laugh was now a standing joke between them. “And by the way, there’s a dance at Three Towers to-morrow night. I suppose you’ll go. Will you give me all the odd- numbered dances? Just for luck, you know.” “All the odd numbers! Why, I never heard of such greediness! I’ll give you just one dance, and you may be thankful if you get all of it!” “Somehow, I can’t feel alarmed, for I know you’ll change your mind a dozen times before to-morrow night comes.” “How well you read me! But truly, I can’t help it. I always fraction up my dances, and they won’t come out even, and then I have to tear up my programme, and then of course I can’t remember who’s who in the ballroom.” “Who’s hoodooed in the ballroom, you mean. But after that programme’s torn up, I may fare better than in the face of its accusing statistics.” “Tell me something about Mr. Homer,” said Patty, as she looked at the tall man who was the centre of an admiring group. “Peter Homer? Well, he’s the rightest kind of a fellow, a great scholar, and the best-looking man I ever saw,— outside my own mirror.” “Do you think you’re pretty?” asked Patty, looking at him with an air of innocent inquiry. “Yes, indeed. Not as pretty as you are, of course, but still a beauty. But Homer has the noble brow and lantern jaws that go to make up the ideal of facial elegance. Isn’t his hair stunning?” Mr. Homer’s hair was black and abundant. It was somewhat bushy and of coarse texture, and was tossed over back, as if by the incessant pushings of an impatient hand. “You’ll like him,” Austin went on, “but you won’t understand or appreciate him; you’re too young and ignorant.” “Thank you,” said Patty. “Not at all. Don’t mention it, no trouble, I assure you. But Homer’s a puzzle.” “I’m specially good at puzzles.” “Ah, but he isn’t of the ‘transposed, I am a fish,’ variety. You never can solve Peter Homer, little girl.” “I’ve no desire to,” said Patty, a little chagrined at his superior tone. “He isn’t a prize puzzle, is he?” “With the native quickness of the young American, she gracefully took the wind out of the sails of the conversation,” piped Austin, as he looked at her admiringly. Just then a footman brought a telegram to Patty. “I brought it at once, ma’am,” he said, “if so there might be an answer. The man will wait a bit.” “Allow me,” said Austin, slitting the envelope for her; “and I’ll stand in front of you while you read it, lest it may be of dire import, and your emotion be exposed to the gaping crowd.” Patty smiled at his nonsense, and read the telegram: “Last call. No more postponements. We will come for you next week, and all start for home September first. Be ready. “Father.” “Oh,” cried Patty in surprised dismay, as she grasped the sense of the message. “Can I help?” said Austin, quite serious now, for he saw Patty was really agitated. “No. It’s nothing tragic. At least, not really so, but it seems so to me. I have to go home, that’s all.” “Home? to America?” “Yes; and of course, I’m glad to go, in some ways, but I wanted to stay over here a little longer. Through the autumn, anyway.” 31 32 33 “It’s a beastly pity. I don’t want you to go. Who says you must?” “My father,” said Patty. “I’ve been promising to join him all summer, but somehow I didn’t get off, and now he suddenly says we’re all to go home.” “All?” “Yes, father and Nan and me. Nan’s my dear little stepmother. She’s the sweetest thing,—I just love her. I’m really crazy to see them both again, but I don’t want to go back to New York quite yet. I’ll soon get used to the idea, but coming just now, it’s a disappointment.” “It is to me, I assure you. Why, we’re just beginning to be friends.” “Yes, I shall always remember you pleasantly.” Patty was really thinking of something else, and said this so perfunctorily that Floyd Austin drawled out: “Having made a polite speech, the young lady promptly forgot the very presence of the gentleman who was addressing her.” “Nonsense,” said Patty laughing; “there, I’ll put this rather disturbing telegram away for the present, and devote my attention entirely to you!” “Heaven be praised!” murmured Austin, rolling his melancholy eyes toward the ceiling. “But oughtn’t you to answer it? You know the henchman awaiteth.” “Oh, yes; well, I’ll scribble a reply.” Turning to a desk, Patty quickly wrote: “All right. Come on. I’ll be ready.” Then addressing it, and signing it, she gave it to Floyd, who went in search of a footman. After the tea guests had all gone, Patty went to Lady Kitty’s room to tell her the news. “Wake up,” said Patty, gently dropping a kiss on the closed eyes of her friend, who was resting a bit before dinner. “What for?” asked Kitty, not opening her eyes. “What for, indeed! To see the last of your rapidly-disappearing friend and partner. Eyes, gaze your last! Heart, breathe your fond farewells!” The big blue eyes of Kitty Hamilton slowly unclosed themselves. “Melodramatics, my dear!” she said; “what do they mean?” “Read that!” said Patty, handing her the telegram. Kitty read it twice, and then sat up, wide awake enough now. “My little Pattypat,” she said, “you can’t go away home to America. I won’t let you!” “You can’t help yourself, Kitsie. If father has made up his mind,—and it does sound so,—off we go.” “They’re coming here next week,” went on Kitty, musing over the telegram. “That part of it’s delightful. I’ll make it so pleasant for them that they can’t tear themselves away.” “You can’t do that, dear. But it will be fun to see them. Blessed old Nan! I’ve missed her a lot this summer.” “You fraud! I do believe you’re glad you’re going home, after all.” “Well, in some ways, I am. You know I’m rather adaptable, and when I get my sailing orders, I begin to face toward the sea. I hate to leave you, and lots of other friends over here, but, I have friends in America, too, you know. And, Kitty, Sir Otho promised he’d bring you over there some time.” “Well, perhaps he will. At any rate, don’t let this summons cloud your bright young life for the moment. Lock it up in your desk, and put it out of your mind for to-night, anyway. Now, run and dress for dinner. What are you wearing?” 34 35 36 “Are there guests?” “Yes, a few. Nobody very especial. Put on that speckled gauze thing.” “Don’t you call my dotted chiffon by disrespectful names,” and Patty ran, singing, away to her own room. “K CHAPTER III A PLEASURE TRIP OFFERED ITTY, I’ve had a jounce,” said Patty, next day, as she sought her friend and found her in the pleasant morning room that overlooked the rose-garden. Lady Hamilton treated her young guest to a haughty, disdainful stare. “If you will talk in barbaric jargon,” she said, “you can’t expected civilised people to understand you.” Patty had an open letter in her hand, and as she fell sideways into a big easy-chair, she gave her hostess a dear little smile of apology. “It is horrid, I know,” she said, contritely. “I don’t know why the excessively correct and well-bred atmosphere of Markleham Grange should bring out my worst American slang, but it does. I beg your pardon, Kitty, and I’ll try to mend my ways.” “Oh, don’t take it too seriously,” laughed Lady Kitty, “and now, what jounced you?” “Well, you may remember I had a telegram yesterday, from my adored parent, telling me I was to start for home the first of September.” “I remember it with startling distinctness.” “Well, forget it, then, for it isn’t true. One of the clever operators of your clever British telegraph company must have misread or miswritten a word, for I have a letter here from my father, and it seems he wrote Rome instead of home.” “Oh, Patty Fairfield! And aren’t you really going home at all? And are you going to Rome? To Italy?” “Yes, just that! Father and Nan have suddenly decided to spend the autumn in Italy, a pleasure trip, you know, and go straight to Rome first, and then go home later, about Christmas, they think.” “Well, I don’t wonder you were,—what did you call it? Bumped?” “No, I didn’t say that. I merely announced that I was,—ahem,—surprised a bit.” “And pleased?” “Yes, very much pleased. I didn’t care a lot about Switzerland, but I’m crazy to go to Rome and Venice and some few other Italian show-places. Indeed it will be a pleasure trip for me.” “Well, it’s lovely. I can’t leave now, of course, but father and I will run down to see you later, wherever you are. I need a little southern sun on my complexion.” “Nothing could improve your complexion,” said Patty, kissing it, “but it will be great to have you join us. I feel like a whirlpool. It’s awful to have my outlook whipped about so often and so suddenly.” “And to-morrow you may get a letter saying this is a mistake, and your father is taking you to Kamschatka.” “Indeed, it isn’t father who’s changeable! It’s that bright telegraph operator, who can’t read a gentleman’s handwriting. Well, there’s no harm done, and now I’ll run away and adjust my mind to my changed fortunes.” Patty went out to her favourite seat under the awning, and gave herself up to day dreams of the delightful trip in store for her. She had always longed to go to Italy, but had not expected to do so for many years yet. For some reason Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield had changed their plans, but though the letter told of this, it told little else. “No hanging back now,” her father had written; “no excuses of week-ends or house-parties. Cancel all your engagements, if you’ve made any, and be ready to leave Markleham Grange when we come for you next week.” “He needn’t have been so explicit,” thought Patty, “for I’ve no desire to put house-parties ahead of a trip to Italy. Why, I wouldn’t miss it for anything! I wonder if we will go to Venice. I suppose I ought to study up art and things,— I’m fearfully ignorant. But I couldn’t learn much in a week. I guess I’ll wait, and learn it on its native heath. Perhaps I 37 38 39 40 won’t care much for the old statues and things, anyway. I suppose they’re awfully ruined. Must look like a railroad accident. Oh, that’s horrid of me! I ought to have more respect for such things. Well, I’m going anyhow, and I’ll have the time of my life, I know I shall.” Patty lived through that day absent-mindedly. Somehow, going to Italy seemed a responsibility, and one not to be undertaken thoughtlessly. She hinted this to Lady Hamilton, and Kitty laughed outright. “My word!” she said; “don’t you think you’re going to do the Yankee Tourist effect! Don’t you go pottering about the galleries with your nose in a catalogue, and a Baedeker under your arm! A nice pleasure trip that would be! You’re too ignorant to be an intelligent art lover, and not ignorant enough to pose as one; just stumble around among the pictures, and much of what is good will stick to your memory, and the rest will brush off of itself.” “You’re a comfort, Kitty,” said Patty; “I thought I ought to study up Ruskin on the Tuscans and Etruscans, or whatever those art books are about.” “You’re too much of a goose, Patty, to study anything. But I expect you’ll get a lot of fun out of Italy.” “I rayther think I shall,” said Patty, with twinkling eyes; for, as she well knew, she found fun wherever she looked for it. That night they went to the dance at Three Towers. This was a neighbouring country place, whose three noble towers ranked among the oldest in England. Patty was enchanted with the grand old house, for her delvings into architectural books through the summer had taught her to appreciate historic mansions. Patty almost held her breath as she entered the stately ballroom, with its crystal chandeliers, like suspended frozen fountains, sparkling with hundreds of wax candles. The floral decorations were elaborate, but to Patty’s mind they almost detracted from the grandeur of the massive beams and studded ceilings of the fine old hall. After greeting the hostess, the Markleham party found themselves surrounded by friends and acquaintances, and Patty learned that the dancing had already begun. Sir Otho made his escape to some other room, where he might chat undisturbed with some of his cronies, and Lady Kitty and Patty were soon provided with programmes, and besieged for dances. “Now you have done it!” was Floyd Austin’s comment, as he presented himself, and gazed in frank admiration at Patty’s pretty evening gown of fluffy white tulle, decorated with silver tracery. “Is that the frock of a hundred frills?” “Aptly named, Floyd,” said Lady Kitty; “and a becoming costume for my little girl, isn’t it?” “Oh, fair,—madame, fair,” said Austin, teasingly. “I’d rather be asked to dance than to have ambiguous compliments,” said Patty, tapping her foot in time to the Viennese music of the orchestra. “Come, then,” said Austin, in a tone of patient resignation. “Shall I humour her, Lady Kitty?” Smiling assent was given, and the two joined the dancers on the polished floor. “How different from dancing in America,” said Patty, as they wound slowly in and out among the circling throng. “It’s different from anything, anywhere, any time,” said he. “You’re too vague,” she sighed. “I never know whether you’re making fun of me or not. Don’t I dance right?” “Right? You dance like—like——” “Now I know you’re trying to think of a pretty allusion. Do get a good one.” “Yes, I will. You dance like,—why, very much like I do! We’re both ripping good dancers.” Patty laughed out at this. “It is a compliment,” she said, “though not just the sort I expected.” “Girls expect so much now-a-days. There, the music’s stopped! Must I take you back to Lady Kitty, or will you give me the next dance?” “Take me back, please. But later on, if you care for another dance, you may come back,—if you like.” “I do like. I think you were made for men to come back to. Ah, Lady Hamilton, here is your fair charge. Not a frill missing of the original hundred, which speaks well for my guardianship, as many of the ladies are ruefully regarding 41 42 43 44