Patty's Success Part 36

"No," agreed Patty, meekly. Then to herself she said: "Only a week of this! Only six days now."

That afternoon they went to the dressmaker's.

Patty put on a smart tailored costume, and almost regretted that she had left her white furs at home. But she and Nan had agreed that they were too elaborate for her use as a companion, so she wore a small neckpiece and m.u.f.f of chinchilla. But it suited well her dark-blue cloth suit and plain but chic black velvet hat.

The dressmaker, an ultra-fashionable modiste, looked at Patty with interest, recognising in her costume the work of adept hands.

Moreover, Patty's praise and criticism of Mrs. Van Reypen's new gowns showed her to be a young woman of taste and knowledge in such matters.

Both the modiste and her aristocratic patron were a little puzzled at Patty's att.i.tude, which, though modest and deferential, was yet sure and true in its judgments and opinions.

At last, when Mrs. Van Reypen was undergoing some tedious fitting, Patty had an inspiration.

"May I be excused long enough to telephone?" she asked.

"Certainly," said Mrs. Van Reypen, who was in high good humour, because of her new finery. "Take all the time you like."

Patty had noticed a telephone booth in the hall, and, shutting herself in it, she called up Nan.

By good fortune Nan was at home, and answered at once.

"Oh!" began Patty, giggling, "I've so much to tell you, and it's all so funny, I can't say a word. We're at the dressmaker's now, and I took this chance to call you up, because I won't be overheard. Oh, Nan, it's great fun!"

"Tell me the princ.i.p.al facts, Patty. And stop giggling. Is she kind to you? Is she patronising? Have you a pleasant room? Do you want to come home? Are you happy there?"

"Oh, Nan, wait a minute, for goodness' sake! Yes, she's patronising--she won't let me speak to her grand nephew. Oh--I don't mean her grand nephew! I mean her grand, gorgeous, extraordinary nephew. But I don't care; I've no desire to speak to him."

"Does he live there?"

"No; and never mind about him, anyway. How are you all? Is father well?

Oh, Nan, it seems as if I'd been away from home a year! And what do you think? I have to dance for her to amuse her!"

"Patty! Not really? Well, you can do that all right."

"Sure I can! Oh, she's a peach! Don't reprove my slang, Nan; I have to be so precise when I'm on duty. Well, I must say good-by now. I'll write you a long letter as soon as I get a chance. To-night we're going to see Mlle. Thingamajig dance, and to-morrow night, to the opera. So you see I'm not dull."

"Oh, Patty, I wish you'd drop it all and come home! I don't like it, and Fred doesn't either."

"Tra-la-la! 'Twill all be over soon! Only six days more. Expect me home next Thursday afternoon. Love to all. Good-by. Patty!"

Patty hung up the receiver, for she knew if she talked any longer she'd get homesick. The sound of Nan's familiar voice made her long for her home and her people. But Patty was plucky, and, also, she was doggedly determined to succeed this time.

So she went back to Mrs. Van Reypen with a placid countenance, and sat for an hour or more complimenting and admiring the costumes in process of construction.

Somehow the afternoon dragged itself away, and the evening, at the theatre, pa.s.sed pleasantly enough.

But the succeeding days went slowly.

Mrs. Van Reypen was difficult to please. She was fretty, irritable, inconsequent, and unjust.

What suited her one day displeased her highly the next.

So long as Patty praised, complimented, and flattered her all went fairly well.

But if Patty inadvertently disagreed with her, or expressed a contrary opinion, there was a scene.

And again, if Patty seemed especially meek and mild Mrs. Van Reypen would say:

"Don't sit there and a.s.sent to everything I say! Do have some mind of your own! Express an honest opinion, even though it may differ from mine."

Then, if Patty did this, it would bring down vials of wrath on her inoffensive head. Often she was at her wits' end to know what to say. But her sense of humour never deserted her, and if she said something, feeling sure she was going to get sorely berated for saying it, she was able to smile inwardly when the scathing retort was uttered.

Sunday was an especially hard day. It was stormy, so they could not go out.

So Mrs. Van Reypen bade Patty read sermons to her.

When Patty did so she either fell asleep and then, waking suddenly, declared that Patty had been skipping, or else she argued contrary to the doctrines expressed in the sermons and expected Patty to combat her arguments.

"I'm tired of hearing you read," she said, at last. "You do read abominably. First you go along in staccato jerks, then you drone in a monotone. Philip is a fine reader. I love to hear Philip read. I wish he'd come in to-day. I wonder why he doesn't? Probably because you're here. He must have taken a violent dislike to you, Miss Fairfield."

"Do you think so?" said Patty, almost choking with suppressed laughter at this version of Philip's att.i.tude toward her.

"Yes, I'm sure he did. For usually he likes my companions--especially if they're pretty. And you're pretty, Miss Fairfield. Not the type I admire myself,--I prefer brunettes,--but still you are pretty in your own way."

"Thank you," said Patty, meekly.

"And you're especially pretty when you dance. I wish you could dance for me now; but, of course, I wouldn't let you dance on Sunday. That's the worst of Sundays. There's so little one can do."

"Shall I sing hymns to you?" inquired Patty, gently, for she really felt sorry for the discontented old lady.

"Yes, if you like," was the not very gracious rejoinder, and, without accompaniment, Patty sang the old, well-known hymns in her true, sweet voice.

The twilight was falling, and, as Patty's soothing music continued, Mrs.

Van Reypen fell asleep in her chair.

Exhausted by a really difficult day Patty also dropped into a doze, and the two slept peacefully in their chairs in front of the dying embers of the wood fire.

It was thus that Philip Van Reypen found them as he came softly in at five o'clock.

"Well, I'll be excused," he said, to himself, "if I ever saw anything to beat that!"

His gaze had wandered from his sleeping aunt to Patty, now sound asleep in a big armchair.

The crimson velvet made a perfect background for her golden curls, a bit tumbled by her afternoon exertions at being entertaining.

Her posture was one of graceful relaxation, and pretty Patty had never looked prettier than she did then, asleep in the faint firelight.

"By Jove!" exclaimed the young man, but not aloud, "if that isn't the prettiest sight ever. I believe there's a tradition that one may kiss a lady whom one finds asleep in her chair, but I won't. She's a dear little girl, and she shan't be teased."