Pattys Suitors | Page 2

at twelve, and you must be ready then."
"Oh, make it one. You know a Valentine party is lots of fun."
"Well, half-past twelve," agreed Nan, "and not a minute later!"
Then Louise wrapped Patty in a light blue evening cloak, edged with white fur, and the
happy maiden danced downstairs.
"Good-bye, Popsy-Poppet," she cried, looking in at the library door.
"Bless my soul! what a vision of beauty!" and Mr. Fairfield laid down his paper to look at
his pretty daughter.
"Yes," she said, demurely, "everybody tells me I look exactly like my father."
"You flatter yourself!" said Nan, who had followed, and who now tucked her hand
through her husband's arm. "My Valentine is the handsomest man in the world!"
"Oh, you turtle-doves!" said Patty, laughing, as she ran down the steps to the waiting
motor.
Unless going with a chaperon, Patty was always accompanied by the maid, Louise, who

either waited for her young mistress in the dressing-room or returned for her when the
party was over.
"Shall you be late, Miss Patty?" she asked, as they reached their destination.
"Yes; don't wait for me, Louise. Come back about half-past twelve; I'll be ready soon
after that."
Louise adored Patty, for she was always kind and considerate of the servants; and she
thought Louise might as well have the evening to herself, as to be cooped up in a
dressing-room.
The party was at Marie Homer's, a new friend, with whom Patty had but recently become
acquainted.
The Homers lived in a large apartment house, called The Wimbledon, and it was Patty's
first visit there. Miss Homer and her mother were receiving their guests in a ballroom,
and when Patty greeted them, a large crowd had already assembled.
"You are a true valentine, my dear," said Mrs. Homer, looking admiringly at Patty's
garlanded gown.
"And this is a true Valentine party," said Patty, as she noted the decorations of red hearts
and gold darts, with Cupids of wax or bisque, here and there among the floral ornaments.
Marie Homer, who was a pretty brunette, wore a dress of scarlet and gold, trimmed with
hearts and arrows.
"I'm so glad to have you here," she said to Patty; "for now I know my party will be a
success."
"I'm sure your parties always are," returned Patty, kindly, for Marie was a shy sort of girl,
and Patty was glad to encourage her.
As soon as the guests had all arrived St. Valentine appeared in the doorway.
It was Mr. Homer, but he was scarcely recognisable in his garb of the good old Saint.
He wore a red gown, trimmed with ermine, and a long white beard and wig.
He carried an enormous letter-bag, from which he distributed valentines to all. They were
of the old-fashioned lace paper variety, and beautiful of their kind.
Mrs. Homer explained that on the valentine of every young man was a question, and the
girl whose valentine had an answer to rhyme with it, was his partner for the first dance.
The young men were requested to read their valentines aloud in turn, and the girls to read
their responsive answers.

This proceeding caused much hilarity, for the lines were exceedingly sentimental, and
often affectionate.
When it was Roger Farrington's turn, he read out boldly:
"Where's the girl I love the best?"
and Marie Homer, who chanced to hold the rhyming valentine, whispered, shyly:
"I am sweeter than the rest!"
"You are, indeed!" said Roger, as he offered his arm with his courtliest bow.
Then Kenneth Harper read:
"Who's the fairest girl of all?"
and Mona Galbraith read, with twinkling eyes:
"I'll respond to that sweet call!"
Then it was Philip Van Reypen's turn. He glanced at his valentine, and asked:
"Who's a roguish little elf?"
Everybody laughed when a tall, serious-faced girl responded:
"I guess I am that, myself!"
It was toward the last that Clifford Morse asked:
"Who's the dearest girl I know?"
and as Patty's line rhymed, she said, demurely:
"Guess I am,--if YOU think so!"
"I'm in luck," said Clifford, as he led her to the dance. "You're such a belle, Patty
Fairfield, that I seldom get a whole dance with you."
"Faint heart never won fair lady," laughed Patty, shaking her fan at him. "I always accept
invitations."
"Accept mine, then, for the next dance," said Philip Van Reypen, who overheard her
words as he was passing.
"No programmes to-night," returned Patty, smiling at him. "Ask me at dance time."
As no dances could be engaged ahead, except verbally, Patty was besieged by partners

for every dance.
"Oh, dear," she cried, as, at the fourth dance, five or six eager young men were bowing
before her; "what shall I do? I'd have to be a centipede to dance with you all!