A FLORAL OFFERING
As the days went by, Patty and Lady Hamilton became close friends. Mr.
and Mrs. Fairfield approved of the intimacy, for the elder woman's
influence was in every way good for Patty, and in return the girl brought
sunshine and happiness into Lady Hamilton's life.
They went together to concerts and picture exhibitions, but Patty could
rarely persuade her friend to go to a social affair.
"It's absurd, Lady Hamilton," said Patty, one day, "to shut yourself up
as you do! All London wants you, and yet you won't go 'round and play
pretty with them."
Ignoring this outburst, Lady Hamilton only smiled, and said: "Do you
know, Patty, I think it's time you dropped my formal title, and called me
by my first name. I'd love to have you do so."
"I've often wondered what your first name is, but I haven't the slightest
idea. Tell me."
"No, guess. What name do you think suits me?"
Patty considered.
"Well," she said, at last, "I think it must be either Ethelfrida or
Gwendolyn Gladys."
Lady Hamilton laughed merrily. "Prepare yourself for a sudden shock," she
said. "I was named for my grandmother, Catharine."
"Catharine! What an absurd name for you! You're not even a Kate. But you
are Lady Kitty, and I'll call you that, if I may."
"Indeed you may. Father used to call me Kitty, when I was a child, but as
I grew older, I preferred my full name."
"Lady Kitty is just right for you, and when you're in the mood you're a
saucy puss. Now, listen, the reason for my invasion of your premises this
morning is that I want you to go with me this afternoon to a tea on the
Terrace of Parliament House."
Patty's tones were very persuasive, and she looked so daintily attractive
in her fresh morning gown that few could have refused any request she
might make.
Lady Hamilton in a soft, frilly white negligee, was sipping her coffee
and looking over her letters when Patty had interrupted the process. She
looked at her eager young guest with a slow, provoking smile, and said
only:
"Nixy."
"But why not?" said Patty, smiling too, for she knew the Englishwoman had
learned the slangy word from herself. "You'd have a lovely time. It's so
beautiful there, and the people are always so cordial and pleasant."
"But I don't want to go."
"But you _ought_ to want to. You're too young to give up the pomps and
vanities of this world. How can I _make_ you go?"
"You can't."
"I know it! That's just the trouble with you. I never saw such a
stubborn, self-willed, determined----"
"Pigheaded?"
"Yes! and stupidly obstinate thing as you are! So, there now!"
They both laughed, and then Lady Hamilton said more seriously, "Shall I
tell you why I won't go?"
"Yes, do, if you know, yourself."
"I know perfectly. I won't go to the Terrace because I'm afraid I'll meet
my father there."
"For goodness' sake! Is that the real reason? But you _want_ to be
reconciled to him!"
"Yes, but you don't understand. We couldn't have a 'Come home and all
will be forgiven' scene on the Terrace, in sight of hundreds of people,
so if I did see him, I should have to bow slightly, or cut him dead; it
would depend on his attitude toward me which I did. _Then_ the episode
would merely serve to widen the breach, and it would break me up for
days."
"I can't understand such conditions," said Patty, earnestly. "Why, if I
were at odds with my father, and I can't even imagine such a thing, I'd
rush at him and fling myself into his arms and stay there till everything
was all right."
"That's just because you're of a different temperament, and so is your
father. My father is an austere, unbending man, and if I were on the
Terrace and were to fling myself into his arms, he'd very likely fling me
into the Thames."
"You'd probably be rescued," said Patty, gravely; "there's always so much
traffic."
"Yes, but father wouldn't jump in to rescue me, so I'd only spoil my gown
for nothing. Give it up, dear, it's a case outside your experience.
Father and I are both too proud to make the first advance, and yet I
really believe he wants me as much as I want him. He must be very lonely
in the great house, with only the servants to look after him."
"Perhaps he'll marry again," said Patty, thoughtfully; "my father did."
"I wish he would, but I've no hope of that. Now, never mind about my
troubles, tell me of your own. Who's taking you to the tea?"
"Mrs. Hastings. But she isn't giving it. We're to sit at some Member's
table; I don't know whose. The Merediths will be there, too. Tom and
Grace, you know. I like them very much."
"Yes, they're nice children. I know them slightly. Patty, some day I'll
give a party for you, here in my rooms. How would you like that?"
"Oh, Lady Kitty, I'd love it! You'd have to come to that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, indeed, you couldn't drive me away. Let's have a children's party.
All dress as children, I mean; little children, or babies."
"Just the thing! I always wanted to see a party like that. I've only
heard of them. Can we have it soon?"
"Next week, I think. I'll consult Mrs. Betham, and I think I can coax her
'round to it; though she's bound to wet-blanket it at first."
"Oh, yes, you can coax her, I know. How good you are to me! I do have
beautiful times. Really too many for one girl. Honestly, Lady Kitty, do
you think it's right for me to lead such a butterfly life? I just fly
about from one entertainment to another; and even if I'm at home, or
alone, I always have a good time. Sometimes I think I'm a very useless
member of this busy world."
Lady Hamilton smiled kindly. "How old are you?" she said.
"I'll be eighteen next month."
"And you haven't set the Thames on fire, or won the Victoria Cross yet?
But you're just at the age when your type of happy girlhood is often
beset with over-conscientious scruples. Don't give way to them, Patty. It
is not your lot to do definite, physical good to suffering humanity, like
a Red Cross nurse, or the Salvation Army. Nor is it necessary that you
should work to earn your bread, like a teacher or a stenographer. But it
is your duty, or rather your privilege, to shed sunshine wherever you go.
I think I've never known any one with such a talent for spontaneous and
unconscious giving-out of happiness. It is involuntary, which is its
chiefest charm, but whoever is with you for a time is cheered and
comforted just by the influence of your own gladness. This is honest
talk, my child, and I want you to take it as I mean it. Don't _try_ to do
this thing, that would spoil it all; but just remember that you _do_ do
it, and let that satisfy your desire to be a useful member of this busy
world."
"You're such a dear," said Patty, as she caressed her friend's hand
affectionately; "if that's all true, and of course it is, since you say
so, I'm very glad. But can't I do something more definite, more
voluntary?"
"Of course there are always opportunities for doing good,--organised
charities and those things that everybody takes part in. But if you want
to widen your own field of benefaction, simply know more people. Whether
you know them socially or as casual acquaintances, you will almost
invariably add happiness to their lives, though it be in the merest
trifles. Now, I'm assuming that you have sense enough not to overdo this
thing, and thrust yourself upon people who don't want you."
"Madam," said Patty, in mock indignation, "you may trust me. I am an
American!"
"You are indeed; and you have what is known as Yankee good sense, if you
are a mere infant."
"Eighteen is pretty old, _I_ think; and you're not so very ancient,
yourself," retorted Patty; "but I'm willing to sit at your feet and
acquire wisdom."
When dressed to go out that afternoon, Patty stopped at Lady Hamilton's
door to say good-bye.
"Come in, and let me see if you'll pass muster. Yes, that frilly,
flowered muslin is just right for the Terrace; and that hat with long
streamers is truly pastoral."
"What's pastoral about the Terrace, pray?"
"Nothing but the ladies' clothes, and the lamb-like demeanour of the
M.P.'s."
"I may see your father there."
"You may. But he'll be an exception to the lamb-like ones. Here, let me
put these valley lilies in your belt. They rather suit your costume."
"Oh, thank you; they're beautiful. If I see your father, I'll give him a
spray and say you sent it."
"Very well; he'll then pitch you and the flowers all in the Thames
together." "Well, at least we'll cause a sensation among the lambs.
Good-by, Kitty lady."
"Good-bye, little one. Have a good time, and come in to tell me about it
when you return."
The tea on the Terrace was a new delight. Patty had been through the
Houses of Parliament before, but this was her first experience of that
unique function known as the Terrace Tea.
The broad, beautiful space was crowded with tables, and the tables were
crowded with people. Merry, chatting, laughing Londoners, Americans, and
foreigners mingled in groups and drank tea together.
Mrs. Hastings and Patty were met by their host, Mr. Pauncefote, and
escorted to a table, already surrounded by several people.
Patty felt greatly pleased when she found herself seated between Grace
and Tom Meredith, and listened with interest as they designated various
celebrated people who were strolling by.
"But, after all," she said, at last, "Dukes and Duchesses don't look very
different from ordinary people."
"Of course they don't. Why should they? They aren't any different," said
Tom. "Indeed, Miss Fairfield, I've vanity enough to believe you'd find me
more interesting than some of the Dukes."
"I'm sure you are," laughed Patty, "but if I were introduced to a real
Duke, I'd be so scared I wouldn't know what to say."
"Now I call that too bad," declared Tom, with an aggrieved look. "And,
pray, why aren't you scared when in my august society?"
"I am," said Patty, dimpling, as she smiled at him, "only I'm
successfully striving not to show my quaking fright."
"That's better. I hope the longer you know me, the more awed you'll be of
my,--of my----"
"Of your what?" calmly inquired his sister.
"'Pon my word, I don't know," confessed Tom, good-naturedly; "of my
awesomeness, I suppose."
"How do you like London?" said a loud voice, in the tones that are
sometimes called stentorian, and Patty suddenly realised that her host
was addressing her.
A bit embarrassed at finding the eyes of all at the table upon her, she
answered, shyly: "I love it; it is so--so kind to me."
"Bravo! Pretty good for an American," shouted Mr. Pauncefote, who seemed
unable to moderate his voice. "And which do you like best, the people or
the show-places?"
"The people," said Patty, her embarrassment lost sight of in a flash of
mischief. "I like the Members of Parliament better than Parliament
House."
"Good! Good!" cried the portly M.P., striking the table with his fist
until the cups rattled; "that's true Yankee cleverness. You're a good
sort, my child. Are they all like you in America?"
"Yes, I think so," said Patty, demurely; "are they all like you in
England?"
Patty's innocent air of inquiry robbed the speech of all effect of
pertness, and the genial Mr. Pauncefote roared with delight.
"Ha, ha!" he cried; "all like me in England? No, my child, no! Heaven be
praised, there are very few after my pattern."
"That's too bad," said Patty. "I think your pattern is a good one."
"It is," said Tom Meredith. "If we had more statesmen after Mr.
Pauncefote's pattern, the House of Commons would be better off."
This speech called forth applause from the other guests, and the host
said, loudly: "Pshaw, pshaw!" but he looked greatly pleased.
When the tea was over and the party rose from the table, Mr. Pauncefote
detained Patty for a moment's chat, while the others broke up into
smaller groups or wandered away.
"I want you to meet my daughter," he was saying; "the young lady in gray
over there, talking to Sir Otho."
"Sir Otho who?" said Patty, quickly, forgetting to respond in regard to
Miss Pauncefote.
"Sir Otho Markleham; see the large gentleman with gold-rimmed glasses.
She is my youngest daughter, and I know she'd be glad to meet you."
"I'd be delighted," said Patty, but her attention centred on Sir Otho.
Could it be that was Lady Hamilton's severe father? He did not look so
obstinate as she had imagined him, but as she drew nearer, she observed
the firm set of his square jaw and reversed her opinion.
Sir Otho was very tall and big, and his smoothly brushed hair was light
brown without a trace of gray.
He wore closely-trimmed whiskers, of the style known as "mutton-chop,"
and his cold gray eyes almost glittered as he looked through his glasses.
The introduction to Miss Pauncefote implied also an introduction to Sir
Otho, and in a moment Patty found herself chatting in a group of which
Lady Kitty's father was one.
There was something about the big man that awed her, and she naturally
fell into conversation with Miss Pauncefote, while the two gentlemen
talked together. But as they were all about to separate, and even after
Sir Otho had said good-afternoon, Patty hesitated irresolutely for a
second, and then turned back toward him again.
"Sir Otho," she said, timidly.
"Well, ma'am, what is it?" was the response as he turned in surprise to
look at her.
"I am very glad to meet you," said Patty, and as soon as the words were
uttered, she realised how absurd they were.
"Thank you, ma'am," said the puzzled gentleman. He was very unresponsive,
and showed in his face that he thought little of this exhibition of
American forwardness.
"Especially so," Patty went on, "because I know your daughter, Lady
Hamilton."
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated Sir Otho Markleham, the red blood dyeing his
large face crimson, and his eyes fairly snapping with anger.
"Yes, I do," went on Patty, resolved now to plunge in desperately, "and
she sent you these flowers."
Patty had previously detached two or three of the prettiest sprays of the
lilies of the valley, and now held them out, with the air of one
fulfilling a trust.
For a moment Sir Otho Markleham looked as if he would really like to
pitch the American girl and her flowers into the river, and then, almost
mechanically, he took the blossoms from Patty's hand.
Then, with a straight, cold stare at her, he said, in a hard voice: "I
have no daughter," and after a stiff, formal bow, he walked away.