"WHEN SHE WILL, SHE WILL."
Patty was the last to come down from dressing that night. She had
refused to share with any one the secret of her costume; and even
Flossy was ignorant, that beneath the long cloak which completely
enveloped her cousin was concealed male attire. She supposed Patty
had discarded entirely the suits used in the theatricals, and had
manufactured one. And indeed she had seen signs of dress-making
in her cousin's chamber; Patty's resolution having at one time so
faltered, that she had begun a page's costume, which by its short
skirt compromised between propriety and the dress she had chosen. A
bundle from Putnam containing the dress he wished her to wear had been
sufficient to strengthen her faltering courage; and in full masculine
array, knee-breeches and all, Mistress Patience started for the
masquerade.
Very pretty and jaunty she looked in the dress, her fine form displayed
to the best advantage; but under the embroidered waistcoat and velvet
frock beat a very miserable heart, as sad as it was proud. She smarted
under what she received as a slur upon her modesty. Conscious of the
innocence with which she had chosen the costume, she assumed that the
lawyer had impugned her delicacy, when in truth he had merely reproved
her thoughtlessness. In carrying out her original intent, and refusing
to consider her resolve unmaidenly, she fancied herself protesting and
demonstrating the whiteness of her thought; not recognizing, that, on
the contrary, she was championing the act itself, of which, in a calmer
mood, she would have herself disapproved.
Light streamed from all the windows of the Toxteth mansion, brightening
up the sear lawn and leafless trees with a warm glow. Sounds of
laughter and snatches of music were already heard, as the Sanfords were
rather late in arriving.
"Let us separate," Patty suggested. "I'll stand in the shadow of the
piazza a moment, and go in with somebody else. People will be less
likely to know us."
"Very well," Will said; and then, as Flossy stepped across the piazza,
he added, "What is the trouble with you, Pit-pat? You've been glum as a
ghost all day, and now your tone is awfully lugubrious."
"Nothing, nothing," she answered. "Go in quick, before these folks
come. You are good to care, but really nothing is the matter."
A group of maskers came up the path as she dismissed her brother with
this well-intentioned fib, and with them she entered. Familiar with
the house, she slipped past the dressing-room, and went into a sort
of recess at the head of the back-stairway. Here in the dark she
adjusted her dress as well as she was able, and then seated herself
upon her cloak, holding her head in her hands. She dreaded going down
to encounter the lights, and the eyes of the company. She shrank from
possible discovery, and lingered until the fear of having to enter the
parlors alone drove her from her hiding-place. She saw a lady emerging
from the dressing-room, and with a swaggering bow Patty offered her
arm. The lady, taking it, murmured "Thanks." By the voice Patty
recognized Dessie Farnum. The two descended the stairs together.
They found Mrs. Toxteth receiving at the parlor-door. Near her stood
a mask whom Patience did not recognize. He was tall and slender, with
a figure which his motions seemed to indicate supple and well knit.
His dress, which was admirably adapted to display his figure, was that
of a Florentine courtier of Lorenzo de' Medici's day. Patty recalled
Clarence's speaking of friends from Samoset who were to be present, and
set the unknown down as one of the party. As she moved away, however,
she felt a touch on her shoulder. She started violently, but by a
strong effort endeavored to regain her composure. She felt that at
any cost she must preserve her _incognito_; and, resolutely steadying
herself, she turned to see who had arrested her. It was the Florentine
chevalier. Taking her hand in one of his, with the finger of the other
he traced upon her palm the letters "P. S." She shook her head; but,
as she did so, it flashed upon her that the unknown was Tom Putnam.
She had not considered that it would be necessary for him to procure
a dress in place of the one he had taken to exchange with her; and
now, in despite her agitation, she concluded that he must have sent
to Boston for the costume he wore, and she admired him in it. Her next
thought was that he must have been waiting for her. She refused the
arm which he proffered, but followed as he led the way into a small
back-parlor which chanced to be empty. There he stood looking at her
without speaking.
"Well," she said, when she had endured the silence as long as she
could. "What has my Lord Mentor to say now?"
"Nothing," he answered. "The Chevalier Sorrowful might present a
petition, but certainly my Lord Mentor is silent."
"I am glad of that at least. Still I should like to be informed if the
Chevalier Sorrowful has ever had dealings with Paul Pry."
"The Chevalier," the other said, parrying her thrust, "needs no
dealings with Paul Pry. He has eyes for but one lady, and her he can
detect under any disguise."
"What keenness of vision!" Patty retorted. Then, hoping to give the
conversation a less personal character, she added, "Hark! Who is that
singing?"
A voice affecting the Scotch accent was appealing more frantically than
tunefully to "Douglas, Douglas, tender and true."
"It is Miss Yamfert from Samoset," the lawyer said. "She is dressed in
Scotch costume."
The voice sang on,--
"'Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so kind and faithful, Douglas,--
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true!'"
"Very pretty," Putnam remarked rather savagely. "But, if Douglas is
comfortable where he is, he'd much better remain there. If she really
loved him, she would have shown it while he was in the flesh. I've no
faith in a love which expends itself only in tormenting its object."
"How harsh you are!" Patty said. "Doesn't your scheme of life allow any
space for repentance?"
"Yes; but I've the smallest possible faith in it. If she hadn't love
enough for Douglas to treat him decently, he was better off with no
love at all. No doubt she would think herself sincere in making frantic
promises over his grave; but, if he were back, it would be the same
dreary story over again."
"Then Douglas had better leave her, and have done," Patty answered.
She felt, that, under the guise of allusions, they were discussing
their own relations.
"You are right," he said. "But suppose he cannot choose? What if he be
so bound up in her, that he would endure any thing, would forgive any
thing?"
"Forgiveness," she retorted bitterly, "is sweet to the forgiver."
"It may at least show him his own weakness. If the lady's love for
Douglas is not sufficient to make her glad of a small sacrifice for
him, or at least to make her endure it, he has small reason to flatter
himself upon the depths of her affection; and he must despise himself
for wearing his heart upon his sleeve for her daws to peck at."
"Well," she said irrelevantly, her heart leaping at the assurance that
after all he still loved her, "who laughs last laughs best."
"Not always," he returned. "The last laugh may have a bitterness from
which the first was happily free."
"Pooh!" she laughed, turning a pirouette, her cue standing out behind
her. "How like two owls we are, talking in this gloomy room! Let us get
out among people."
She had suddenly recovered her spirits. Since he loved her, she forgot
that she was wounding him, and that he was unhappy. At another time the
thought would have produced tenderness: now it brought a reaction from
her despondency, and for the moment she was her most piquant, saucy
self. She hummed a snatch of song,--
"'You call me inconstant and fickle,
But there's no justice in that;
For the passing fancy I showed you'"--
"Patty!" her lover cried, catching her wrist, "are you perfectly
heartless?"
"I shall have a _post mortem_ made to discover," she returned
flippantly. "It will be too late for my own information, but it will
satisfy the curiosity of my friends."
"If you do not begin soon to cultivate some show, either of delicacy
or sensibility," he said almost brutally, "your friends will cease to
be interested. For my part," he went on, his voice showing more and
more emotion, "though I can't help being a fool, I shall try to help
amusing you with exhibitions of my folly. I have never flattered myself
that you could have any particular reason for caring for me; and I may
thank my stars, I suppose, that the question is settled. But I tell
you this, Patience Sanford, you will go far before you will find a man
who will give his heart for you to set your feet on so absolutely as
I have done. If it is any satisfaction for you to know that, you are
welcome to the knowledge. Perhaps some time I shall be unselfish enough
to hope you may be happy without me. Just now I have an absurd fancy
that it would be pleasant to strangle you. If you ever love anybody but
yourself, you may know what that means. Good-night, and good-by."
The cup whose sweet foam Patty had a moment before set laughing to her
lips proved more bitter than wormwood in its depths. Never had she so
thrilled with passion as while her lover cast her off. Never before
had she seen him so moved. The dress he wore, setting off as it did
his fine figure, gave an appropriate setting for his words, and by its
strangeness half explained them. Had he remained a moment longer, Patty
felt that she must have thrown herself at his feet, and begged him to
forgive and love her still. As it was she burst into tears, but in a
moment resolutely suppressed them, and followed her lover into the
crowd of maskers.
Dessie Farnum, having seen that her escort did not come from the
dressing-rooms above, supposed herself to have been escorted down
stairs by Clarence Toxteth, and as such pointed out her companion.
Several approached Patty, and crossed her palm with a "T;" but she
shook her head, and made her way from the parlors as quickly as
possible. She desired nothing now but to get out of the house; and,
wrapping herself up, she effected her escape by a side-door, and walked
rapidly away. She removed her mask to let the night-air cool her heated
cheeks and brow; and, struggling hard to repress the tears which forced
themselves into her eyes, she went on towards home.
Suddenly a clatter broke the stillness of the night, the noise of
wheels and trampling mingled with oaths and cries. A carriage dashed by
her, the horse plunging forward, evidently beyond the control of the
driver. Another moment, and the vehicle was overturned. She heard a cry
followed by a heavy fall. The horse rushed madly on, with the carriage
half dragging behind him, the noise of his frantic hoof-beats dying
away in the distance, leaving a stillness more intense than before.
Patty ran forward, and discovered the lifeless body of a man lying on
the ground.