“No, my boy; I lost my taste for garden parties some years ago. But it’s a fine setting for you young people, and I hope Emmeline will take you all.”
“Mother said she’d see about it,” said Mabel, “and that’s always the same as ‘yes.’ If it’s going to be ‘no,’ she says, ‘I’ll think it over.’”
“It’s a great thing to understand your mother-tongue so well,” said Patty, laughing; “now I shouldn’t have known those distinctions.”
“We have a wonderful talent for languages,” said Sinclair, gravely. “Indeed, we have a language of our own. Shall I teach it to you?”
“You might try,” said Patty, “but I’m not at all clever as a linguist.”
“You may not learn it easily, but it can be taught in one sentence. It consists in merely using the initial of the word instead of the word itself.”
“But so many words begin with the same initial,” said Patty, bewildered at the idea.
“Yes, but it’s ever so much easier than you’d think. Now listen. Wouldn’t you understand me if I said: ‘D y w t g t t g p?’”
“Say it again, please, and say it slowly.”
Sinclair repeated the letters, and Patty clapped her hands, crying: “Yes, yes, of course I understand. You mean ‘Do you want to go to the garden party?’ Now, listen to me while I answer: Y I w t g i i d r.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mabel. “You said: ‘Yes, I want to go, if it doesn’t rain.’ Oh, you are a quick pupil.”
“But those are such easy sentences,” said Patty, as she considered the matter.
“That’s the point,” said Bob, “most sentences, at least, the ones we use most, are easy. If I should meet you unexpectedly, and say H d y d? you’d know I meant How do you do? Or if I took leave, and said G b, you’d understand good-bye. Those are the simplest possible examples. Now, on the other hand, if I were to read you a long speech from the morning paper, you’d probably miss many of the long words, but that’s the other extreme. We’ve talked in initials for years, and rarely are we uncertain as to the sense, though we may sometimes skip a word here and there.”
“But what good is it?” asked Patty.
“No good at all,” admitted Bob; “but it’s fun. And after you’re used to it, you can talk that way so fast that any one listening couldn’t guess what you are saying. Sometimes when we’re riding on an omnibus, or anything like that, it’s fun to talk initials and mystify the people.”
“D y o d t?” said Patty, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, we often do that,” returned Bob, greatly gratified at the rapid progress of the new pupil. “You must be fond of puzzles, to catch this up so quickly.”
“I am,” said Patty. “I’ve guessed puzzles ever since I was a little girl. I always solve all I can find in the papers, and sometimes I take prizes for them.”
“We do that too,” said Mabel; “and sometimes we make puzzles and send them to the papers and they print them. Let’s make some for each other this evening.”
After dinner the young people gathered round the table in the pleasant library, and were soon busy with paper and pencils. Patty found the Hartleys a match for her in quickness and ingenuity, but she was able to guess as great a proportion of their puzzles as they of hers.
After amusing themselves with square words and double acrostics, they drifted to conundrums, and Bob asked:
“Which letter of the Dutch alphabet spells an English lady of rank?”
“That’s not fair,” objected Patty, “because I don’t know the Dutch alphabet.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Mabel, “you can guess it just as well without.”
“Indeed I can’t, and besides I don’t know the names of all the English ladies of rank.”
“That doesn’t matter either,” said Sinclair, smiling; “it spells a title, not a name; and one you know very well.”
“I can’t guess it, anyway,” said Patty, after a few moment’s thought. “I give it up; tell me.”
“Why, Dutch S,” said Bob, and Patty agreed that it was a good catch.
“Now, I’ll catch you,” said Patty. “You all know your London pretty well, I suppose, and are familiar with the places of interest. Well, Mabel, why is your nose like St. Paul’s?”
Mabel thought hard, and so did the boys.
“Is my nose like St. Paul’s, too?” asked Bob, thoughtfully, stroking his well-shaped feature.
Patty looked at it critically. “Yes,” she said, “and so is Sinclair’s. But why?”
At last they gave it up, and Patty said, triumphantly, “Because it is made of flesh and blood.”
They all screamed with laughter, for they quickly saw the point, and realised that it was the historic character referred to, and not the cathedral.
“Here’s one,” said Sinclair: “Where did the Prince of Wales go on his eleventh birthday?” But Patty was quite quick enough for this. “Into his twelfth year,” she answered promptly. “And now listen to this: A man walking out at night, met a beggar asking alms. The man gave him ten cents. He met another beggar and gave him fifteen cents. What time was it?”
“Time for him to go home,” declared Bob, but Patty said that was not the right answer.
“Springtime,” guessed Mabel, “because the man was in such a good humor.”
“No,” said Patty, “it was quarter to two.”
Her hearers looked utterly blank at this, and, suddenly realising that they were not very familiar with American coins, Patty explained the joke. They saw it, of course, but seemed to think it not very good, and Sinclair whimsically insisted on calling it, “a shilling to Bob,” which he said was equally nonsensical.
“Give us one of your poetry ones, Grandy,” said Bob to Mrs. Cromarty, who sat by, quietly enjoying the young people’s fun.
“Miss Fairfield may not care for the old-fashioned enigma, but I will offer this one,” and in her fine, clear voice the old lady recited her verse with elocutionary effect:
The others had heard this before, and when Patty promptly guessed “Bark,” Mrs. Cromarty was distinctly pleased with her quick-wittedness.
Then lemonade and wafery little cakes were brought in, that the puzzlers might refresh themselves.
The atmosphere of the Hartley household was very pleasant, and Patty felt much more at home than she had ever expected to feel among English people. She made allusion to this, and Bob said: “Oh, this place isn’t homey at all, compared with our real home. You must come to see us down in the country, mustn’t she, mother?”
“I should be very glad to welcome you there, my dear,” said Mrs. Hartley, smiling at Patty, “and I trust it may be arranged. We have this apartment for only a few weeks longer, and then we shall go back to Leicester.”
“I’m in no haste to go,” declared Mabel. “I love Cromarty Manor, but I want to stay in London a little longer. But when we do go, Patty, you surely must visit us there.”
“Indeed I will, if I can manage it. My parents want me to go with them to Switzerland, but I’d much prefer to spend the summer in England. I have ever so many delightful invitations to country houses, and they seem to me a lot more attractive than travelling about. I suppose I ought to care more about seeing places, but I don’t.”
“You’re quite young enough yet,” said Mrs. Hartley, “to look forward to travelling in future years. I think some experiences of English life would be quite as advantageous for you.”
“I’ll tell father you said that,” said Patty. “Then perhaps he’ll let me have my own way. But he usually does that, anyway.”
“You’d love Cromarty Manor,” said Bob, enthusiastically. “It’s so beautiful in spring and early summer.”
“But not half as grand as other houses where Patty’s invited,” said Mabel, and again the shadow crossed her face that seemed always to come when she spoke of her country home.
“Grandeur doesn’t count in the country,” declared Bob. “That belongs to London life. Other places may be larger or in better condition than ours, but they can’t be more beautiful.”
“That is true,” said Mrs. Cromarty, in her quiet way, which always seemed to decide a disputed point. And then it was time to go home, and Mrs. Hartley sent Patty away in her carriage, with a maid to accompany her. The woman was middle-aged, with a pleasant voice and a capable manner. She chatted affably with Patty, and dilated a little on the glories of the Cromarty family.
Patty realised at once that she was an old family servant, and had earned a right to a little more freedom of speech than is usual to English domestics.
“Oh, yes, Miss,” she said; “it’s a wonnerful old place, that it is. And if the dear lady only ’ad the money as is ’ers by right, she’d keep it up lordly, that she would.”
Patty wondered what had become of the money in question, but Sarah said no more concerning it, and Patty felt she had no right to ask. “You live with them, then, in the country?” she said.
“Yes, Miss, I’ve allus lived with them. My mother was housekeeper at the Manor when Miss Emmeline married Mr. ’Artley. Oh, he was the fine gentleman. Dead now, this ten year come Whitsuntide. Master Bob, he’s the image of his father. Are you warm enough, Miss?”
Sarah’s quick transit from reminiscences to solicitude for her comfort almost startled Patty, but she was getting used to that peculiarity of the British mind.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, “and anyway, we’re home now. Here’s the Savoy.”
Mr. Fairfield and Nan had not yet arrived, so the good Sarah attended Patty to her own apartment and gave her over to Louise, who awaited her coming.
Louise helped her off with her pretty frock, and brought her a beribboned négligée, and Patty curled up in a big armchair in front of the fire to think over the evening.
“These wood-fires are lovely,” she said to herself, “and they do have most comfortable stuffed chairs over here, if they only knew enough to put rockers under them.”
Patty was a comfort-loving creature, and often bewailed the absence of the rocking-chairs so dear to her American heart. Soon her parents came in and found her sound asleep in the big chair.
She woke up, as her father kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Hello, Prince Charming,” she said, smiling gaily at the handsome man in evening clothes who stood looking down at her.
“I suppose you want a return compliment about the Sleeping Beauty,” he said, “but you won’t get it. Too much flattery isn’t good for a baby like you, and I shall reserve my pretty speeches for my wife.”
“Oh, I’ll share them with Patty,” laughed Nan, “but with no one else.”
“Tell us about your evening, girlie,” said her father. “Did you have a good time?”
“Fine,” said Patty. “The Hartleys are lovely people; I like them better than any I’ve met in London, so far. And they do puzzles, and ask riddles, and they’re just as clever and quick as Americans. I’ve heard that English people were heavy and stupid, and they’re not, a bit.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear. Are they a large family?” “Not very. Two sons, one daughter, and the mother and grandmother. Mabel’s father has been dead for years. And they want me to visit them at their home in Leicester this summer. Can’t I go?”
“Desert your own family for foreigners!”
“Yes; I do want to go there and to some other country places while you and Nan go touristing about. Mayn’t I?”
“We won’t decide now. It’s too near midnight for important matters to be discussed. Skip to bed, chickabiddy, and dream of the Stars and Stripes, lest you forget them entirely.”
“Never!” cried Patty, striking a dramatic attitude.
And humming the Star-spangled Banner, she went away to her own room.
CHAPTER III
THE WHITE LADY
“I feel in a gay mood,” said Nan, as she clasped Patty round the waist, and always ready for a dance, Patty fell into step, and the two waltzed round the room, while Patty sang tum-te-tum to the air of a popular song.
“As if you two ever felt any other way!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield, smiling at them from the depths of his easy chair. “But what does this gay mood betoken? I suppose you want to drag me out to the theatre or opera to-night.”
Mr. Fairfield’s pleasant smile belied his pretense at sharpness, and he waited to hear a reply.
“That would be lovely,” said Nan, “and we’ll go if you invite us. But what I had in mind is this: I’d like to dine in the Restaurant.”
“Good!” cried Mr. Fairfield. “I feel gay enough for that, myself, and we haven’t dined there for nearly a week.”
The Fairfields had a complete apartment of their own, and when not invited out, usually dined quietly in their own dining-room. But occasionally, when the mood took them, they dined in the great Savoy Restaurant, which was a festive pageant indeed.
Patty loved to sit at a table there, and watch the beautiful women in their elaborate gowns, and their handsome, stalwart escorts, who were sometimes in brave uniforms.
The splendid scene would have palled upon them, had they dined there every evening, but as a change from their small family dinner it was delightful.
“We’ll wear our dress-up frocks,” said Patty, “and perhaps my White Lady will be there again.”
“Your White Lady?” asked Nan. “Who is she?”
“That’s just what I can’t find out, though I’ve asked several people. But she’s the most beautiful lady, with a haughty, proud face, and sad eyes. She always wears white, and there’s an elderly lady who is sometimes with her. A strange-looking old lady in black, she is; and her face is like a hawk’s.”
“Oh, I remember those people; they always sit at the same table.” “Yes, I think they live here. But she is so sweet and lovely I’d like to know her. I make up stories about her all to myself. She’s like Ginevra or the Lady of Shalott.”
“You’re too fanciful, Patty. Probably she’s the Duchess of Hardscrabble.”
“She looks like a Duchess, anyway. And also, she looks like a simple, sweet, lovely lady. I’m going to ask father to find out who she is.”
A little later the Fairfields went down to dinner.
Nan wore an exquisite gown of embroidered yellow satin, and Patty wore a frilled white silk muslin. It was a little low at the throat, and was very becoming to her, and in and out of her piled-up curls was twisted a broad white ribbon, which ended in front in a saucy cluster of bows, after the prevailing fashion.
“This is great fun,” said Patty, as she took her seat with a little sigh of content. “I just love the lights and flowers and music and noise–”
“Can you distinguish the music from the noise?” asked her father, laughing.
“I can if I try, but I don’t care whether I do or not. I love the whole conglomeration of sounds. People laughing and talking, and a sort of undertone of glass and china and waiters.”
“That sounds graphic,” said Nan, “but the waiters here aren’t supposed to make any noise.”
“No, I know it, but they’re just part of the whole scene, and it’s all beautiful together. Oh, there’s my White Lady!”
It was indeed a charming young woman who was just entering the room. She was tall and very slender, with a face serene and sweet. Her large, dark eyes had a look of resignation, rather than sadness, but the firm set of her scarlet lips did not betoken an easily-resigned nature.
With her was the elder lady of whom Patty had spoken. She was sharp-featured and looked as if she were sharp-tempered. She wore a rather severe evening gown of black net, and in her gray hair was a quivering black aigrette.
In contrast to this dark figure, the younger lady looked specially fair and sweet. Her trailing gown was of heavy white lace, and round her beautiful throat were two long strings of pearls. She wore no other ornament save for a white flower in her hair, and her shoulders and arms were almost as white as the soft tulle that billowed against them.
It chanced that Mr. Fairfield’s table was quite near the one usually occupied by these two, and Patty watched the White Lady, without seeming to stare at her.
“Isn’t she exquisite?” she said, at last, for they were not within earshot, and Nan agreed that she was.
As the dinner proceeded, Patty glanced often at the lady of her admiration, and after a time was surprised and a little embarrassed to find that the White Lady was glancing at her.
Fearing she had stared more frankly than she realised, Patty refrained from looking at the lady again, and resolutely kept her eyes turned in other directions.