PATTY'S DANCE
The Christmas Eve party at the Blaneys' was in full swing. A man at
the piano was performing a monologue that was partly spoken, partly
sung. It was cleverly done, and the audience showed its appreciation
by outspoken comments.
"A little lame on that top note, old chap. S'pose you try it over--ah,
that's better!"
Patty sat next to Sam Blaney. Chick had expected to come, but Elise
had persuaded him to attend her party instead. This rather pleased
Patty, for she feared Chick's gay banter and she knew he didn't care
for the Cosmic Centre Club and their ways.
"You are so wonderful!" Blaney was saying, as he looked at her. "I
never cared for Christmas before."
Patty's gown was a long, sweeping robe of poinsettia red velvet. It
would not have been becoming to most blondes, but Patty's fairness
triumphed over all colour schemes. She wore a girdle of red velvet
poinsettia blossoms and a wreath of small ones encircled her head.
"You are so beautiful----" Blaney's soft, purring voice went on.
"Don't make me blush," Patty laughed back. "Pink cheeks spoil the
effect of this red gown. I must stay pale to suit it."
"Pink or pale, you are perfect! I adore you."
Embarrassed by the fervour of his tones, Patty turned to talk to the
man at her other side. But he was engrossed in conversation with an
aesthetic damsel, and so she gaily changed the subject.
"How splendid the rooms look," she said, glancing about. "That grove
of green trees is wonderfully picturesque."
"That's where you're to dance," Blaney returned. "I looked after it
myself. It's carpeted with pine needles, but they're soft, fresh ones,
not dried ones. I'm sure they'll be comfy."
"I dunno about dancing on 'em barefoot. I believe I'll wear sandals,
after all."
"Oh, no, you mustn't. Grantham has designed every detail so
exquisitely, don't fail to follow his directions accurately. Your
number will be the best of all. That's why we put it last. It will be
an enormous hit,--a revelation!"
"I hope they will like it. I've never danced before these people
before. I've pleased ordinary audiences, but the Cosmos are so
critical--it would break my heart if they didn't approve."
"Of course they'll approve! They'll go crazy over you. But you must
throw yourself utterly into the spirit of it. We know at once if
you're afraid or over-reserved. Abandon must be your keynote. Real
interpretation of Grantham's wonderful ideas."
"They are wonderful," agreed Patty. "Mr. Grantham is a true poet. He
sees Nature at her best and with an intuition almost divine."
Her blue eyes shone with earnestness and Blaney gazed at her in
adoration.
"You perfect thing!" he murmured; "you have found your right
environment among us. You are wasted on the ordinary, unthinking
masses of society. You are Nature's child. What a pity you must live
a conventional life. Patty, can't you break loose? Can't you give up
your present hampering existence and come and throw in your lot with
ours? Live here. Alla would warmly welcome you as a sister----"
"And will you be my brother, Sam? I've never had a brother."
"No, I refuse to be your brother! I'll be--well, say, your guardian.
How'd you like to be my ward?"
"I didn't know girls ever were wards except in old-fashioned novels.
And there, they always marry their guardians."
"Well?"
"Oh, my gracious, is this a proposal!" Something in Blaney's tone had
warned Patty that light banter was the best course, and she rattled on;
"if so, postpone it, please. I really must go very soon and dress for
my dance."
"I know it. I will wait for a more fitting time and place. You ought
to be wooed in a sylvan glade----"
"Oh, I'd rather a bosky dell! I've always been crazy to be wooed in a
bosky dell. A leafy bower is the nearest I've come to it."
"Who wooed you there?"
"Can't remember exactly. But it was the third from the last,--I think."
"You little witch! Do you know how fascinating you are?"
"No; tell me." Patty was in mischievous mood, and looked up demurely
at Blaney.
"By Jove, I will! As soon as I can get you alone. Run away, now, and
do your dance. And, listen; I command you to think of me at every
step."
"Can't promise that. It's all I can do to remember Mr. Grantham's
steps; they're fearfully complicated. So--you think of me,--instead."
With a saucy smile at Blaney, Patty slipped from her place, and went
around to the dressing room.
"Oh, here you are," cried Alla, who was waiting to help her dress; "I
was just going to send for you. Now, off with your frock."
Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, the audience sat in breathless
anticipation of Patty's dance.
Howard Grantham was a great artist, and never before had he been known
to devise a dance for any one. But he had recognised Patty's skill in
the art, and had requested that he be allowed to design a picture dance
for her. The result was to be a surprise to all present, except the
Blaneys, for rehearsals had been jealously kept secret.
The lights in the room were low, and the stage, which was a small grove
of evergreen trees, was dark. Then, through the trees, appeared slowly
a faint, pink light, as of breaking dawn. Some unseen violins breathed
almost inaudible strains of Spring-song music.
Two trees at the back were slowly drawn apart as two small, white hands
appeared among their branches. In the opening showed Patty's lovely
face, eyes upturned, scarlet lips parted in a smile that was a joyous
expression of youth and gladness. Still further she drew apart the
lissome trees, and stepped through, a vision of spring itself. Clouds
of chiffon swirled about her, softest dawn-rose in colour, changing of
tints of heliotrope and primrose, as she swayed in graceful, pliant
rhythm. Her slim white arms waved slowly, as the hidden melodies came
faintly from the depth of the grove. Her pretty bare feet shone
whitely among the soft pine needles and the steps of her dance were the
very essence of poetry itself.
The audience watched in silence, spellbound by the fair sight. Slowly
she moved and swayed; then, as the music quickened, her steps grew more
animated, her smile more bright, the lights were stronger, and the
dance ended in a whirl of graceful pirouette and tossing, fluttering
draperies. With no pause or intermission, Patty was changed to an
impersonation of summer. It was done by the lights. Her robe was
really of white chiffon, and as pink lights had made it appear in rosy
tints, so now a deep yellow light gave the effect of sultry sunlight.
The music, and likewise the rhythm of the dance, were soft and
languorous as a July noon. Limply hung the draperies, slowly waved the
graceful arms, and at the end, Patty sank slowly, gently, down on a
mound beneath the trees, and, her head pillowed on her arm, closed her
eyes, while the violin notes faded to silence.
Knowing better than to applaud her, the spectators watched in silence.
A moment, and then a clear bugle-like note sounded. Patty started up,
passed her hand across her brow, opened her eyes, smiled slowly, and
more and more merrily, then sprang up, and as the lights made her
costume appear to be of the gold and russet red of autumn, she burst
into a wild woodland dance such as a veritable Dryad might have
performed. The music was rich, triumphant, and the whole atmosphere
was filled with the glory of the crown of the year. By a clever
contrivance, autumn leaves came fluttering down and Patty's bare feet
nestled in them with childish enjoyment. Her smile was roguish, she
was a witch, an eerie thing. The orange light glowed and shone, and at
the height of a tumultuous burst of music, there was a sudden pause.
Patty stopped still, her smile faded, and the colours changed from
autumn glows to a cold wintry blue. Her gown became white, with blue
shadows, the music was sharp and frosty. Patty danced with staccato
steps, with little shivers of cold. The ground now appeared to be
covered with frost, and her feet recoiled as they touched it. The
music whistled like winter blasts. A fine snow seemed to fall, the
blue shadows faded, all was white, and Patty, whirling, faster and
faster, was like a white fairy, white robes, white arms, white feet,
and a sparkling white veil, that grew more and more voluminous as she
shook out its hidden folds. Faster she went, whirling, twirling,
swirling, like a leaf in the wind, until, completely swathed in the
great white veil, she vanished between the parted trees at the back of
the stage.
The music ceased, the lights blazed up, the dance was over. A moment
passed as the audience came back to earth, and then the applause was
tremendous. Hands clapped, sonorously, voices shouted "Bravo!" and
other words of plaudit; and "Encore!" was repeatedly demanded.
But Mr. Grantham had forbidden Patty to return to the stage, even to
acknowledge the laudation. He believed in the better effect of an
unspoiled remembrance of her last tableau.
So, shaking with excitement and weariness, Patty sank into a chair in
the dressing-room, and Alla began to draw on her stockings.
"You must rest quietly, dear Patricia, for a half hour at least," she
said, solicitously. "You are quite exhausted. But it was wonderful!
I have never seen anything so beautiful! You will be feted and praised
to death. I've sent for a cup of coffee, to brace you up."
"Oh, please not, Alla!" cried Patty, knowing the kind of coffee it
would be. "I don't want it, truly. Just give me a glass of water, and
let me sit still a minute without seeing anybody. It is exhausting to
dance like that."
"Yes, dear, it is. Now rest quietly, and I'll keep everybody away,
until you feel like seeing them."
But Patty was keyed up with the excitement of the occasion and
unwilling to rest for very long. So, with Alla's help, she was soon
rearrayed in her red velvet and ready to return to the Studio.
"I'm ashamed of myself," she said to Alla, "but I'm so vain, I really
want to go out there and hear people tell me that I did well!"
"That isn't vanity," Alla returned. "That's proper pride. If any one
can do a thing as well as you did that dance, it would be idiocy not to
enjoy hearing appreciative praise."
"Do you think so?" and Patty looked relieved; "I don't want to be
conceited, but I'm glad if I did well."
"Wait till you hear what Sam says! He's wild about you, anyway, and
after that dance he'll be crazier over you than ever."
Patty smiled, happily, and with a final adjustment of her freshly
done-up hair, she declared herself ready to return to the party.
As hers had been the last number on the program, she was not surprised
to find the audience standing about in groups, or picturesquely posed
on divans, and her appearance was the signal for a new hubbub of
excitement.
But before she could hear a definite word from any one, a tall,
powerful figure came striding up to her, and big Bill Farnsworth's
unsmiling blue eyes looked straight into her own merry ones.
Her merriment died away before the sternness of his expression.
"Get your wraps, Patty," he said, in low but distinct tones. "At once."
"What for?" and Patty stared at him in amazement. "What has happened?"
But she had no fear that any untoward accident had befallen, for
Farnsworth showed no sympathy or gentleness in his face, merely a
determined authority.
"Go at once," Farnsworth repeated, "and get your cloak."
"I won't do it," she replied, giving him an angry glance. "I don't
want to go home; why should I get my cloak?"
"Then I'll take you without it," and picking her up in his arms, Big
Bill strode through the throng of people, with as little embarrassment
as if he were walking along the street. Many turned to look at him
with curiosity, some smiled, but the Cosmic souls rarely allowed
themselves to be surprised at anything, however peculiar.
As they passed Sam Blaney, Patty noticed that he stood, leaning against
the wall, his arms folded, and a strange expression on his face,--half
defiant, half afraid.
Farnsworth carried Patty down the stairs and out of the house, and
placed her with care, but a bit unceremoniously, in the tonneau of a
waiting motor-car. He jumped in beside her, and pulled the lap robe
over her. The car started at once, and was well under way by the time
Patty found voice enough to express her indignation.
"You--perfectly--horrid--old--thing!" she gasped, almost crying from
sheer surprise and anger.
"Yes?" he said, and she detected laughter in his tone, which made her
angrier than ever.
"I hate you!" she burst forth.
"Do you, dear?" and Farnsworth rearranged the rug to protect her more
fully.
There was such gentleness in his touch, such tenderness in his voice,
that Patty's anger melted to plain curiosity.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded. "Why did you bring me away in
such--such caveman fashion?"
Farnsworth smiled. "It was a caveman performance, wasn't it? But you
wouldn't come willingly."
"Of course I wouldn't! Why should I?"
"For three very good reasons." Farnsworth spoke, gravely. "First, you
were in a place where you didn't belong. I couldn't let you remain
there."
"It is not your business to say where I belong!"
"I wouldn't want any one I care for to be in that place."
"Not even Daisy Dow?"
"Certainly not Daisy."
"Oh, not Daisy--of _all_ people! Oh, certainly _not_!"
"Next, you were doing what you ought not to do."
"What!"
"Yes, you were. You danced barefoot before those--those unspeakable
fools!"
Patty felt uncomfortable. She hadn't herself exactly liked the idea of
that barefoot dance, and hadn't told any one she was going to do it.
She had insisted to Mr. Grantham that she preferred to wear sandals.
But he had talked so beautifully of the naturalness of the whole
conception, the exquisite appropriateness of unshod feet, and the
necessity of her carrying out his design as a whole, that she had
yielded.
And now that Bill Farnsworth spoke of it in this rude way, it seemed to
divest the dance of all its aesthetic beauty, and make of it a horrid,
silly performance.
She tried to speak, tried to reply in indignant or angry vein, but she
couldn't articulate at all. A lump came into her throat, big tears
formed in her eyes, and a sob that she tried in vain to suppress shook
her whole body.
She felt Farnsworth's arm go protectingly round her. Not caressingly,
but with an assurance of care and assumption of responsibility.
Then, he pulled off the glove from his other hand with his teeth, and
after a dive into a pocket, produced and shook out a big, white,
comforting square of soft linen, and Patty gratefully buried her face
in it.