Patty's Friends Part 5

"I thought it was a cipher message," said Nan, smiling. "Patty is so fond of puzzles and secret languages, I wasn't sure but it might mean 'All is discovered; fly at once!'"

"It means 'all is well'," said Lady Hamilton, in her gracious way; "and now I must fly at once with my spoil."

She took possession of Patty, and with a few words of adieu to the others, led her from the room. The lady in black rose from the table and followed them, and Patty entered the lift, blissfully happy, but a little bewildered.

"We'll have our coffee right here," said Lady Hamilton, as having reached her drawing-room, she proceeded to adjust some dainty gilt cups that stood on a small table. "That is, if you are allowed to have coffee at night. From your roseleaf cheeks, I fancy you drink only honeydew or b.u.t.tercup tea."

"No, indeed; I'm far too substantial for those things," said Patty, as she dropped into the cosy chair Lady Hamilton had indicated; "and for over a year now, I've been allowed to have after-dinner coffee."

"Dear me! what a grown-up! Miss Fairfield, this is Mrs. Betham, my very good friend, who looks after me when I get frisky and try to sc.r.a.pe acquaintance across a public dining-room."

If Lady Hamilton was lovely when she was silent, she was doubly bewitching when she talked in this gay strain. Little dimples came and went in her cheeks, so quickly that they had scarcely disappeared before they were back again.

Mrs. Betham bowed and spoke politely to Patty, but her voice was quick and sharp, and her manner, though courteous, was not attractive.

"I doubt the coffee's hot," she said, as a waiter, who had just brought it in, was filling the tiny cups.

"It's steaming," said Lady Hamilton, gaily, and Patty saw at once that whatever it was that made her new friend sorrowful, it was not the grumbling tones of Mrs. Betham.

"It's quite too hot, Julia," she went on; "unless you're careful, you'll steam your throat."

"Not I," growled Mrs. Betham. "I'm not such a stupid as that. But I must say I like my coffee at a table like a Christian, and not setting my cup in my lap, or holding it up in the air."

"Dear me, Julia," said Lady Hamilton, with great solicitude expressed on her face; "dear me, your gout must be very bad to-night. It makes you quite cross. Poor dear!"

Mrs. Betham sniffed at this, but a grim smile came into her eyes, and Patty concluded she was not quite so grumpy as she seemed.

After the coffee was finished, and the tray taken away, Mrs. Betham excused herself and went off to her own room.

"The way it began," said Lady Hamilton, as if to explain her interest in Patty, "was one day when I went through the corridors and pa.s.sed your drawing-room, and the door was a little mite ajar, and I heard you singing. I am very fond of just that high, sweet kind of voice that you have, and I paused a few moments to listen to you. Then afterward I saw you in the dining-room two or three times at luncheon or dinner, and I took a fancy to know you, for I felt sure I should like you. Do you mind coming to see me once in a while, my dear? I am very lonely."

"Mind! No, indeed!" cried Patty, impetuously throwing her arms around her new friend. "I loved you the first time I ever saw you. But why do you say you are lonely? You, a great lady."

"I will tell you my story in a few words," said Lady Hamilton. "For I suppose you would hear it from others, and I would rather tell it you myself. I am the daughter of Sir Otho Markleham. Of course, if you were a Londoner, you would know all this, but as you're not, I'll tell you.

Well, I am Sir Otho's only daughter, and four years ago, when I was just eighteen, I ran away from home and married Lord Cecil Hamilton. He was a good man, but he had quarrelled with my father on a point of politics, and my father disapproved of the match. He disowned me as his daughter, though he said he would always continue the allowance I had had as a girl. I was glad of this, not only because Lord Hamilton, though a man of good fortune, was not a wealthy man, but also because it seemed to show my father had not entirely cast me off. But he forbade us to go to his house, and we went to Paris and lived there for a year. After one year of happy married life Cecil died, and since then my only aim in life has been to be reconciled to my father. But he will not have it, or at least he won't have it unless I make the first overtures toward peace."

"And won't you?" cried Patty, in astonishment.

"Not I! I am not to blame. The two men quarrelled, and now that Cecil is gone, why should my father hold the feud against me? It is not my place to ask his pardon; I've done nothing wrong."

"You ran away from home," said Patty, thinking only of the justice of the case, and quite forgetting that she was seeming to censure a t.i.tled English lady.

"Yes, but that was not wrong. Father knew that Cecil was a fine, honourable man, of an old family. He had no right to forbid my marriage because of a foolish personal disagreement."

"Your mother?" said Patty.

"My mother died when I was a child," said Lady Hamilton, and at once Patty felt a new bond of companionship.

"I lived alone with my father, in our great house in London, and I had a happy and uneventful life, until Cecil came. Since his death, I've longed so to go home to my father, and be at peace with him, but though many kind friends have tried to bring about a reconciliation, they haven't been able to do so."

"And so you live here alone at the Savoy?"

"Yes, with Mrs. Betham, who is really an old dear, though sometimes she grumbles terribly."

"And do you go into society?"

"I've begun to go a little, of late. Cecil made me promise I'd never wear black dresses, so I've worn white only, ever since he died, and I suppose I always shall. That is, in the house. I have black street gowns. But I can't seem to care for gay parties as I used to. I want father, and I want my home."

"Is your father in London?"

"Oh, yes; he's a Member of Parliament. But he's of a stubborn and unyielding nature."

"And so are you?"

"And so am I. Now, let's drop the subject of myself for the present, while you sing for me. Will you?"

"Yes, indeed," said Patty, warmly; "with more pleasure than I ever sang for any one else."

CHAPTER IV

A FLORAL OFFERING

As the days went by, Patty and Lady Hamilton became close friends. Mr.

and Mrs. Fairfield approved of the intimacy, for the elder woman's influence was in every way good for Patty, and in return the girl brought sunshine and happiness into Lady Hamilton's life.

They went together to concerts and picture exhibitions, but Patty could rarely persuade her friend to go to a social affair.

"It's absurd, Lady Hamilton," said Patty, one day, "to shut yourself up as you do! All London wants you, and yet you won't go 'round and play pretty with them."

Ignoring this outburst, Lady Hamilton only smiled, and said: "Do you know, Patty, I think it's time you dropped my formal t.i.tle, and called me by my first name. I'd love to have you do so."

"I've often wondered what your first name is, but I haven't the slightest idea. Tell me."

"No, guess. What name do you think suits me?"

Patty considered.

"Well," she said, at last, "I think it must be either Ethelfrida or Gwendolyn Gladys."

Lady Hamilton laughed merrily. "Prepare yourself for a sudden shock," she said. "I was named for my grandmother, Catharine."

"Catharine! What an absurd name for you! You're not even a Kate. But you are Lady Kitty, and I'll call you that, if I may."

"Indeed you may. Father used to call me Kitty, when I was a child, but as I grew older, I preferred my full name."