A STUDIO PARTY
As Roger had predicted, the snow departed as quickly as it came, and
two days after their sleigh ride there was scarcely a vestige of white
on the ground. Tennis was again possible and a great game was in
progress on the court at Pine Laurel. Patty and Roger were playing
against Elise and Sam Blaney, and the pairs were well matched.
But the long-contested victory finally went against Patty, and she
laughingly accepted defeat.
"Only because Patty's not quite back on her game yet," Roger defended;
"this child has been on the sick list, you know, Sam, and she isn't up
to her own mark."
"Well, I like that!" cried Patty; "suppose you bear half the blame,
Roger. You see, Mr. Blaney, he is so absorbed in his own Love Game, he
can't play with his old-time skill."
"All right, Patsy, let it go at that. And it's so, too. I suddenly
remembered something Mona told me to tell you, and it affected my
service."
"What is it?" asked Elise. "Anything of importance?"
"Yes; it's this: Mona has decided to sell Red Chimneys, and Philip Van
Reypen thinks it a good plan to buy it for the Children's Home."
"For gracious' sake!" exclaimed Patty. "That _is_ news! Why doesn't
Phil tell me about it?"
"That's just it. He's coming down here tomorrow to talk it over with
you. Mona's coming too, you know, and you can all have a powwow."
"All right," and Patty wagged her head, sagaciously. "It's not a bad
idea at all. I knew Mr. Galbraith was thinking of selling the Spring
Beach place, and it would be a fine house for the kiddies."
"And are you running a Children's Home?" asked Sam Blaney, as they all
strolled back to the house, and paused on the wide veranda.
"Too cool for you out here, Patty?" asked Elise.
"Not a bit of it. I love the outdoors. Somebody find me a sweater and
a rug, and I'll be as happy as a clam."
Roger brought a red silk sweater from the hall, and a big, soft steamer
rug, and proceeded to tuck Patty up, snugly.
"Yes," she said, turning to Blaney, and answering his inquiry, "I am
supposed to be organising a Children's Home, but all the hard work is
done for me, and I only say yes or no, to easy questions. You see, a
dear old friend of mine left me a sum of money for the purpose, and I
want to prove a trustworthy steward. But we're not going to do
anything definite until Spring, unless, as Red Chimneys is in the
market, it seems advisable to secure it while we can."
"Goodness, Patty," said Elise; "you talk like a Board of Managers!"
"That's what I am; or, rather, I'm Manager of the Board. Is Philip
coming tonight, Roger?"
"Yes, he'll be here for dinner. And Mona, too. I say, Blaney, we'll
bring 'em along to your party, eh?"
"Of course. Alla will be delighted to have them. No matter if we're
crowded. You see, Miss Fairfield, our place is small, but our welcome
is vurry, vurry large----" Blaney waved his long arms, as if including
the whole world in his capacious welcome.
"You're vurry, vurry kind," returned Patty, unconsciously imitating his
peculiar pronunciation. "I'm just crazy to see your studio. It seemed
as if the time would never come. And I want to meet your sister, too.
I know it will be a lovely party. I've never been to a real Bohemian
Studio party."
"Oh, we don't call it Bohemian, because, you see, it _is_ Bohemian.
Only make-believe Bohemians call themselves so. You'll learn to
distinguish the difference."
"I hope so. I've always wanted to know what Bohemianism really is."
"We'll show you tonight. What are you going to wear?"
"My goodness, I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. Also, I've
never been asked a question like that before."
"Ah, but it means so much! If your gown should be out of key----"
Blaney rolled up his eyes and spread his hands, as if the thought were
too appalling for words.
Patty giggled. "I hope it won't be," she said. "But, tell me, what is
the key? Maybe I can strike it."
"The key," and the poet looked thoughtful, "ah, yes, I have it! The
key will be saffron and ultramarine."
Patty gasped. "Oh, I haven't a frock to my name in those colours!"
"But you can harmonise,--yes, harmonise. You will, won't you? If you
didn't, I couldn't bear it."
"Oh, then I'll harmonise, yes, I promise you I will. I'll find
something that won't make a discord. But can you dictate to all your
guests like this?"
"Alas, no! Would that I might! And now I must go. Alla will be
wanting me."
"What is he, anyway?" said Patty, as after his adieux, the poet swung
away, with his queer, loping gait.
"Bats in his belfry," returned Roger, laughing. "He's the real thing
in high-art souls,--if you get what I mean."
"Oh, I don't know," demurred Patty; "I think he's sincere."
"You do! Well, he may be, for all of me. But if he is, give me base
deception, every time! Don't you fall in love with him, Patty, Van
Reypen wouldn't stand for it."
"I don't know what Mr. Van Reypen has to say about it," returned Patty,
with a heightened colour. "And remember, Roger, not everybody is so
absorbed in loving and being loved as you are!"
Patty's roguish smile was affectionate as well, for she was fond of
Roger, and also of Mona, and she was deeply interested in their love
affair. Their engagement had been a short one, and now that the
wedding day was so near, the whole Farrington family could think or
talk of little else. And as a house guest and a dear friend, Patty,
too, was enthusiastic and excited about the preparations.
And then Roger went off to the train to meet Mona, and Philip, who came
down at the same time, and Elise disappeared and Patty sat alone, in
the falling dusk, snugly tucked in her rugs, and feeling very lazy and
comfortable and happy.
Her thoughts drifted idly from one subject to another, and presently
she heard a step beside her, and felt her hand taken in somebody's warm
clasp.
"Philip!" she cried, starting up.
"Yes, my girl, and so glad to see you again. How are you?"
"Fine. This splendid air and luxurious living has made me all well
again."
"That's good. But it's too late for you to be out here. Come on in
the house."
"Yes, I will. Did Mona come?"
"Yes, we came down together. How that girl is improving!"
"What do you mean? She always was a fine character."
"Yes, but she has so much more--er--sweetness and light."
"That's so. I've noticed it ever since she's been engaged."
"Well, don't you put on any more sweetness and light when you get
engaged. I simply couldn't stand it! You're chock-a-block full of it
now!"
"Don't worry. Besides, I've no intention of being engaged. What's the
use, if I'm sweet and light enough now?"
"You're going to announce your engagement in just fifteen days from
now, my lady. Why, that will be Farrington's wedding day! By Jove,
what an idea! We'll announce it at their wedding!"
"We'll do nothing of the sort. You take too much for granted."
"Well, you promised----"
"I know what I promised. But the fifteenth is a long way off yet."
"That may be, but it's bound to get here. Come in the house now. It's
too damp for you out here."
They went in, and found Mona and Elise chattering like two magpies,
with Roger trying to get in a word edgeways.
"Hello, Patty," cried Mona, springing up to greet her. "My, how fine
you're looking! Lakewood agrees with you all right. And Patty, the
bridesmaids _are_ going to sing, after all. Will you be home in time
for one or two rehearsals?"
"Yes, indeed. I'll come up whenever you want me, Mona."
"Good girl. Now I must go and dress for dinner. I'd no idea we'd get
here so late; and Roger says there's a party on for tonight."
"Yes," laughed Patty; "and it's a party you have to get keyed up to,--I
mean your gown."
"What are you talking about?"
"Come along and I'll tell you."
The two girls went off together, and half an hour later Elise found
them in Patty's room, still talking and no beginning made in the matter
of dressing.
But later, when the young people left the house to go to the Studio
party, they were resplendent of costume. Patty had told the other
girls what Mr. Blaney had said, and though they scoffed at it, they
agreed not to wear anything that might be too desperately inharmonious.
Mona was in white, declaring that that could offend nobody. Elise wore
pale yellow, for the same logical reason. Patty had on a gown of soft
chiffon, of old-gold colour, which, she said, was the nearest to
saffron she had ever had or ever hoped to have.
"I don't like the word saffron," she declared; "somehow it makes me
think of camomile tea."
"Naturally," said Roger; "I believe they're both yarbs. Blaney might
call this affair a Saffron Tea, and have done with it."
But the gown was most becoming to Patty. The dull old-gold tints sets
off her fair skin, and her bright gold hair, piled high, was topped
with a gold and amber comb. Round her throat was an old-fashioned
necklace of topazes, lent her by Mrs. Farrington. Altogether, she
looked, Philip declared, positively Burne-Jonesey, and he called her
the Blessed Damosel.
When at last they entered the Studio of the Blaney brother and sister,
Patty blinked several times, before she could collect her senses. It
was very dimly lighted, and a strange, almost stifling sense of
oppression came over her. This was caused by the burning of various
incense sticks and pastilles which gave out a sweet, spicy odour, and
which made a slight haze of smoke. Becoming a little accustomed to the
gloom, Patty discerned her host, amazingly garbed in an Oriental
burnoose and a voluminous silk turban. He took her hand, made a deep
salaam, and kissed her finger-tips with exaggerated ceremony.
"My sister, Alla," he said, "Miss Fairfield."
Patty looked up to see a tall, gaunt woman smiling at her. Miss
Blaney, like her brother, was long, lanky and loose-jointed, and seemed
to desire to accentuate these effects. Her ash-coloured hair was
parted and drawn loosely down to a huge knot at the back of her neck.
A band of gilt filigree was round her head at the temples, and was set
with a huge green stone which rested in the middle of her forehead.
Long barbaric earrings dangled and shook with every movement of her
head, and round her somewhat scrawny neck was coiled an ugly greenish
serpent of some flexible metal formation. For the rest, Miss Blaney
wore a flowing robe of saffron yellow, a most sickly shade, and the
material was frayed and worn as if it had been many times made over.
It hung from her shoulders in billowy folds, and the wearer was
evidently proud of it, for she continually switched its draperies about
and gazed admiringly at them.
"Frightfully glad to see you," this weird creature was saying, and
Patty caught her breath, and murmured, "Oh, thank you. So kind of you
to ask me."
"I feel sure I shall adore you," Miss Blaney went on; "you are
_simpatica_,--yes, absolutely _simpatica_."
"Am I?" and Patty smiled. "And is it nice to be _simpatica_? It
doesn't mean a simpleton, does it?"
"Oh, how droll! My dear, how droll!" and Miss Blaney went off in
contortions of silent laughter. "Just for that, you must call me Alla.
I always want droll people to call me by my first name. And your name
is----"
"Patty."
"Impossible! You can't be named that! Incredible! _Ooh_!"
Alla ended with a half-breathed shriek.
"Oh, well," said Patty, hastily, "my name is really Patricia, though no
one ever calls me that."
"I shall call you that. Patricia! Perfect! You couldn't have been
better dubbed. No, not possibly better dubbed. Patricia, ah,
Patricia!"
Patty edged away a little. She began to think her hostess was crazy.
But Alla went on:
"And my brother, Patricia, do you not adore him?"
"Well, you see, I've only seen him a few times. I can't quite agree
that I adore him, yet."
"But you will. As soon as you have heard his poems, you will put him
on a pedestal, yes, on a high pedestal. And tonight you will hear him
read his wonderful lines. What a treat you have in store!"
And then new arrivals claimed Miss Blaney's attention, and Patty turned
aside. She found Philip waiting for her, his eyes dancing with
amusement.
"What is it all?" he whispered; "a bear garden?"
"Hush, Phil, don't make me laugh. Did you ever see anything like it?"
"Well, I've been to Studio jinks, but they were to this as moonlight
unto sunlight and as water unto wine! Shall I take you home?"
"No, indeed! I want to see the fun. I've never been to a Studio
jinks,--or whatever you call it, and I want to live and learn."
"All right, Patty. You shall stay as long as you like, but I'll wager
that inside of an hour you'll be begging me to get you out of it."
"All right, if I do, I shall expect you to take me away. Let's look at
the room."
They sauntered about, and finally sat down on a Turkish divan, which
proved much lower than they had anticipated.
"What an uncomfortable thing!" said Patty, "but sit here a minute,
while I look round."
From the ceiling hung Moorish-looking lamps, which gave almost no
light, and, were of rather dilapidated appearance. The furniture, too,
was not only antique, but wabbly-legged and here and there tied up with
strings or leather thongs. Statuettes were about, broken and dusty;
jugs and bowls of dull brass and copper; rickety screens; enormous
unframed photographs, warped and faded, but bearing splashing and
unintelligible autographs; and draperies of all sorts, from old shawls
to tattered ecclesiastical robes.
"I see what Mr. Blaney meant by the key of saffron," said Patty,
sagely. "Everything is that colour because of the accumulation of dust
and dirt! I don't believe this place has ever had a good
house-cleaning!"
"Oh, Patty, my dear child! Don't thus expose your ignorance! Bohemia
never cleans house! The very thought is sacrilege!"
"Why is it? Some of this old brass stuff would be lovely if it were
cleaned up. And look at that copper kettle! It's positively blue!"
"But that's what they want, dear," said Van Reypen, smiling at her.
"Howsumever, I'm glad you don't like it. We won't model our home on a
Bohemian plan."
"And look at the people," went on Patty, in an awe-struck whisper.
"Some of them are decent, like our crowd,--but look at that girl in
orange!"
The girl in question wore a costume of flame-coloured woolen material
that was indeed striking. Her black hair was in two long braids, and
she was carrying a small musical instrument that Philip said was a
zithern.
"I don't know," he went on, "but I fancy she will play a sort of
accompaniment to our host's poems. They generally work it that way."
"Stop making fun, Phil," reproved Patty; "perhaps the poems will be
lovely,--with musical setting."
"Perhaps," said Philip.