“Phil, I know all grades of missing! I’m no novice at it. Since this war called them, I’ve missed acquaintances, casual friends, old friends, relatives, and, of course, most of all, my own Little Billee. Now, I shall miss you, – and I know you’ll miss me, – but, you’ll soon get so interested in your work – in the great game, – that you’ll – oh, not forget me, I’m sure, – but my memory will become, let us say, a little blurred.”
“Indeed it won’t! But, hold on here, if it isn’t my departure, what is it that has made your countenance sicklied o’er with a pale cast of – something or other?”
“Rice powder, probably! Does it really make me look sickly? Good gracious!” Patty scrubbed at her cheeks with her handkerchief, until they were rosy indeed.
“Nope; you can’t rub it off! It’s ingrained. Come now, what’s up?”
“Well, I am bothered. Philip, how do war secrets leak out?”
“How do they keep from it, you mean! Why, Patty, the end and aim of a majority of our citizens seems to be to chatter and make trouble thereby. What’s exploded now?”
“Nothing that I can tell you, – only, – well, – never mind.”
“You transparent little goose! Have you been and went and told something Farnsworth told you not to?”
“No, I haven’t! But he thought I did, so it’s just as bad!”
“No; not just as bad, – but, bad. What was it?”
“Never mind, but he thought I opened a sealed envelope and it’s still sealed.”
“Has it been out of your possession?”
“Not for a minute!”
“Good! and locked away when you are asleep?”
“Always; locked in a secret drawer.”
“Good, again. Then, you’re all right. But let me warn you, Patty, to be most exceedingly cautious. Farnsworth’s work is of the highest importance, and his plans must not be known in advance. I know this even better than you do, and I beg of you to be even over-careful of any orders he may give you.”
“Oh, I am! I do! But you see, this matter must have leaked out some other way, and he thought it was because of my knowledge of it.”
“Patty!” Philip spoke suddenly; “did you have that letter with you that day at the Timothy Grass Club?”
“Yes; I had just received it that morning.”
“Where did you carry it?”
“In my fur stole; there’s a buttoned pocket in the end of it, and it’s a safe place.”
“And that Munson, – that masquerader, – wore your stole!”
“So he did!” and Patty looked frightened. “But, no! that’s all right, Phil. The enclosed note was still sealed when I reached home, and it is sealed yet!”
“Very well; but don’t take any chances. Leave your letters at home and carefully locked up, if they contain anything outside your entirely personal affairs. I speak whereof I know, Patty, and you must be careful!”
“I will, Philip, oh, truly I will,” and Patty gave the promise in all sincerity.
CHAPTER X
A VALENTINE
“Well,” said Helen Barlow, dashing into Patty’s room one morning, “I am certainly having the time of my sweet young life! They may say what they like about the horrors of war, and there are plenty of them, and nobody knows that better than I do, and nobody does more to help our side than you do, but all the same, my fairy-fair cousin, I do get a lot of pleasant parties and happy hours out of it all.”
“Why, Bumble-Bee, what’s up now?”
“Look at all these letters in my morning’s mail! And nearly every one an invitation to a gathering of some sort, connected with Our Boys. Dinners and evening parties and little dances, all for the Khaki and the Blue! Red Cross Benefits, private charities and any number of War Relief meetings! Don’t think I’m a heartless wretch, Patsy, but I do love the everlasting gadding about, and meeting people and being in the excitement of it all!”
“Good for you, Bumble,” said Nan, coming in, “having heard your views, I’ll invite you to help me with a small and early bazaar I’m arranging for a Valentine fête.”
“Of course I’ll do all I can, Nan. Tell me more. When is it to be?”
“On the twelfth; we want to sell valentines to send to the soldiers in camp, and incidentally, have a good time, and, moreover, make a little money for my committee.”
“Where you going to have it?” asked Patty, looking up from her desk, where she was writing letters.
“Why, here,” said Nan. “You needn’t do much, Pattikins, you’ve so many irons in the fire; Bumble and I will run this show.”
“Good for you! I have about all I can manage on a paltry twenty-four hours a day. But I’ll buy a valentine of you to send to my own particular Soldier Boy. Oh, Nan, isn’t he the dearest thing! Just look at this new picture of him! Did anybody ever look so well in a uniform?”
“He is sure great!” exclaimed Bumble, taking the picture; “I don’t wonder you rave over him, Patty.”
“Nor I,” Nan agreed. “He’s so big, yet so well-proportioned that he doesn’t look too big.”
“Oh, thank you, Nan! I dunno what I’d do if he were too big!” Patty showed mock alarm at the thought. “You see, the bigger he is the smaller I seem, but I’m trying to emulate Bumble, and get a little more weighty. It’s hard, though, with the food conservation to be looked after, and the sweetless days here and there – ”
“You don’t have any sweetless days, if you read those long letters you get,” put in Helen.
“And pray, how do you know as to their sweetness?”
“Oh, I’m a mind reader, and when I see you peruse a letter, and fairly lap it up, like a cat, and then sit looking like the cat who ate the canary, I don’t have to be a detective to deduce that the letter was a sweet one!”
“Good for you, Bumble! You guessed right the very first time! My Captain’s letters are sweet, and so is he!”
“Sounds like a valentine! And he’s in love and so is she!”
“We are,” said Patty, complacently. “And that’s no secret. As to valentines, pick me out the prettiest and the wittiest and the one that reads best, and save it for me, when you two busy bees have this festa, – or whatever you call it.”
“That’s so! What shall we call it?” and Helen turned to Nan. “Ought to begin with a V. Valentine Valley? Valentine Villa?”
“Not very good,” Nan considered. “How’s Valentine Verses?”
“All valentines have verses. Help us out, Patty. Do that much for the cause. Give us a name for our Sale.”
“Valentine Vendue,” said Patty, without looking up from her writing. Though apparently absorbed in her own affairs she had heard all they said.
“A vendue is an auction,” objected Nan.
“Oh, well, it means a sale,” Patty defended, “and too, of course, you’ll auction off the left-overs, they always do at a sale.”
“We might have it all an auction, – ” began Nan.
“All right, do,” returned Patty, “but run away, kiddies, and make your plans somewhere else, won’t you? Miss Fairfield is busy.”
“Come on, Bumble, we’ll go off and flock by ourselves. And we’ll plan such a bee-yutiful party that we’ll sell enough valentines for the whole National Army.”
“Do they want valentines?” asked Helen as she went off with Nan.
“That doesn’t matter, my dear. The thing is for us to sell the valentines, and get the money for the committee; and then, if the sweet missives are never sent, it won’t matter. But, yes, I think the boys in camp would be jolly glad to get nice loving valentine verses. They needn’t know who sends them, of course.”
“I shall put my name on all I send. I’d like to get a letter back.”
“Your mail is full of such letters already! You’re a camp belle, Bumble, – you certainly are!”
“I might make a joke about the camp belles are coming!” laughed Helen, “but I’d scorn to do it!”
“Then don’t. Come on, now, and let’s make lists and all that.”
The night of February twelfth found the Fairfield house bedecked for the Valentine Vendue. Palms and flowers and hearts and darts and ribbon streamers and true-love knots were everywhere. Patty had helped both with advice and with actual work and the result was bewilderingly beautiful. Not only the regulation valentines of lace paper and rhymed lines were for sale, but also small and appropriate gifts, in decorated boxes, fancy bonbonnieres, pots and baskets of flowers and flowering plants, and even jewelled trinkets and curios. For these things had been donated for the cause, and the venders hoped the men would buy them for their sweethearts.
Also there were valentines for the soldiers, and boxes of tobacco and cigarettes, containing sentimental missives.
Nan’s committee was a large one, and all had worked diligently until the result was even more gratifying than they had hoped.
Patty and Helen wore effective and appropriate costumes for they loved to “dress up,” and this was too good a chance to be lost.
Their short frocks were of white tarlatan, edged with lace, and much befrilled. Garlands of tiny rosebuds decked the skirts, and the bodices were trimmed with blue ribbons and gilt paper hearts. Toy Cupids perched on their shoulders, and love-knots of blue decked their hair.
“Do you expect Lieutenant Herron?” Helen asked, as they awaited the guests.
“Rather!” returned Patty, “considering he’s always about wherever you are.”
“Me! It’s you he hovers over! Don’t be coy, – you don’t fool your little Bumble-bee!”
“Don’t you be a silly!” laughed Patty; “I’ve no use for the Herron person. If he’s here tonight, I’ll take it as a favour if you’ll charm him away from my haunts.”
“Can’t do it,” and Helen shrugged her shoulders. “He won’t be charmed. Moreover, I’ve a lot of my own particular friends coming, and I’ll have my hands full to entertain them.”
“Nan was right when she called you a camp belle. You’re looking sweet tonight, Bumble, and I s’pect some man will buy you for a valentine. Is Chester coming?”
“I s’pose so. Wish he wasn’t! He’s such a burr.”
“Yes, he does stick to you. I’ll take him for a while, and give you some rest. I like Mr. Wilde a whole lot.”
The guests began to arrive, and soon the rooms were really crowded. The valentines sold quickly, for those who did not want them bought “for the good of the cause.”
Lieutenant Herron came early, and as Bumble had predicted, he attached himself to Patty’s train of followers.
“Such a clutter of men about you!” he exclaimed, as he sought her side, edging his way through a group of valentine buyers. “I say, Miss Fairfield, let some one else sell these people for a while, and you come and have an ice with me, won’t you?”
“I’m not selling the people!” cried Patty, smiling, “I’m selling valentines.”
“All the same. But you need a rest. Come along, and take it, and come back to your work refreshed.”
Patty was tired, and so she asked some one else to take her place for a while, and sauntered off with Herron.
They found a pleasant table in the supper room, and sat down together.
“I saw your friend Van Reypen yesterday,” said Herron, after he had given their order.
“Oh, you did? How is he?”
“Fit as a fiddle, and learning to fly, like a young robin!”
“I thought he’d be an apt pupil. Phil is clever at ’most anything.”
“Yes, he is. And he takes to aviation like a duck to water. What do you hear from your other friend?”
“My other friend! Have I then but one more?”
Patty well knew Lieutenant Herron meant Little Billee, but she was always chary of talking about Farnsworth to anybody.
“Only one that you care for; isn’t that so?”
“Oh, no! I care for lots of people, and I care for all our soldiers! How can you think otherwise?”
“Yes, in a sense. But only one you care for especially.”
“Naturally. If you mean Captain Farnsworth, and I suppose you do, – most girls care especially for the men they are engaged to.”
“Are you really engaged to him?”
“Of course I am! Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Your tone belies your words; what do you mean, Lieutenant?”
Patty’s eyes gave an ominous flash that her friends all knew indicated serious indignation, but Herron answered lightly, “Oh, nothing, really. I only happened to hear from a friend, of Farnsworth’s infatuation for a little dark-eyed beauty down in Washington.”
Patty looked at him, amusedly.
“If you’re teasing me, your jest is in poor taste, Lieutenant Herron. If you’re in earnest, I refuse to listen to you.”
“There, there, don’t get huffy! I didn’t mean to stir you up! I only heard rumours, – doubtless there’s nothing in them.”
“Doubtless there isn’t, – and, also, doubtless it doesn’t concern you, if there is!”
Patty was thoroughly angry at the man’s impertinence, but she did not want to do anything so conspicuous as to get up and leave the dining-room, where many small tables were occupied by a merry crowd of guests.
“Not at all! not at all! yet, I can’t regret my words, since they have given me an opportunity of seeing you when you are ruffled! Prettier than ever! How blue eyes can flash!”
Suddenly Patty felt a fear of this man. He did not seem to ring true. But her quick-wittedness made her realise that to continue angry, was to make him more amused and interested, so she changed her tactics.
“Any girl’s eyes would flash at your insinuations,” she said, with a sudden bright smile.
“But now I know you are chaffing, I don’t mind.”
“And how do you know I’m chaffing?”
“Because your own eyes twinkle so.”
As a matter of fact, Herron’s eyes were snapping maliciously, but Patty ignored this, and deftly turned the subject.
“When do you go back to the Aviation Field?” she inquired.
“Tomorrow, alas! I had hoped for longer leave, but a new class is to be trained, and I must be on the job.”
“I can’t help marvelling at the courage and bravery of an aviator. It seems to me that you take your life in your hands ever more desperately and dangerously than those actually at the front.”
“In a sense, we do,” agreed Herron, a little gravely. “As the darky said, ‘If yuh gets killed on the ground, yuh knows where yuh is; but if yuh gets killed up in de air, – where is yuh?’”
“And so many do get killed.”
“Yes, but the proportion continually grows smaller, of course, as we learn more of the art.”
“Do you call aviation an art?”
“Yes, an Art with a big A! It’s a science as well, to be sure; it’s also a mechanical process and – it’s largely sheer luck!”
“I’m glad Mr. Van Reypen is doing well. He has a cool head, you know.”
“Yes, and that’s a great thing. A steady nerve, and mental poise come first in the requirements for a successful flyer. When are you to be married, Miss Fairfield?”
“Good gracious! You take my breath away with your sudden questions. Incidentally, they are a bit rude. Do you ask about such personal matters in your home town?”
Herron had the grace to blush. But he said, slowly, “I suppose I would, if I cared as much to know as I do in this case.”
“Why?”
“Why? You know why! You must know! Because I’m over head and ears in love with you, myself! Because, though it would add to my misery to know you’re to be married soon, yet it would be a blessed relief to know it would not be soon!”
“I cannot see, Lieutenant Herron, that these matters concern you at all,” said Patty, icily, and then the look of pained reproach he gave her smote her heart. For Patty was a gentle soul, and rarely hurt the feelings of anybody.
“I think I must ask you to drop this subject and never refer to it again.” But she spoke softly, and shook off her air of offended dignity.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, “truly I didn’t mean to! But I couldn’t help it. You’re right, it’s none of my business, and I apologise. Come, I see you’re ready to leave here, let us go and buy a valentine, which you shall send to your betrothed, and then you’ll forgive me.”
His tone was gay again, and glad that the tension of the situation was relieved, Patty went with him to the valentine tables.
“Here’s a dandy!” remarked the pretty girl who was selling them. “New idea, too. Funny and yet clever! Want one?”
Herron took the one offered, and smiled as he read its lines.
“You wouldn’t dare send that to your fiance!” he said, laughingly.
Carelessly, Patty glanced at it. It was a well-done little sketch of a lover and his lass, leaning over a rustic stile, in true valentine fashion. Cupids and turtle-doves hovered above, and hearts and darts formed a conventional margin.
The lines read:
“Our love is high as Heaven
And wide as rolling sea;
The vows cannot be riven
That bind my love and me.
But should our pledge be broken,
Or should your love be dead,
Send back this tender token
And let us never wed.”
“Good gracious!” laughed Patty, “what a woe-begone outlook for such a happy-looking pair! And I’m sure such a dismal foreboding could never come true for these rustic swains! They’re a real Strephon and Chloe couple!”
“All the same, I see you don’t take my dare.”
“What dare?”
“I dare you to send that valentine to Captain Farnsworth.”
“What! You think I hesitate, lest he return it to me!” The absurdity of this struck Patty as very funny, and she laughed outright.
“Yes, I think so,” and Herron laughed, too.
“How ridiculous you are! Why, I’d just as lief send that as not!”
“Go ahead, and do it, then. Prove your words.”
“Will you buy it for me, at a goodly price?”
“Whatever the saleslady asks.”
“All right. What’s the price, Maisie?” Greatly amused, the gay little sales-girl said, “Ten dollars, sir.”
A little daunted, but true to his word, Herron paid the price, and took Patty to the library, where there was a desk made ready for any who desired to address and despatch their missives then and there.
Patty wrote Farnsworth’s Washington address, and Herron held out his hand for the envelope.
“I’ll mail it as I go home,” he said, and Patty gave it to him.
The whole incident made little impression on her, for though she didn’t particularly admire the valentine, nor did she care for the so-called “poetry” on it, yet, at the same time, it meant an extra ten dollar bill in the coffers of the committee, and that was well worth while.
Not much later, the Lieutenant said good night, for, as he stated, he had to leave for his duties early next morning.
“And I’m sorry if I offended you, Miss Fairfield, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he begged. “But, – well, my only excuse is, the temptation was too great, and the opportunity was mine, so I said more than I intended, and more than I ought.”
“All right, Lieutenant, if you didn’t mean it, I forgive you.”
“I don’t say I didn’t mean it, – for that wouldn’t be true; but I didn’t mean to tell you of it.”
“Then,” and Patty spoke gravely, now, “never let any circumstance or opportunity tempt you to do it again.”
“Then I mustn’t see you,” Herron said, in a low voice.
“Very well, then don’t see me. It will be far better for both. Where is your sense of honour? of fairness? Another man’s fiancée is not to be thought of, save with respect and courtesy.”
“I know it,” and the man looked miserably sad; “and I do mean to treat you with all respect and courtesy, – but, oh, Miss Fairfield, Patty, – let me call you that just once, – if you knew how broken up I am over it all!”
“Then,” said Patty, firmly, though she was touched at the sight of his evident suffering, “then the only thing is for us not to meet again, at all. I’m sorry, Lieutenant Herron, for I like you, but these matters are often outside our own will, and so, I can see no way but for us to keep apart.”
“May I not come to see you next time I’m in town?”
“I think not,” said Patty, gently, and then she bade him a courteous but definite and final good night.
CHAPTER XI
PATTY IN TEARS
Patty’s bedroom was a pretty, cheery and charming place. The sunlight came in through delicate, lacy curtains, the furniture and appointments were all that a fastidious taste could desire, and the pictures and trinkets scattered about were beautiful and attractive. There were always fresh flowers in the vases and the whole effect was conducive to happiness and contentment.
Yet across the lace-covered bed was the outstretched form of somebody who had flung herself there in a very abandonment of woe. Somebody with golden curly hair, from which the boudoir cap had fallen unheeded; somebody who was digging a little wet mop of a handkerchief into eyes that flowed with tears like a very freshet of rain. Somebody who was shaking and quivering with great racking sobs that were all the more agonising because they were silent.
Patty was crying. And with her ever-active efficiency, she was making a thorough and complete success of it. Now and then, she would pause, sit up and vigorously wipe her eyes, then she would fling herself back into the nest of damp pillows and start all over again. Her pretty negligée of light blue silk was crumpled into a shocking state; one little slipper had fallen off, and though her face was buried in the pillows her heaving shoulders and tumbled curls still bore witness to the woe that was torturing her soul.
Suddenly, she became angry, and sat up straight, fists clenched, eyes blazing, – fairly gritting her teeth in a wave of indignation.
Then again, grief, deep, hopeless grief overcame her, and back she fell, fresh tears welling up and spilling over.
“Patty,” cried Bumble, bouncing into the room, “I’ve a splendid plan! Let’s get a whole lot of top balloons, and – for the love of Michaelovitch Paderewski! what is the matter?”
Curiously Bumble looked at the shaking figure on the bed. With a frightened face, she came cautiously toward Patty, unable to believe her eyes at the sight of her cousin’s attitude.
“Get out! go ’way!” wailed Patty, in such hollow tones that they scarce seemed her own at all.
“Patty! dear! my own little darling cousin, what is it? Tell Bumble! Tell me, dear.”
“N-nothing! Go away, I tell you.”
“I won’t go away! How can I, when I don’t know what’s the matter with you! Are you ill?”
“No – no – oh, Bumble, don’t pester me!”
“But what ails you, Patty? You don’t even speak like yourself. I’m going to call Nan.”
“No, don’t! Yes, do! Oh, I don’t care what you do!” and a brand-new deluge poured forth, as Patty sat up and stared at Helen with eyes full of utter woe as well as gushing tears.
Thoroughly frightened, Helen did call Nan, who came at once.
“Why, you poor little thing,” she said, sitting down beside Patty, and caressing her, as she offered a fresh handkerchief in place of the squeezed up mop in Patty’s hand.
“Never mind, dear, don’t try to talk, – just be quiet. And cry all you like, – but, gracious! I didn’t know one person could hold so many tears! Now, hush, dear, don’t talk. Keep right on crying, it’ll do you good.”
Nan’s comforting voice and her tender whimsicality, helped Patty, and she sobbed in Nan’s arms, for a time, then, by degrees, her tears began to be somewhat checked, and she stopped shaking.
Nan only patted her gently, and crooned comforting little sounds, that soothed the tortured nerves by their loving tone.
At last, Patty stopped crying for the simple reason, apparently, that her tears had at last become exhausted.
Helen had brought a fresh relay of handkerchiefs, and as Patty half-unconsciously accepted one after another, the bed was strewn with the moistened squares of linen.
“Hold on,” warned Bumble, “if you’re going to begin again, go easy on this; it’s the last one of mine.”
“I’ve plenty,” assured Nan, “cry away, Patty, if you like.”
Nan’s intuition told her that Patty must have her cry out, before any explanation could be forthcoming. And it was so. Every time the tears ceased and Patty undertook to talk, just so often the floods burst forth again. Helen grew a bit impatient, and wanted to know what it was all about, but Nan gave her a warning glance, that curbed her curiosity.
For Nan knew Patty’s temperament, and knew, too, that only some really great matter lay at the bottom of this outbreak.
At last, a point was reached, where it seemed that the tears were really exhausted, and, weak and white, Patty looked with loving gratitude into Nan’s comforting eyes.
“Bless you, dear,” Nan said, kissing the flushed cheek, – “here’s a dry pillow, now, rest. I’m going to get you a glass of milk and a biscuit.”
When Nan returned, Patty was quiet, and very sad-looking. Helen was trying to cheer her up by talking nonsense, but Patty paid little heed to her chatter.
Mechanically she took the milk that Nan brought, and nibbled at a biscuit.
“It’s this, people,” she said, at length, “you might as well know, first as last. Billee has thrown me over.”
Helen stared, aghast, but Nan laughed.
“Oh, Patty!” she cried, “all that fuss for a simple little lovers’ quarrel! Well I suppose you are a simple little lover, and I daresay Bill has no notion of it all. What’s your fancied grievance? And, I must admit I’m relieved! I feared it was something serious.”
“And it is!” flashed Patty; “I guess you’ll think so when you know. I sent him a val – valentine – ”
“And that upset the apple-cart? Why, why; was it a ‘comic’?”
“Don’t tease, Nan, it’s fearful. You saw the valentine, didn’t you, Bumble?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember anything about it. What was it?”
“Here it is!” and Patty drew from beneath a pillow a moist, bedraggled paper, that had once been a gay, crisp sheet.
Nan took it and smoothed it out. She saw a blurred picture of two rustic lovers and with some difficulty she read the absurd lines beneath.
“Our love is high as Heaven
And wide as rolling sea – ”
she read aloud, “that’s all right, seems to me, – Little Billee can’t have thrown you over for that sentiment! Now, I’ll read further:
The vows cannot be riven
That bind my love and me.
Orthodox, I’m sure. Not a perfect rhyme, perhaps, but that’s not enough to quarrel over! Let’s see what comes next:
But should our pledge be broken
Or should your love be dead,
Send back this tender token
And let us never wed.
Why, Patty Fairfield, do you mean to say you sent this ridiculous thing to your Little Billee! I don’t wonder he sent it back! It’s silly beyond words! Why did you send such a horror?”
“I dunno,” said Patty, a little shame-facedly, “mostly because Lieutenant Herron dared me to, and I never will be dared. But, oh, Nan, I don’t care if it is a foolish valentine, he did send it back, – and, don’t you see, it says, ‘Send back this tender token, and let us never wed,’ – and he did send it back!”
Patty’s eyes were large and scared-looking, and, though she didn’t cry now, she looked as if she were about ready to.
“But – ” Nan looked bewildered, – “I don’t understand – ”
“I do!” cried Helen, “and it’s awful! I don’t wonder you’re upset, Patty! But, hold on, maybe somebody else got it and sent it back.”
“No,” and Patty forlornly showed the envelope. “See, it’s his writing, mailed in Washington, yesterday – oh, – how could he? Why should he?”
“Patty Fairfield, behave yourself!” Nan gave her a little shake; “do you mean to tell me Bill Farnsworth means he returns your valentine – your love-token!”
“There it is! That’s the one I sent him, and it says to return it if his love is dead – and, he’s returned it! And that horrid Herron told me about a – a b-black-eyed b-beauty – ”
“Nonsense, Patty! be sensible! It can’t be – ”
“Very well, how do you explain it? Why should I send that thing to him a few days ago, and get it back today? Why would he return it – there’s no mistaking his writing, look at it – unless he meant me to take it as it’s printed there! He has been bewitched by that b-black-eyed – ”
“Hush, Patty! Don’t talk such absolute rubbish! I know Bill Farnsworth, and I know – ”
“You don’t know the girl – ”
“Jealous! Fie, Patty, for shame!”
“But, Nan,” interposed Bumble, “as Patty says, what does it mean? I wouldn’t doubt Little Billee’s faith and loyalty either, only, in the face of this thing, what can we think?”
“I’ll never believe Bill meant that! He’s teasing you – ”
“A pretty way to tease!” Patty was angry now. “And you know he isn’t a tease. He never plays jokes like Kit Cameron, or Chick Channing might. No, Nan, he has been bowled over by a Washington girl and he wants to get rid of me!”
“Patty,” and Nan spoke very seriously, “it isn’t right for you so to doubt the man you’ve promised to marry. I can’t, I won’t believe that he means this as you take it!”
“How else can he mean it? If you’ll give me a rational explanation of what he does mean, I’ll be only too glad. I’ve thought and thought, and I can’t imagine any meaning but the actual fact that the printed words say to send the valentine back if his love is dead, – and he did send it back! Now, for your explanation!”
“I don’t know, Patty. I confess I don’t. It isn’t like him to do it to tease you.”
“Of course, it isn’t! He’d never do such a cruel, heartless thing as that, – if he still loved me. So, he has done the cruel thing, – and it’s because he doesn’t love me!”
“What are you going to do?” asked Helen, breaking a long silence.
“There’s nothing to do,” replied Patty, hopelessly, “I can’t write and beg him to take me back. I have some pride! Nor can I ask what I’ve done to forfeit his regard. For I know I haven’t done anything.”
“You’ve flirted with Phil Van Reypen,” said Helen, accusingly.
“I haven’t!” flared Patty. “On the contrary, I’ve been very careful not to! He’s flirted with me, if you like, but I’ve not encouraged him. You know I haven’t, Nan.”
“Not intentionally, dear, but you have been with him a great deal of late, – and Little Billee is of a jealous nature.”
“No, it isn’t that,” and Patty sighed, forlornly; “I only wish it were! Then I could ask his pardon and make up and all that. No, my Billee has found somebody he likes better’n me. I’m Leah, the Forsaken, – after all!”
“Leah, nothing!” exclaimed Helen. “Patty, if you can’t cut out a little black-eyed beauty, you’re no good! Don’t submit so tamely! Go to Washington, – hunt up the horrid little thing, and see what she’s like! Then, I’ll back your beauty against her, any day!”
“Oh, hush up, Bumble! Do you suppose I’d stoop to get back a man who has thrown me over! You must be crazy! I love Bill Farnsworth, – I adore him, and I can never love anybody else; but I’ll never raise a finger to whistle him back! I’m not that sort of a girl! I shall never write him again, or refer to this miserable business in any way. I’m glad Mr. Herron gave me the hint, or I might have made a fool of myself; now, I won’t!”
Nan was re-reading the unlucky missive.
“It’s very strange,” was her comment. “I can’t understand it. There is no mistaking his handwriting; there’s no mistaking the words of that silly verse! But I don’t like it, Patty. I’m surprised at Bill. If he had ceased to love you, why not tell you so, like a gentleman? You know, I always said – ”