Patty's Fortune

“I didn’t know – ” he said, brokenly, “until yesterday. I was in Chicago, – I made the best connections I could, and raced up here. Have I – is she – all right now?”

“Yes,” and Fred Fairfield grasped Farnsworth’s hand. “Undoubtedly you saved her life. It was the crisis. If she could sleep – they said, – and she is sleeping.”

“Thank God!” and the honest blue eyes of the big Westerner filled again with tears.

“Thank you, too,” cried Nan, and she shook his hand with fervour. “Come into my sitting-room, and tell me all about it. How did Patty know you were here?”

“Didn’t you tell her?” Bill looked amazed.

“No; she must have heard your voice – downstairs – ”

“But I scarcely spoke above my breath!”

“She heard it, – or divined your presence somehow, for she said you were there and she wanted you, – the first rational words she has spoken!”

“Bless her heart! Perhaps she heard me, perhaps it was telepathy. I don’t know, or care. She wanted me, and I was there. I am glad.”

The big man looked so proud and yet so humble as he said this, that Nan forgot her dislike and distrust of him, and begged him to stay with them.

“Oh, no,” he said. “That wouldn’t do. I’ll be in New York a few weeks now, at the Excelsior. I’ll see you often, – and Patty when I may, – but I won’t stay here, thanks. I’m so happy to have been of service, and always command me, of course.”

Farnsworth bowed and went off, and the two Fairfields looked at each other.

“What an episode!” exclaimed Nan. “Did he really save her life, Fred?”

“He probably did. We can never say for certain, but at that crisis, a natural sleep is a Godsend. He induced it, whether by a kind of mesmerism, or whether because Patty cares so much for him, I can’t say. I hate to think the latter – ”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, you know that story Van Reypen tells, about Farnsworth trying to get Patty to go on the operatic stage – ”

“I never was sure about that – we didn’t hear it so very straight.”

“Well, and Farnsworth is not altogether of – of our own sort – ”

“You mean, not the aristocrat Phil is?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, all that doesn’t matter just now. If the doctor says Bill saved Patty’s life, I shall always adore him, and I shall erect a very high monument to his honour. So there, now!”

Nan was almost gay. The revulsion of feeling brought about by Patty’s improved condition made her so joyous she had to express it in some way.

First, she tiptoed to the door, and beckoned the nurse out. From her she demanded and received assurance that Patty was really past the present danger, and barring relapse or complication, would get well.

Then she flew to the telephone and told Mona, leaving her to pass the glad news on to the others.

She wanted to call up Van Reypen, but was uncertain whether to do so or not. He was but just returned from his aunt’s burial, and the time seemed inopportune. Yet, he would be so anxious to hear, and perhaps no one else would tell him.

So she called him, telling the servant who answered, who she was, and saying Mr. Van Reypen might speak to her or not, as he wished.

“Of course I want to speak to you,” Phil’s deep voice responded; “how is she?”

“Better, really better. She will get well, if there are no setbacks.”

“Oh, I am so glad. Mrs. Nan, I have been so saddened these last few days. I couldn’t go to you as I wished, because of affairs here. Now, dear old aunty is laid to rest, and soon I must come over. I don’t hope to see Patty, but I want a talk with you. May I come tonight?”

“Surely, Philip. Come when you will, you are always welcome.”

“But I don’t know,” Nan said to Fred Fairfield, “what Philip will say when he knows who it was that brought about Patty’s recovery.”

“Need he know? Need anybody know? Perhaps when Patty can have a say in the matter, she will not wish it known. The nurses won’t tell. Need we?”

“Perhaps not,” said Nan, thoughtfully.

CHAPTER XVIII

PATTY’S FORTUNE

Though Patty’s recovery was steady, it was very, very slow. The utmost care was taken against relapse; and so greatly had the disease sapped her strength, that it seemed well-nigh impossible for her to regain it. But skilled nursing proved effectual in the end, and the day came at last when Patty was allowed to see one or two visitors.

Adele was the first to be admitted to the presence of the convalescent. She had come down from Fern Falls as soon as the welcome word reached her that she might see Patty. She was to remain with her but a few moments, and then, if no harm resulted, the next day Mona was to be admitted.

Patty herself was eager to see her friends, and showed decided interest in getting arrayed for the occasion of Adele’s visit. This greatly pleased Nurse Adams for until now, Patty had turned a deaf ear to all news or discussion of the outer world, and had shown a listless apathy when Nan or her father told her of the doings of the young people of her set. This had been partly due to her weakened condition and partly to her brooding in secret over the promise she had given Mrs. Van Reypen. She had never mentioned this subject to Nan, nor had they yet told Patty of Mrs. Van Reypen’s death. The doctor forbade the introduction of any exciting topic, and this news of her dear old friend would surely startle her.

“I’ll wear my blue crêpe de chine negligée,” Patty directed; “the one with lace insets. And the cap with Empire bows and rosebuds.”

“Delightful!” said Miss Adams. “It will be a pleasant change to see you dressed up for company.”

“I haven’t been dolled up in so long, I ’most forget how to primp, but I daresay it will come back to me, for I’m a very vain person.”

“That’s good,” and Nurse Adams laughed. “It’s always a good sign when a patient revives an interest in clothes.”

“I doubt if I ever lost mine, really. It was probably lying dormant all through the late unpleasantness. Now, please, my blue brocade mules and some blue stockings, – or, no, – white ones, I think.”

Miss Adams brushed the mop of golden curls, that had been so in the way during the severe illness, and massed them high on the little head, crowning all with the dainty cap of lace and ribbons.

“Now, I will gracefully recline on my boudoir couch, and await the raising of the curtain.”

“You darling thing!” cried Adele, as she entered, “if you aren’t the same old Patty!”

“’Course I am! Who did you think I would be? Oh, but it’s good to see you! I haven’t seen a soul but the Regular Army for weeks and months and years!”

Patty had never referred to Farnsworth’s presence, and no one had spoken of it to her. They had concluded that she was really unconscious of it, or it had lapsed from her memory.

“And you’re looking so well. Your cheeks are quite pink, and, why, I do declare, you look almost pretty!”

“I think I look ravishingly beautiful. I’ve consulted a mirror today for the first time, and I was so glad to see myself again, it was quite like meeting an old friend. How’s Jim?”

“Fine. Sent you so many loving messages, I decline to repeat them.”

“Dear old Jim. Give him my best. Tomorrow I’m to see Mona. Isn’t that gay?”

“Yes, but I’d rather you’d be more interested in my call than to be looking forward to hers.”

“You old goose! Do you s’pose I’d had you first, if I didn’t love you most?”

“Now, I know you’re getting well. You’ve not lost your knack of making pretty speeches.”

“It’s a comfort to have somebody to make them to. The doctors were most unimpressionable, and I can’t bamboozle Miss Adams with flattery. She won’t stand for it!”

The white-garbed nurse smiled at her pretty patient.

“And,” Patty went on, “after Mona, I’m to see Elise and the other girls, and then if you please, I’m to be allowed to see some of my boy friends!”

“Oh, you coquette! You’re just looking forward with all your eyes to having Chick and Kit and all the rest come in and tell you how well you’re looking.”

“Yes,” and Patty folded her hands demurely. “It’s such pleasant hearing, after weeks of looking like a holler-eyed mummy, all skin and bone.”

“Patty, you’re incorrigible,” and Adele laughed fondly at the girl she loved so well. “But you’re certainly looking the part of interesting invalid, all right. Isn’t she, Mrs. Fairfield?”

“Rather!” said Nan, who had just appeared in the doorway. “And your visit is doing her a lot of good. Why, she looks quite her old self.”

“A sort of reincarnated version of her old self, all made over new. By the way, Patty, I saw Maude Kent yesterday.”

“Did you, Adele? What is she doing now?”

“Concerts as usual. I heard about her session with your father!” and Adele laughed. “The idea of her thinking you’d dream of the stage!”

“But think what a great tragedienne is lost to the world!” said Patty. “I know I have marvelous talent, but my stern parents refused to let me prove it.”

“The most outrageous ideal!” declared Nan. “Nobody but that Mr. Farnsworth would have suggested such a thing! I suppose Westerners have a different code of conventions from ours.”

“Bill Farnsworth suggest it!” cried Patty. “Why, Nan, you’re crazy! He’s the one who kept me from it. Wasn’t he, Adele?”

“Why, yes, Mrs. Nan. It was he who went over to Poland Spring with Patty – ”

“Yes, that’s what I heard. Took Patty over there to see this Kent person about the matter.”

“Goodness, gracious me!” Patty exclaimed; “wherever did you get such a mixup, Nansome? Why, it was Little Billee who gave Maude whatfor, because she mentioned the idea! He told her never to dream of it, and made me go straight home.”

Nan looked puzzled. “Why,” she said, “Philip Van Reypen told me that Mr. Farnsworth put you up to it, and said you were good-looking enough – ”

Patty laughed outright. “Oh, Nannie, I remember that! I said I was good-looking enough, and Bill said yes, I was that, – of course, he had to agree! – but he said that had nothing to do with the matter. And as to Phil, he knew nothing about it. He wasn’t there.”

“No. Somebody told him, that day he met you all in Boston.”

“Oh, fiddle-de-dee! Somebody said that somebody else heard that somebody – Now, listen here, Nan, nobody put me up to that stage business ’ceptin’ my own little self, and, of course, Maude, who told me about it. But she did nothing wrong in giving me the chance. And it’s all past history, only don’t you say Little Billee egged me on, because he most emphatically egged me off. Didn’t he, Adele?”

“Yes, he did. You told me all about it at the time. Bill Farnsworth was most indignant at Miss Kent, but she was a friend of Chick Channing’s and so Bill wouldn’t say anything against her.”

“There isn’t anything against her,” declared Patty, “and Little Billee wouldn’t say it if there were. But you just remember that he was on the other side of the fence. If anybody sort of approved of it, it was Chick. He thought it would be rather fun, but he didn’t take it seriously at all. So you just cross off that black mark you have against Big Bill!”

“I will,” promised Nan, and Adele said, “Where is Bill now? Have you seen him of late?”

“No,” said Patty; “not since before I was ill. I don’t know where he is.”

Nan looked at her closely, but it was evident she was speaking in earnest. As they thought, then, she had forgotten the incident of his appearance at her bedside. Perhaps she never really knew of it, as she was so nearly unconscious at the time.

“He is in New York,” said Nan, covertly watching Patty.

“Is he?” said Patty, with some animation. “After I get well enough to see men-people, I’d like to have him call.”

“Very well,” returned Nan, “but now I’m going to take Adele away. The nurse has been making signals to me for five minutes past. You mustn’t get overtired with your first visitor, or you can’t have others.”

But visitors seemed to agree with Patty. Once back in the atmosphere of gay chatter and laughter with her friends, she grew better rapidly, and the roses came back to her cheeks and the strength to her body.

And so, when they thought she could bear it, they told her of Mrs. Van Reypen’s death.

“I suspected it,” said Patty, her eyes filling with tears, “just because you didn’t say anything about her, and evaded my questions. When was it?”

They told her all about it, and then Mr. Fairfield said, “And, my child, in her will was a large bequest for you.”

“I know,” said Patty, and her fingers locked nervously together. “A hundred thousand million dollars! Or it might as well be. I don’t want the money, Daddy.”

“But it is yours, and in your trust. You can’t well refuse it. Half is for – ”

“Yes, I know, – for a Children’s Home. But I can’t build a house now.”

“Don’t think about those things until you are stronger. The Home project will keep, – for years, if need be. And when the time comes, all the burdensome details will be in the hands of a Board of Trustees and you needn’t carry it on your poor little shoulders.”

“It isn’t that that’s bothering me, but my own half. You don’t know why she gave me that.”

“Why did she?” said Nan, quickly, her woman’s mind half divining the truth.

“She made me promise, the last time I saw her, that – that I would marry Philip. And when I said I wouldn’t promise, she was very angry, and said then she wouldn’t leave me the money. And I was madder than she was, and said I didn’t want her old money, and neither I don’t, with Philip or without him.”

“But what an extraordinary proceeding!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield. “She tried to buy you!”

“Oh, well, of course she didn’t put it that way, but she was all honey and peaches and leaving me fortunes and building Children’s Homes until I refused to promise, then she turned and railed at me.”

“And then – ” prompted Nan.

“Then I was mad and I tried to start for home. Then she calmed down and was sweet again, and said she didn’t mean to balance the money against the promise, but, well – she kept at me until she made me give in.”

“And you promised?”

“Yes.”

“You poor little Patty,” cried Nan; “you poor, dear, little thing! How could she torture you so?”

“It was, Nan,” cried Patty, eagerly; “it was just that, – torture. Oh, I’m so glad you can see it! I didn’t know what to do. She said I mustn’t refuse the request of a dying woman, and she grabbed my arm and shook me, and she looked like a – oh, she just looked terrifying, you know, and she – well, I guess she hypnotised me into promising.”

“Of course she did! It’s a perfect shame!” and Nan gathered Patty into her arms.

“It is a shame,” agreed Mr. Fairfield, smiling at his daughter, “but it won’t be such an awfully hard promise to keep, will it, Little Girl? Of course you hated to have it put to you in that manner, but there are less desirable men in this world than Philip Van Reypen.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Patty, and she burst into tears on Nan’s shoulder.

“And you sha’n’t,” returned Nan, caressing her. “Go away, Fred. A man doesn’t know how to deal with a case like this. Patty isn’t strong enough yet to think of bothersome things. You go away and we’ll tell you later what we decide.”

Mr. Fairfield rose, grumbling, laughingly, that it was the first time he had ever been called down by his own family. But he went away, saying over his shoulder, “You girls just want to have a tearfest, that’s all.”

“Tell me all about it, dear,” said Nan, as Patty smiled through her tears.

“That’s about all, Nancy. But it was such a horrid situation. I do like Phil, but I don’t want to make any such promise as that. Of course, Phil has asked me himself, several times, but I’ve never said yes – ”

“Or no?”

“Or no. I don’t have to till I get ready, do I? And I surely don’t have to give my promise to the aunt of the person most interested. Oh, I’m so sorry she died. I wanted to ask her to let me off. I dreamed about it all the time I was sick. It was like a continual nightmare. Has Phil been here?”

“Yes, two or three times. He wants to see you as soon as you say so.”

“How can I see him? Do you suppose he knows of my promise?”

“Very likely she told him. I don’t know. But, Patty, don’t blame her too much. You know, she was very fond of you, and she worshipped him. It was the wish of her heart, – but, no, she hadn’t any right to force your promise!”

“That’s what she did, she forced it. Nan, am I bound by it?”

“Why, no; that is, not unless you want to be. Or unless – ”

“Unless I consider a promise made to a dying person sacred. Well, I’m afraid I do. I’ve thought over this thing, day in and day out, and it seems to me I’d be wicked to break a promise given to one who is gone.”

“Maybe Philip will let you off.”

“No, he won’t. I know Phil wants me to marry him, awfully, and he’d take me on any terms. This sounds conceited, but I know, ’cause he’s told me so.”

“Well, Patty, why not?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know why not. Sometimes I think it’s just because I don’t want to be made to do a thing, whether I choose or not. And then sometimes, – ”

“Well?”

“Sometimes I think I don’t love Phil enough to marry him. He’s a dear, and he’s awfully kind and generous and good. And he adores me, – but I don’t feel – say, Nan, were you terribly in love with father when you married him?”

“I was, Patty. And I still am.”

“Yes, I know you are now. But were you before the wedding day?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not terribly in love with Phil. But he says that will come after we’re married. Will it, Nan?”

“It’s hard to advise you, Patty. I daren’t say the greater love will come to you, – for I don’t know. But don’t marry him unless you are sure he is the only man in the world you can love.”

“I’ve got to marry him,” said Patty, simply; “I promised.”

CHAPTER XIX

A DISTURBING LETTER

Then the days came when Patty could see anybody and everybody who called upon her. When she could be downstairs in the library or the big cheery living-room, and, as she expressed it, be “folks” once more.

Still flowers were sent to her, still candies and fruit and dainty delicacies arrived in boxes and baskets, and friends sent books, pictures, and letters. Her mail was voluminous, so much so that Nurse Adams who still tarried, was pressed into service as amanuensis and general secretary.

The men had begun to be allowed to call, and Patty saw Cameron and Channing, who happened to call first.

“My, but it’s good to gaze on your haughty beauty again!” said Chick; “I’ve missed you more than tongue can tell!”

“Me too,” said Kit. “I wanted to telephone, but they wouldn’t let me. Said I was too near and dear to be heard without being seen, – like the children, or whoever it is.”

“I wish you had,” and Patty laughed. “I was longing to babble over a telephone, as we used to do, Kit.”

“Yes, in the early days of our courtship, when we were twenty-one!”

“Speak for yourself, John! I’ll leave it to Chick, —do I look twenty-one!”

“I should say not! You look sweet sixteen, or thereabouts.”

He was right, for Patty did look adorably young and sweet. She had on a Frenchy tea-gown of pale green silk, bubbling over with tulle frills of the same shade, touched here and there with tiny rosebuds. A fetching cap of matching materials, was, Nan declared, a mere piece of affectation, but it accented her invalidism, and was vastly becoming. Her face, still pale from her illness, was of a waxen hue, but a warm pink had begun to glow in her cheeks and her blue eyes were as twinkling and roguish as ever.

“And what’s more,” Patty went on, “I won’t be twenty-one till next May, – and that’s ages away yet.”

“Yes, about half a year!” retorted Kit, “so I’m not so very far out, my little old lady! Did you get all the tokens I sent you?”

“Guess I did. I’m acknowledging ’em up as fast as I can. I had such oodles of stuff. I begrudge the flowers that came while I was too lost to the world to see them, but enough have come since to make up. You’ll get your receipts in due time.”

“Thanks. I was afraid mine were lost in the shuffle. I say, Patty, when can you go out for a spin?”

“Not this week. Next, maybe.”

“Go with me first?”

“No, me,” put in Chick. “I’ve a limousine, he has only a runabout.”

“Lots more fun in a runabout. Besides, I asked you first.”

“What fun!” cried Patty, clapping her hands. “It’s like a dance. I’m going to have a programme. Wait, here’s one.”

Patty found an old dance programme in the desk near her, and Kit kindly essayed to rub off the names. Then with his fountain pen he wrote over the dances, “Limousine Ride.” “Runabout Spin.” “Walk.” “Skate.” “Opera.” “Dance.” “Matinée,” and a host of other pleasures to which Patty might reasonably expect to be invited soon.

But she would only allow them one each, and after they had written their names after the motor-car rides, they were shooed away by ever watchful Nan, who would not allow Patty to become overtired.

Then, one morning, in the mail came a communication from Mrs. Van Reypen’s lawyer. It informed Patty of the legacy left her. As Mrs. Van Reypen had said, there was a bequest of fifty thousand dollars to Patty herself, and another fifty thousand in trust for a fund for a Children’s Home. The details of the institution were left entirely to Patty’s discretion, and she was instructed, if in need of more funds, to apply to Philip Van Reypen.

Also was enclosed a note which Mrs. Van Reypen had written and directed to be given to Patty after her death.

“I’m afraid to open it, Nan,” said Patty, trembling as she looked at the sealed epistle.

“I don’t wonder you feel so, dear. Let me read it first.”

Gladly Patty passed it over, for she had no secrets from Nan, and her nerves were not yet as strong as before her illness.

Nan read it, and then said. “You need have no fear, Patty, it’s a dear note. Listen:

“My Dear Little Patty:

“I am afraid I made you sorrowful when I talked to you and urged you to promise the thing I asked of you. But don’t feel hard toward me. I have your interests at heart as well as Philip’s, and I know that what you have promised will mean your life’s happiness. Now, about the Children’s Home. If you feel that after all it is too great a tax on your time or strength to take it in charge, don’t do so. Turn it all over to some one else. You and Philip can decide on the right person for the work. But I trust you will have an interest in it, and see to it that the furnishings and little comforts are as you and I would choose were we working together. This note, dear, is to say good-bye. I shall not see you again, but I die content, knowing you will love and look after my boy. It seemed strange at first to your girl heart, but you will come to love him as your own, and your life together will be filled with joy and peace. Good-bye, my child, have a kindly remembrance in your heart for your old friend,

“Lady Van.”

Patty was crying as Nan finished. It so brought back the fine but eccentric old lady, and so renewed that dreadful promise, that the girl was completely upset.

“You see,” she sobbed, “I’ve got to marry him. This is like a voice from the grave, holding me to my vow. Isn’t it, Nan?”

“Patty, look here. Do you want to marry Phil, or don’t you?”

At the quick, sharp question, Patty looked up with a start.

“Honest, Nan, I don’t know.”

“Then you ought to find out. It’s this way, Patty. If you do want to marry him, or if you are willing to, there’s no use in fussing over this promise business. If you don’t, and if you are sure you don’t, then you must break that promise. But, you’ve got to be sure first.”

“How can I be sure?”

“Is there anybody else you care for?”

“N – no.”

“Kit Cameron is very much in love with you, Patty. He asked me when you were ill, if I thought he had a chance. Has he?”

“Not the ghost of a chance! Kit’s an old dear, and I like him a heap, but he’s a worse flirt than I am. Mercy, Nan, I wouldn’t marry him for a minute!”

“Chick Channing?”

“No. He’s a lovely boy to play around with, but not to take for a life partner. Oh, well, I s’pose it’ll have to be Phil, after all.”

“Your father and I would like that.”