Though Patty's manner took on a shade more of dignity in addressing the older man, it lost nothing in cordiality, and he responded with words of glad greeting.
Hearing the laughter and excitement, Aunt Alice and Mrs. Allen came down from the veranda to sit on the sand by the young people. Soon Mr. Fairfield and Mr. Allen and Mr. Elliott, returning from a stroll, joined the party.
The newcomers produced divers and sundry parcels, which they turned over to the ladies, and which proved to contain various new books and magazines and delicious candies and fruits.
"It's just like Christmas!" exclaimed Patty. "I do love to have things brought to me."
"You're certainly in your element now, then," said Mr. Fairfield, looking at his daughter, who sat with a fig in one hand and a chocolate in the other, trying to open a book with her elbows.
"I certainly am," she responded. "The only flaw is that I suppose it's about time to go in to dinner. I wish we could all sit here on the sand forever."
"You'd change your mind when you reached my age," said Mrs. Allen. "I'm quite ready to go in now and find a more comfortable chair."
Later that evening Patty, completely arrayed for the dance, came to her father for inspection.
"You look very sweet, my child," he said after gazing at her long and earnestly; "and with your hair dressed that way you look very much like your mother. I'm sorry you're growing up, my baby, I certainly am; but I suppose it can't be helped unless the world stops turning around. And if it's any satisfaction to you, I'd like to have you know that your father thinks you the prettiest and sweetest girl in all the country round."
"And aren't you going to tell me that if I only behave as well as I look, I'll do very nicely?"
"You seem to know that already, so I hardly think it's necessary."
"Well, I'll tell it to you, then; for you do look so beautiful in evening clothes that I don't believe you can behave as well as you look. Nobody could."
"I see your growing up has taught you flattery," said her father, "a habit you must try to overcome."
But Patty was already dancing down the long hall to Aunt Alice's room, and a few moments later they all went down to the parlours.
When Kenneth first saw Patty that evening, he stood looking at her with a funny, stupefied expression on his face.
"What's the matter?" said Patty, laughing. "Just because I'm wearing a few extra hairpins you needn't look as if you'd lost your last friend."
"I--I feel as if I ought to call you Miss Fairfield."
"Well, call me that if you like, I don't mind. Call me Miss Smith or Miss Brown, if you want to--I don't care what you call me, if you'll only ask me to dance."
"Come on, then," said Kenneth; and in a moment they were whirling in the waltz, and the boy's momentary embarrassment was entirely forgotten.
Chapter XXIII.
Ambitions
"There!" said Kenneth, after the dance was over, "you look more like your old self now."
"I haven't lost any hairpins, have I?" said Patty, putting up her hands to her fluffy topknot.
"No, but you've lost that absurd dressed-up look."
"I'm getting used to my new frock. Don't you like it?"
"Yes, of course I do. I like everything you wear, because I like you. In fact, I think I like you better than any girl I ever saw."
Kenneth said this in such a frank, boyish way that he seemed to be announcing a mere casual preference for some matter-of-fact thing.
At least it seemed so to Patty, and she answered carelessly:
"You think you do! I'd like you to be sure of it, sir."
"I am sure of it," said Ken, and then, a little more diffidently: "Do you like me best?"
"Why, yes, of course I do," said Patty, smiling, "that is, after papa and Aunt Alice and Marian and Uncle Charley and Frank and Mancy and Pansy--and Mr. Hepworth."
Patty might not have added the last name if she had not just then seen that gentleman coming toward her.
He looked at Patty with an especial kindliness in his eyes, and said gently:
"Miss Fairfield, may I see your card?"
Patty flushed a little and her eyes fell.
"Please don't talk like that," she said. "I'm not grown up, if I am dressed up. I'm only Patty, and if you call me anything else I'll run away."
"Don't run away," said Mr. Hepworth, still looking at her with that grave kindliness that seemed to have about it a touch of sadness. "I will call you Patty as long as you will stay with me."
Then Patty smiled again, quite her own merry little self, and gave him her card, saying:
"Put your name down a lot of times, please; you are a beautiful dancer, and I like best to dance with the people I know best."
"I wish I had a rubber stamp," said Mr. Hepworth; "it's very fatiguing to write one's name on every line."
"Oh, good gracious!" cried Patty, "don't take them all. I want to save a lot for Frank and Ken--"
"And your father," said Mr. Hepworth.
"Papa? He doesn't dance--at least, I never saw him."
"But he did dance that last waltz, with Miss Allen."
"With Nan? Well, then, I rather think he can dance with his own daughter. Don't take any more; I want all the rest for him, and please take me to him."
"Here he comes now. Mr. Fairfield, your daughter wishes a word with you."
"Papa Fairfield!" exclaimed Patty, "you never told me you could dance!"
"You never asked me; you took it for granted that I was too old to frisk around the ballroom."
"And aren't you?" asked Patty teasingly.
"Try me and see," said her father, as he took her card.
The trial proved very satisfactory, and Patty declared that she must have inherited her own taste for dancing from her father.
The evening passed all too swiftly. Pretty Patty, with her merry ways and graceful manners, was a real belle, and Aunt Alice was besieged by requests for introductions to her niece and daughter. But Marian, though a sweet and charming girl, had a certain shyness which always kept her from becoming an immediate favourite. Patty's absolute lack of self-consciousness and her ready friendliness made her popular at once.
Mr. Fairfield and Nan Allen were speaking of this, as they stood out on the veranda and looked at Patty through the window.
"She's the most perfect combination," Miss Allen was saying, "of the child and the girl. She has none of the silly affectations of young-ladyhood, and yet she has in her nature all the elements that go to make a wise and sensible woman."
"I think you're right," said Mr. Fairfield, as he looked fondly at his daughter. "She is growing up just as I want her to, and developing the traits I most want her to possess. A frank simplicity of manner, a happy, fun-loving disposition, and a gentle, unselfish soul."
Meantime Patty and Mr. Hepworth were sitting on the stairs.