“And won’t you?” cried Patty, in astonishment.
“Not I! I am not to blame. The two men quarrelled, and now that Cecil is gone, why should my father hold the feud against me? It is not my place to ask his pardon; I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You ran away from home,” said Patty, thinking only of the justice of the case, and quite forgetting that she was seeming to censure a titled English lady.
“Yes, but that was not wrong. Father knew that Cecil was a fine, honourable man, of an old family. He had no right to forbid my marriage because of a foolish personal disagreement.”
“Your mother?” said Patty.
“My mother died when I was a child,” said Lady Hamilton, and at once Patty felt a new bond of companionship.
“I lived alone with my father, in our great house in London, and I had a happy and uneventful life, until Cecil came. Since his death, I’ve longed so to go home to my father, and be at peace with him, but though many kind friends have tried to bring about a reconciliation, they haven’t been able to do so.”
“And so you live here alone at the Savoy?”
“Yes, with Mrs. Betham, who is really an old dear, though sometimes she grumbles terribly.”
“And do you go into society?”
“I’ve begun to go a little, of late. Cecil made me promise I’d never wear black dresses, so I’ve worn white only, ever since he died, and I suppose I always shall. That is, in the house. I have black street gowns. But I can’t seem to care for gay parties as I used to. I want father, and I want my home.”
“Is your father in London?”
“Oh, yes; he’s a Member of Parliament. But he’s of a stubborn and unyielding nature.”
“And so are you?”
“And so am I. Now, let’s drop the subject of myself for the present, while you sing for me. Will you?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, warmly; “with more pleasure than I ever sang for any one else.”
CHAPTER IV
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 négligée, 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.”