Patty—Bride

“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——”

“Stop, Nan!” and Patty’s voice was tense, while red spots burned on her cheeks, “don’t you dare cast any reflection on him! My Billee is all right! He is a gentleman! I laid myself open to this treatment and I deserved all I’ve got. It was bad taste to say the least, for me to send that thing! I never should have done it, but to get more money for the committee. I was thoughtless, careless, and foolishly unwilling to let Mr. Herron think I didn’t dare send it. He said ‘you don’t dare take the chance!’ meaning that I might get back—just what I did get back! But I was so sure of Bill’s love, so confident of his faith and loyalty, that I never dreamed there was a chance of Mr. Herron’s being right!”

“He isn’t right!” cried Helen. “I believe there’s a mistake somewhere!”

“Just where?” asked Patty, listlessly. “If you can invent or imagine something that would explain his returning that horrid old thing, tell me! I’ll be glad to know it!”

But Helen couldn’t think of any plausible or even possible explanation or excuse for the return of the valentine.

For Farnsworth was not a practical joker, and indeed, few lovers could have been capable of such a jest as that!

The case seemed to be at a deadlock. It was incredible that Little Billee should have sent back the valentine, yet, there it was! And indubitably from him. There was no possibility that any one else had written Patty’s address on the big envelope. Bill’s large, well-formed chirography was characteristic and unmistakable.

“There’s another thing,” confessed Patty, “Bill thinks I opened a letter that he sent me, sealed. And I didn’t. Maybe that made him stop loving me.”

The flower-face was so pathetic in its tragic grief, that Nan waxed wroth again.

“Patty,” she said, “if Bill Farnsworth has really tossed you off like a discarded glove, I think Fred Fairfield will reckon with him! It’s outrageous,—that’s what it is!”

“Oh, no, Nan; don’t let Father do anything sensational! I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me! I assure you I don’t! I’m no meek Griselda——”

“She was the patient one,” put in Helen.

“Well, I’m not patient, either! I’m—oh, I’m just miserable! I wish you would both clear out, and let me alone!”

“Well, we won’t,” said Nan, determinedly. “But, I’ll tell you what we are going to do. You dress yourself all up and we’ll all go down town and lunch at the gayest and giddiest place we can find, and then we’ll go to a foolish matinée,—the most hilarious one there is on the boards,—and then, we’ll get a new start, and when we come home we can talk this over with your father, and see what’s what in the Fairfield household!”

Patty demurred, saying she didn’t want to go, but Nan was inexorable, and at last Patty yielded. But only on the condition that they would give her half an hour alone first, to think things out.

This was granted, and Patty was left alone and undisturbed for the stipulated time.

When Nan came again to the room, she found Patty not yet dressing, but looking far more cheerful.

“I’ve thinked it out,” she greeted Nan; “and here’s the result. I’m going to keep faith in my Little Billee, until he tells me with his own lips that he’s tired of me, and loves another girl. I can’t see any way to hope this isn’t so, but I’m going to keep my faith, till I know more,—anyway. Because, Nan,” her voice fell to a whisper, “if I don’t, I’ll go crazy! When I remember all he has said to me,—all his faith in me, all his protestations of undying, unfailing love, I can’t believe it’s all swept away by some new face! Think how long Bill has cared for me——”

“That’s right, Patty, look at it like that. It’s a whole lot better.”

As a matter of fact, Nan, too, had thought it over very seriously, and she could see no explanation but Bill Farnsworth’s deep perfidy. She could conceive of no theory that would fit the facts, save the hint that Herron had dropped, that Bill had been enslaved by a sparkling little brunette, full of the Southern charm and fascination.

It was not like Farnsworth, but Nan realised that men are not always masters of their fates.

She carried out her plan, and took the two girls to luncheon and then to the theatre, and she was glad to see that Patty’s poise had returned to her, and though not exactly cheerful, she was at least, calm and composed.

Whether this was due to the gay entertainment, or to her avowed faith in her recreant lover, Nan didn’t know. But she was glad that Patty was outwardly pleasant and placid, whatever might be the turmoil in her heart.

They returned home about six o’clock, and as they entered, Jane, the housemaid, told Patty there had been a long-distance telephone call for her, during the afternoon.

“And whoever it was,” Jane said, “promised to call you again later,—at half-past six.”

“All right,” said Patty, her heart bounding with hope that the call might be from Washington. But it was improbable, for owing to the difficulties and delays in getting a good connection, Bill rarely could take time for this method of communication.

Still outwardly serene, she went to her room and took off her wraps, and then returned to the library to await the expected call.

“Of course, it will be Bill,” said Helen, comfortingly.

“Of course it won’t,” Patty returned, drearily, and then she waited.

CHAPTER XII
LENA AND BILL

To get the right view of certain matters, let us go back a few days, and transport ourselves to Washington.

On the thirteenth of February, Captain Farnsworth was busily engaged at his desk work, when Lena Richards came flying in at his doorway.

“Don’t scold!” she cried, by way of forestalling his objections to her presence; “I must talk to somebody, and it might as well be you!”

“It might as well be the President of the United States, and all his Cabinet, as far as I’m concerned,” and Farnsworth scowled at her, “but I’d rather you’d choose anybody than my unworthy self! What shall I do with you, Lena? You’re a little nuisance! Must I lock and bar the door to keep you out?”

“Now, now, don’t be cross to a poor little lonesome girlie, what hasn’t got anybody to consult. Lemme ask you a few questions, do!”

Lena was a wheedlesome creature, and quite in the habit of having her own way. She laughed at Bill’s frown and as she plumped herself down in an armchair, she spread out on Farnsworth’s desk a number of gay valentines.

“This,” she began, “is for Dick Selden. Isn’t it a dandy! And this one is for my own Daddy. Won’t he be surprised to get one?”

Lena chuckled happily, and looked up into Bill’s face for a show of approval.

She seemed only a child; her sixteen years sat lightly on her slim little shoulders, and her dark, winsome face was lighted with such a glow of happy anticipation, that good-natured Farnsworth couldn’t bear to speak shortly to her.

“All right, Baby,” he said, good-humouredly, “show me your valentines, and get it over with. Which one is for me?”

“Oh, that I haven’t here! Of course I wouldn’t show you that one!” A merry laugh rippled from the rosy lips. “And you’ll send me one, won’t you, Captain?”

“Why, I hadn’t thought of doing so. In fact, I hadn’t thought of sending any.”

“What! Not to your sweetheart? Not to that lovely angel-faced girl whose pictures are all about here? I’m ashamed of you! What will she think?”

Farnsworth suddenly realised his defection. “But,” he said, “she’ll forgive me. Patty will understand. She knows I’m terribly busy—more than busy,—I’m all in a moil, and working night and day to straighten it out——”

“But, Captain! That isn’t enough to excuse not sending a valentine to the girl of your heart! Whee! If I were engaged to a man, and if he didn’t send me a valentine! I’d break that engagement so quick he wouldn’t know what hit him! Fie, fie, Captain! You’re a peach of a lover, you are!”

Lena had risen and was dancing about the room. A restless elf, she rarely sat still long, and loved to fly about, looking at things here and there, poking and prying curiously into books or papers, and really bothering the life out of Farnsworth. Many times he had concluded to move to other quarters, where he might be free from her interruptions, but this house suited him so well otherwise, and, too, he was so busy, he disliked to take the necessary time to make the change.

But Lena’s accusation gave his big, true heart a thrill. Was he really negligent of Patty? His own Posy-face Patty,—whom he loved with all his great soul! He knew he was not a society man, not much of an observer of the lighter conventions, and he wondered if Patty would expect a valentine from him, and be disappointed at not receiving it.

“I’ll send her some flowers,” he exclaimed; “I can telegraph a florist in New York and have them delivered tomorrow,—that’s the day, isn’t it, Lena?”

“Yes; but flowers are so—so impersonal, and careless. You ought to send her a real valentine. Here, you can have one of these.”

“Can I? Really! Oh, you dear little girl! That would help a lot,—for I haven’t time to go out to the shops. Let me take your prettiest one, and I’ll pay you what it cost, and you can buy another.”

“All right,” and Lena nodded her pretty head. “That goes! Now, I’ve only one here that I want to spare. This one.”

Lena held up a pretty looking affair. It had a picture of an affectionate pair, leaning over a rustic stile, and surrounded by hearts and darts and Cupids and rose garlands.

The lines printed inside the leaf, were:

Farnsworth looked at it carelessly. “All right,” he said, “if that’s the only one available, I’ll have to take that one. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s a beauty! It cost a dollar,—but it’s good work.”

“Cheap at the price!” laughed Farnsworth, taking out his pocketbook. “I don’t care such a lot for the sentiment, however. The first part is all right, but that second stanza is ridiculous!”

“How, ridiculous? I think it’s lovely! You don’t think she’ll send it back, do you?”

“I do not! Our vows cannot be riven,—as your poet hath it. But I could have made up a better jingle myself! That’s what I ought to have done! Made a real valentine for my sweetheart! Oh, I wish I weren’t so over-worked! Well, some day I’ll make up to her for this enforced neglect. Now, be off, Lena, if you don’t, I’ll pitch you out,—neck and crop!”

“Oh, all right, Captain; but I was going to say if you’d address your valentine, I’d post it along with mine. There’s none too much time, you know.”

“Thank you, Lena, you’re a good little thing. And I’m a bear,—a cross one, sometimes, I fear. Will you forgive me, and take my valentine with yours?”

“’Course I will. Write the directions.”

So Farnsworth dashed off Patty’s name and address on the big envelope, and Lena ran away with it.

So, you see!

Of course, the valentine Bill sent Patty was the counterpart of the one she sent him, and when you know all, you’ll find out that this wasn’t such a strange coincidence as it might seem.

And of course, the valentine that Patty received, and that caused her such paroxysms of woe, was the one Lena mailed and not the return of the one she had sent to Farnsworth.

It was a fine mixup, and Cupid, the little god of Love, must have flown madly about in his dismay and despair of ever getting it straightened out.

Now, as is well known, the extra mail occasioned by the observance of the festival of St. Valentine, often causes delays in transmission. Which explains why both these important missives we’re interested in, reached their respective destinations a couple of days after they were normally due.

And Patty, as we have seen, was pretty well broken up over the receipt of hers! Naturally, she supposed it to be the one she sent, returned to her by Farnsworth, and no one could wonder that she did think this.

And so, when Captain Farnsworth found in his mail a big square envelope addressed in Patty’s well-known, well-loved handwriting, he knew it for a valentine before he opened it.

“Bless her heart!” he said to himself. “Dear little girl to send me a valentine! And I’m jolly glad I sent her one! I must thank that bothersome little Lena for that!”

He opened the envelope, and to his astonishment, he drew out what seemed to be the very valentine he had sent Patty.

“What!” he cried aloud, a puzzled frown coming over his face.

He looked at it carefully; being exactly the same, he naturally thought Patty had returned his missive.

Bewildered, he read the lines, which he had scarcely sensed as he hastily glanced them over before sending.

Patty had sent it! Had returned his “tender token!”

“Should your love be dead”—was he, then, to infer that Patty’s love was dead? His Patty! Never, in a million years! If ever a girl was true blue, that girl was Patty Fairfield,—his own Patty Blossom! There could be no two opinions about that!

With a sudden jerk, he picked up the telephone and called for New York.

It took a long time to get the connection, and Captain Farnsworth grew more and more impatient. He did not storm at the operator, that was not his way. He patiently waited “just a minute,” till scores of minutes flew by, and at last he heard Jane’s voice.

No, Miss Patty was not at home; she would be home about six. He would call up again? Very well. Good-bye.

Farnsworth strode up and down his room. It was only half-past three, he would call her about half-past six. Meantime—he must work. But the big man couldn’t settle himself to work. The thing was so inexplicable, so disturbing. Had Patty meant it for a joke? Had she meant to tease him? If so it was a bit of bad taste,—and Patty was never guilty of bad taste. He couldn’t understand it at all.

He tried to make out his reports, and of course, he succeeded in doing so, but it was a process greatly interrupted by long periods of distracted thought.

Suppose Patty really meant it! Bosh! Meant it! His Patty? Never! He would believe anything but that! Could it have been a mistake? Did she slip his valentine in an envelope which she had addressed to him for the purpose of sending another one,—and then she had mixed them up?

No; Patty was never careless, and least of all, where he was concerned. She was efficient, always, and he had had too much correspondence with her not to know how careful she was. And then, came to his mind dark thoughts of Philip Van Reypen.

Suppose,—just suppose, Patty had found that she preferred Phil to himself,—could she have chosen a better or more definite way to tell him so?

“Should your love be dead!”

The big man writhed at the thought. He put it out of his mind as unworthy of him and unworthy of his love. And yet, that would explain it,—and what else would? What else could? But that explanation he refused to accept. Patty, his own gentle dear little Patty, he wouldn’t be cruel,—but—if she had such a thing to tell him, she would choose some way that seemed to her the least cruel—he knew that!

Was she using his means—as he had unwittingly given her the chance,—oh, why had he sent that foolish thing? It was silly,—it was absurd,—it was bad taste on his part!

But Lena had brought it, and it had seemed to him silly, but harmless.

He worried and fretted, fumed and scowled, but he could come to no satisfactory conclusion or explanation.

He looked at his watch until he almost wore it out, only to find each time that but a moment or two had elapsed.

At last he gave up trying to work and went out for a walk.

The clear cold air freshened his brain but his heart still had a dull, queer ache in it. He did a few errands, forcing himself to concentrate his mind in their accomplishment, and at last the slow-going clock-hands crawled around to half-past six.

Back in his own rooms, Bill called New York again, and asked for Patty’s number.

The connection was a good one, and he finally heard the well-beloved voice say, “Hello,—Little Billee!”

“Oh, Patty!” he cried, explosively, “oh, Patty Blossom! When will you marry me? What day? Tell me, quick!”

“Why—why—you sent back——”

“No, I didn’t! I didn’t send back anything! Never mind that fool valentine business! Answer my question, quick! Sometimes they snap off the connection, and if they did that I’d go wild! When, Patty?”

“Why—oh—any time! Bill, dear,—any time!”

“Bless you, darling! But what day? what date? Tell me.”

“Oh,—I can’t——”

“Yes, you can! Now,—and make it soon!”

“Well, say in October——”

“October your grandmother! Say April.”

“Oh, nonsense, Bill, I can’t! And this is no thing to decide over a telephone! You come up here——”

“I can’t,—not for a few days, and I’ve got to know this thing now,—see? NOW!”

“Well, say June, then.”

“No! you may say May, but not a day later. Say your birthday, that’s in May.”

“May’s an unlucky month——”

“Not for us,—it won’t be! On your birthday, then——”

“Wait a minute, Bill, what made you return my valentine?”

“What made you return mine?”

“I didn’t!”

“I didn’t! Oh, Patty, I see it,—it has just dawned on me! We sent duplicates! Where’d you get yours?”

“At a bazaar thing——”

“Yes, I see; and I got mine from—well,—I got it.”

“Where?”

“No matter now. I bought it and paid for it; and they chanced to be just alike! Puzzle it out at your leisure. Now, Posy-face, I’m coming to New York just as soon as I can manage it, but it may be a week or so,—I hope not, I hope to get there in a couple of days, but all I can say is, I’ll do the best I can, and you begin to get ready for that May affair.”

“Not May, Bill—June!”

“Oh, why? why not May? Well, wait till I see you, and perhaps I can persuade you to say May.”

“Well, we’ll see, but I refuse to decide it over a telephone! Nobody ever did!”

“As if that mattered! Well, you get busy with your preparations, and we’ll see——”

“Now, you must say good-bye, dear. You know this is long distance and not a local call!”

“I don’t care if it is! Tell me something,—Patty!”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that at long distance!”

“No; and if I hear your voice without seeing you, much longer, I’ll go off my head! Good-bye, then, you darling, Patty Blossom,——”

“Oh, Little Billee! Don’t! Somebody’ll hear you!”

“Let ’em! Good-bye, dearest,—my Best Beloved!”

“Good-bye!”

Patty hung up the receiver, and sat very still, her eyes shining like two big blue stars.

She hadn’t quite straightened out the valentine mixup in her mind yet, but she didn’t care! It was all right! Little Billee loved her just the same as ever,—if not more! And she had promised to marry him in June! It was a sudden step. She had realised she was engaged to him,—and would marry him some day; but she never had, even in her own mind, set any definite date.

“Well,” said Helen, coming in, “I discreetly stayed out, while you were telephoning, now I think I might be told if the call was from Washington.”

“It was!” answered Patty; “it most certainly was!”

“And you’re not crying as torrentially as you were?”

“I am not!” and Patty smiled like a Chessy cat. “In fact, I think I may assure you I shall never cry again; at least, not if I continue to feel as happy as I do at this present speaking.”

“Good for you, my fairy cousin! Now,—tell old Bumble all about it!”

So Patty told her.

“Well, of all things! Do you mean that he, just by chance, sent you a valentine exactly like the one you sent him?”

“Yes; and I suppose they’re all over. You know every year there’s some funny or clever one that has a vogue everywhere.”

“Queer, for him to select that for you!”

“It was, but I don’t care! He did, and I did, so we can’t blame each other. But I was the baddy one, because I distrusted him! He hadn’t a doubt of me! When he,—as he supposed,—got back the one he sent me, he called up and asked me to set our wedding-day!”

“Did he, really? Oh, Patty, that’s the sort of a man to marry! I always did like him, now I think he’s just perfectly stunning!”

“I do, too, and I’m ashamed of my doubts and fears.”

“Oh, that’s all right, he’ll never know.”

“Yes, he will, I shall tell him. And maybe he’ll be so disappointed in me, and so hurt, that——”

“That he’ll break off the engagement! Oh, yes! Oh, certainly! Patty, you are a goose, and always will be! Never let him know what a goose you are, or he sure will throw you over!”

“Oh, I guess not!” Patty smiled happily.

“Well, when is the day? What did he say?”

“I wouldn’t say positively,—but, oh, Bumble, he’s so impatient!”

“Of course he is! Any real lover would be, and especially any one who is expecting to marry Patty Fairfield!”

CHAPTER XIII
AN IMPORTANT DOCUMENT

Patty was walking up and down the library, waiting for Little Billee. He had written and he had telegraphed and he had telephoned, and every message changed or contradicted the previous one, and Patty was nervous.

She flew from one chair to another, she flung herself on the davenport, and back to the window-seat; she pulled aside the curtains and stared down the street, in fact, she flew around, Bumble declared, like a hen with her head off.

“Fly, if you like, Patty,” Nan said, kindly; “it may help some.”

It was three o’clock, and she had expected Bill momentarily since one. And at last she saw him! The big man came swinging round a corner and looking up, saw Patty’s face at the window.

He paused at the sight, and the two stood, beaming at each other.

“Oh, there he is!” Nan cried. “Come, Bumble, let’s leave them to themselves for a few minutes.”

“A few hours!” Patty called out, as the two slipped from the room, and then Farnsworth came in.

He found a Patty smiling with joy, not nervous now, but a lovely shining-eyed girl, with welcoming arms outstretched and a soft flush tinting her cheeks.

“Blossom Girl!” he cried, and then he clasped her in a big whole-souled embrace, that nearly swept her off her feet.

Close he held her, in a happy silence, then he gently lifted the flower-face and kissed the quivering lips.

“Oh, my dearest, my Best Beloved, I thought I’d never get here! The trains crawled, the waits were interminable! But I’m here, and I have you in my arms and nothing else matters!”

“You dear thing!” Patty said, timidly reaching up to caress his strong, firm chin with her little fingers, “I’d forgotten you’re so—so enormous!”

Farnsworth’s laugh rang out.

“There is a lot of me, isn’t there? But I’m all yours, so you must get used to seeing me round. Would you rather I were less enormous, Patty?”

“No, indeed! I wouldn’t have you changed in any respect! You’re just right! But you make me feel small!”

“And you are. My little Patty Petite. I’m glad, too, ’cause I like you much better this way. You see, I can pick you up and put you wherever I please.”

Farnsworth picked Patty up like a child, and placed her on the big davenport, then sat down beside her.

“Now, I’m happy! Can we sit here forever,—or do we have to be ordinary citizens and chum with the family?”

“They’ll let us alone a little while, and then I s’pect Nan and Bumble will come in.”

“Oh, pshaw! I hoped I’d have you all to myself. Can’t we send them to a matinée, or something?”

“It’s too late for that. Here they come now, Little Billee! Take your arm away!”

“Shan’t! They know you’re mine, and I’ve a perfect right to have my arm round you!”

“But—it isn’t done! It isn’t conventional!”

“I make my own conventions! Hello, Bumble! How d’you do, Mrs. Fairfield? Excuse this small parcel I hold in my left arm, but I can’t let go of it.”

Farnsworth’s bonny smile was so glad and gay that Nan smiled in sympathy.

“All right,” she said, “don’t mind us.”

“We don’t,” said Patty, and she cuddled contentedly in Big Bill’s outstretched arm, as they returned to the sofa.

“You see,” Farnsworth explained, “I’ve had the dickens of a time to get away at all, and everything interfered and detained me. I can only stay a few hours,——”

“What!” cried Patty, “you’re going right back? Tonight?”

“Yes, dear; I’m on a big mission,—two big missions, in fact, one connected with my country and one with my sweetheart. I try not to let them get mixed up,—but it’s difficult to give undivided attention to either.”

“What’d you come for,” demanded Patty, “if you have to go right away again?”

“I came, my child, to make sure you will name a certain date, that will be to me, the most momentous in American history. I must get that settled before I go to work in earnest to help win the war! And you said you couldn’t do it over the telephone.”

“This way is nicer,” and Patty nestled against his shoulder.

“For bare-faced love-makers, you two are pretty outspoken,” commented Bumble, smiling at them.

“’Scuse!” said Patty, without moving. “We wouldn’t under ordinary conditions, but realise, please, that our love-making has to be done when we can get a chance,—which is awful seldom. If you don’t want to play audience,—there is another course open to you.”

“No, thank you, I won’t run away!” and Bumble settled down to stay. “I want to hear all the plans and arrangements,—and oh, Patty, when is the day to be?”

“I’m cornered, I see, and I suppose I may as well decide now as any time. Let’s say June—about the middle of June. How’s that, Little Billee?”

“Next best to May, if you can’t be ready for May. How about the first of June?”

“No, ’long about the middle or latter part I’ve a heap to do. I can’t get married without a lot of embroidered linen things——”

“Oh, have a shower!” cried Bumble.

“Nonsense! I don’t want a shower! I mean really lovely things,—all hand-embroidered,—oh, Little Billee, shall we live in a house?”

“Why, I had supposed so,—but if you prefer a tree——”

“No; I mean a house or an apartment, or what?”

“Goodness, Agnes! I don’t know. Live wherever you like,—and I’ll live there too.”

“In Washington?”

“That I don’t know,” and Farnsworth looked suddenly serious. “It all depends on the war developments, Patty. I may have to go to France.”

“All right,—I’ll go along.”

“But perhaps you can’t,—it will be on a special mission——”

Tears came to Patty’s eyes. “Whatever your country calls you to do, you must do, of course,” she said, slowly, “but if you go to France and leave me here—I’ll go with you,—so there, now!”

“It may not come to that,” Farnsworth sighed a little wearily; “and we won’t cross the bridge until we come to it. You go ahead as fast as you can, embroidering your tidies and tablespreads, and——”

“Oh, I shan’t embroider them. I’ll have them done,—in the trousseau shops,—oh, they will be lovely!”

“You goose!” cried Bumble. “I believe you think more of your trousseau than of your husband!”

Patty made no answer to this, save a flashing glance at Farnsworth, which seemed to assure him that Bumble’s notion was a mistaken one.

“Tell us about the valentines,” Nan said, “however did you come to get one just like Patty’s?”

“Wasn’t it queer?” assented Bill. “And, if you ask me, I think they were silly, stupid things, anyway! How’d you come to get it, Patty?”

“On a dare,” Patty laughed. “Lieutenant Herron——”

“Who’s he?”

“One of my new army friends. Oh, Little Billee, I’ve so much to tell you, and no time to tell it in!”

“That’s so! and first of all, I must ask you if you opened a sealed note before I told you you might.”

“No; I didn’t.” Patty’s blue eyes met Farnsworth’s blue ones with a gaze of unmistakable honesty.

“I knew you didn’t, of course,” he said, perplexedly, “but the trouble is, who did? Somebody must have done so, to know that I thought of coming up to New York. It was important that it shouldn’t be known.”

“But who could have done it?”

“Where was the letter?”

“In the pocket of my fur stole: that has a most secure clasp-button, and I’m sure it wasn’t meddled with.”

“Patty!” cried Bumble, “you know that spy thing, who dressed up as a woman——”

“What!” exclaimed Farnsworth.

Eagerly Patty and Bumble together told the story of the missing chaperon and the masquerading pastry-cook.

Farnsworth looked very grave.

“A spy, undoubtedly,” he said; “in Herron’s employ.”

“Oh, not Lieutenant Herron! Why, he’s one of our own soldiers!”

“Forget it, Patty. And you, too, Helen. Never mention the subject to any human being. Much depends on that. I can trust you?”

“Oh, yes!” vowed both girls.

“Did I do wrong, dear?” asked Patty, anxiously.

“Not knowingly, sweetheart; but you must be very careful. I use you as my little helper, but if it is known, I must not do it. Now, Patty, here is another paper, that I want to leave in your care for a couple of days. Hide it as carefully as you can, and when I tell you to, then, mail it.”

“I will,” and Patty took the letter. “I’ll put it in this desk, now,—see, it has a secret compartment.”

Patty went to an antique mahogany desk, and in sight of them all, she secreted the important document.

“That’s probably all right,” and Farnsworth sighed with relief. “I was a bit fidgetty about having it in my pockets any longer. Now, don’t touch that desk, or open the secret drawer until I tell you to post the packet. Somebody might see you poking about.”

“But there are no spies here, Billee.”

“They are everywhere. No place is surely safe from them. Don’t worry, or even think about them. But just obey orders, unquestioningly, like the loyal little patriot you are!”

“All right; just as you say,” and Patty smiled at her commander.

“Why, look who’s here!” Bumble cried, and Fred Fairfield came in.

“Hello, Farnsworth! Well, but I’m glad to see you! You’re looking fine, barring a deep line of care and responsibility that has furrowed itself into your brow.”

“Oh, I’m all right, especially now that I’m back home.”

“Home it is, my boy. You’re a pretty big order for a son, but I’m all ready to adopt you.”

“All right, Dad, give me fatherly advice when needed.”

And then to Farnsworth’s deep regret, Philip Van Reypen came to call.

The two men met courteously and were outwardly calm, but in each heart rankled a distaste of the other.

Perhaps it was absurd, but Farnsworth was jealous of Philip, and though confident of Patty’s love and loyalty, he hated to think of Van Reypen in New York while he must be in Washington.

As to Philip, he was frankly envious of Little Billee, and moreover, was determined to cut him out and regain Patty for himself if it could possibly be done. Phil was not dishonourable,—at least, he didn’t think he was,—for he deemed all fair in love and war.

But Captain Farnsworth was very glad when he learned that Van Reypen must of necessity be in Wilmington almost all the time. To be sure, his leave of absence seemed to occur very often, but after all he didn’t really live in New York now, and that cheered Little Billee’s heart.

“When will you fly with me?” Van Reypen asked of Patty, and he purposely gave his question a sentimental flavour that startled Farnsworth by its implication.

“Not till you’re an experienced airman,” returned Patty, gaily, and then Bill realised what was meant.

“Patty!” he said, severely, “you are never to go in an aeroplane,—I forbid it!”

He spoke far more sternly, even harshly than he meant to, for the bare idea of her so risking her life appalled him, and with the added awfulness of her going up with Van Reypen, Little Billee felt indeed aghast.

“No?” said Patty, pouting a little; “oh, but I want to!”

“Never! Understand? It is an order!”

The positiveness of Farnsworth’s commands was quite softened by the sweetness of his tone, but Patty was perverse, and she replied, “I shan’t promise.”

“Oh, yes, you will, dear,—you’ll promise because I ask it.”

Farnsworth stepped nearer to her, and with one hand raised her chin until her gaze met his. His strong, loving glance conquered, and won by the deep love she saw in his eyes, Patty said, simply, “I promise.”

“That’s all right,” and Bill smiled at her, needing no reiteration or reassurance. Her simple word was sufficient.

Van Reypen said nothing, but he gave Patty a quizzical glance.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied to his insinuation. “I love to be bossed!”

“Oh, Patty, don’t lose your wilfulness,—that’s one of your charms.”

“Not any more. You don’t know, Phil, how an engaged girl loves to be told what she may and what she may not do. And, incidentally, I’ve no desire to break my neck before my wedding-day!”