CHAPTER III
A LECTURE

“Patricia,” said Mr. Fairfield, one morning at the breakfast-table.

Patty gave a great jump, clasped her hands to her breast dramatically, and exclaimed:

“Oh, my gracious goodness! What do you call me that for?”

“Because,” went on her father, “I’m going to lecture you, and I’m in a very serious mood.”

“Proceed, Mr. Frederick Fairfield, Esquire;” and Patty assumed an expression of rapt attention and excessive meekness.

“Well, to put it in a few words, I won’t have that young Van Reypen hanging around here so much!”

“Oh! is that all? Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree! You should advise him of that fact, not me.”

“Incidentally, as I go along, consider yourself reproved for that awful bit of slang. But now I’m concerned with this other subject. It won’t be necessary for me to speak to the young man, for I’m telling you that you must discourage his attentions somewhat. He comes too often.”

“I think so, too,” agreed Patty, calmly. “But it isn’t me – I, he comes to see. It’s Nan.”

“Oh, Patty, how silly!” exclaimed Nan, laughing and blushing a little.

“Yes, it is, daddy. Nan encourages him something scan’lous! I don’t wonder you kick!”

“Object, Patty, not kick.”

“Yes, sir; object is just what I mean.” Patty’s demure air made her father laugh, but he returned to his theme.

“As you know, child, I like to have you amused and happy, and I like to have your young friends come to see you. But this chap has already been here three evenings this week, and it’s only Thursday.”

“That leaves him just three more to come, doesn’t it?” said Patty, counting on her fingers.

“Indeed, it does not! If he keeps this up, he’ll be forbidden the house altogether.”

“Oh, what a pity! And he such a nice young man, with rosy cheeks and curly hair! Father, you’re cruel to your only child!”

“Now, Patty, behave yourself. You’re too young to have a man calling on you so often, and I really object to it.”

 
“‘I will be good, dear mother,
    I heard a sweet child say,’”
 

hummed Patty, “and I’ll tell you frankly, my stern parent, that, if you’ll only let the Van Reypen villain stay by me until I get these puzzles done, I don’t care if I never see him again after that.”

“Oh, Patty,” cried Nan, “how ungrateful!”

“Ungrateful, perhaps, to that bold, bad young man, but obedient to my dear, kind, old father.”

When Patty was in this amiably foolish mood, she was incorrigible, so Mr. Fairfield said:

“All right, my lady. Let him come a few times to work out those pestilential puzzles, and then I shall hold you to your promise, to cut his acquaintance.”

“Is he really as bad as all that, father?” asked Patty, in awestruck tones.

“He isn’t bad at all. He’s a most estimable and exemplary young man. But I won’t have anybody calling on you three nights in one week, at your age. It’s out of the question! Kenneth doesn’t.”

“But Ken is so busy.”

“No, it’s because he has some idea of the proprieties.”

“And hasn’t Mr. Van Reypen any idea of the proprieties?” Patty’s eyes opened wide at this awful suggestion.

“Yes, he has;” and Mr. Fairfield smiled in spite of himself. “Or, he would have, if you’d let him! It’s all your fault, Patty; you drag him here, to mull over those idiotic questions!”

“I drag him here! Oh, father, what a rudeness! Well, I simply must have his help on the rest of those puzzles. How would it be if you engaged him as my assistant, and paid him a salary? Would that help matters?”

“How many of your precious puzzles are done?”

“Sixty-nine out of the hundred.”

“How many have you solved yourself?”

“About fifty.”

“Then that man did nineteen for you?”

“Yes; and, if he hadn’t, I never could have guessed them! Oh, he is clever!”

“And when do the answers have to be sent in?”

“April first.”

“H’m! an appropriate day! Well, Patty, as your heart is so set on this thing, carry it through; but don’t ever begin on such a task again. Now, Mr. Van Reypen may help you, if you wish, but I mean it when I say he must not come here to call more than twice in one week.”

“All right,” agreed Patty, cheerfully. “May I send him some puzzles to guess, father?”

“Well, I won’t have you writing to him. Not letters, I mean. But, if you can’t guess a puzzle, you may send it to him, and I trust you not to let this permission develop into a correspondence.”

“No, sir; I won’t,” said Patty.

But, after Mr. Fairfield had gone away, the girl turned to Nan, with a perplexed look.

“Whatever ails father,” she said, “to talk to me like that?”

“He’s right, Patty. You don’t see the difference, but there is a great difference between your friendship for Kenneth and Roger, which dates from your schooldays, and your sudden acquaintance with Mr. Van Reypen, who is older, and who is a far more experienced man of the world.”

“But Mr. Hepworth is a lot older than Mr. Van Reypen, and nobody objects to his coming here.”

“Mr. Hepworth is an old friend of your father’s, and has always been in the habit of coming here often.”

“Well, these distinctions are too much for me,” declared Patty. “But I don’t care a snip-jack about Philip Van Reypen, personally. If I can just have his help on my thirty-one remaining problems, I’ll cheerfully bid him farewell forevermore.”

There was no mistaking Patty’s sincerity, and Nan felt decidedly relieved, for she and her husband had feared that Patty was taking too deep a personal interest in the attractive young millionaire.

“All right, girlie. Suppose, then, you send him two or three of your brain-rackers, and ask him to come around, say, on Monday next. That will convey a gentle hint not to come sooner.”

“That’s a long time,” said Patty, dubiously; “but, if I need to, I can send him more puzzles before that.”

Patty ran away to her study, and spent the morning working on her puzzles. It was by no means drudgery, for she enjoyed it all. The puzzles were of all sorts, from charades and square words, to the most abstruse problems. She solved several, and four she gave up as impossible for her ever to guess. These she concluded to send to Mr. Van Reypen.

But it was more difficult than she anticipated, to compose a note to go with them.

She had no wish to disobey her father’s commands, even in spirit, and wanted to write an impersonal letter, such as he would approve.

But, for some reason, she couldn’t accomplish it. Philip Van Reypen was himself so straightforward, and so quick to see through any subterfuge, that all the notes she wrote seemed to her artificial and insincere. She tore them up one after another, and at last, seizing her pen again, she wrote rapidly:

“Dear Mr. Van Reypen:

“It’s no use. I’ve written a dozen notes and torn them up, trying to imply, or hint politely, what I prefer to say right out. It seems my parents think you come here too often, and, I daresay, you think so, too. So, at their command, you’re not to come again till next Monday. Come at four o’clock, and don’t ask to stay to dinner. I enclose some puzzles that I hope you can solve. I can’t.

“Sincerely yours,

“Patricia Fairfield.”

“There!” said Patty, to herself, as she read it over, “I think that would do credit to a ‘Young Lady’s Model Letter Writer.’ It tells the truth without subterfuge, and it certainly does not invite the correspondence father is so afraid of. Now, I’m not going to touch these old puzzles again, to-day, or I’ll have brain failure. I think I’ll go and practise some new songs. Music hath charms to sooth a puzzled breast.”

So Patty warbled away for an hour or so, in her clear, sweet voice, and Nan came down to the music room to listen.

“Oh, Patty,” she said, “if you’d put half the time and pains on your music that you do on those foolish puzzles, you’d be a great singer!”

“Think so, Nannikins? I doubt it.”

“Yes, you would. You have a lovely voice, but it needs more training and lots of practice.”

“Well, it won’t get it. Life’s too short; and, too, nobody cares for parlour tricks of a musical nature. I sing well enough to entertain the Fairfield family, and that’s all I care for.”

“Patty, have you no ambition?”

“Yes; but my ambitions are sensible. If I practised four hours a day, I’d still have only a small parlour voice, – not a concert voice. And there’d be four hours a day wasted. And days are so short, anyway. I’m going to Christine’s this afternoon; do you want the motor?”

“Why, yes; I did expect to make some calls.”

“Oh, well, you can drop me on the way. But, won’t it be fun, Nan, when I get my own little runabout? I’ll be quite independent of Miller and the big car.”

“You can’t use it alone in the city.”

“Oh, yes, I could! Just to fly over to Christine’s in the afternoon, or something like that. Father would kick at first, but he’d soon get used to it.”

“You do wind that poor man around your finger, Patty.”

“Good thing, too. If I didn’t, he’d wind me around his finger. So, as it is, I have the best of it. But I’m not at all sure I’ll catch that runabout, after all. The first of April draweth near, and many of those silly problems refuse to let themselves be solved.”

“I hope you will get it, after you’ve worked so hard.”

“I hope so, too. But hopes don’t solve anagrams and enigmas.”

“Oh, well, if you don’t get it, there’s always room for you in the big car. What time do you want to go to Christine’s?”

“About four. She won’t be home till then. Does that suit your plans?”

“Perfectly, my child.”

So, at four o’clock, Nan left Patty at Christine’s new home.

It was not a typical boarding-house, but an apartment occupied by two elderly people, who had a room to spare, which seemed just right for the young art student.

Even in the short time she had been there, Christine had done much to make the plain room more attractive. And Patty had helped, for many of the comforts that had been added had been her gifts. A growing palm, and a smaller bowl of ferns looked thrifty and well-kept; and a large jar of exquisite pink roses gave the place a gala air.

“What lovely roses!” exclaimed Patty, sniffing daintily at one of them.

“Yes, aren’t they?” said Christine. “Mr. Hepworth sent them. He sends them every week. Isn’t he kind?”

“Yes, but no kinder than he ought to be. Everybody ought to be good to you, Christine.”

“Why?”

“Oh, because you’re so sweet and good, yourself. And you work so hard, and you never complain, – and you’re so pretty.”

Patty added the last clause, because her former words brought a pink glow to Christine’s cheeks, and a shining light to her dark eyes, and she looked indeed beautiful.

“I do work hard; but, Patty, I’m winning out! I’ve already had some illustrations accepted by a good magazine; and I’ve orders for two magazine covers.”

“Fine! Why, Christine, you’ve arrived!”

“Not quite that; but I’m steadily going ahead. I say that quite without conceit. It’s simply that I’m learning how to use the talent I have.”

“You dear!” cried Patty. “As if any one could imagine you conceited! And, of course, you’re going ahead, – fast!”

“And, Patty, Mrs. Van Reypen is so good to me. I don’t understand it. Why, she fairly showers me with kindnesses.”

“I understand it. Mrs. Van Reypen is very eccentric. If she dislikes people, she can’t be caustic enough to them or about them. But, if she takes a fancy to any one, then she just adores her. And I’m so glad she’s taken a fancy to you, – for she surely has.”

“Yes, she has. But sometimes it embarrasses me, for she invites me to see her so often, or to go to entertainments with her, and I have to refuse, for I mustn’t neglect my work.”

“Oh, she understands that. You stand by your work, and I know her well enough to know she’ll respect and admire you all the more for it.”