As for these boys, she loved them, partly because of her patriot spirit, partly from her love of humanity, and largely because now that her own Billee was in the war, all war people were dear to her.
After supper there was still time for a dance or two, and the guests entered into this diversion with zest. Naturally, Patty had many would-be partners, and she divided her dances in an effort to please many.
Helen, too, was a general favourite. The young men liked the jolly girl and pretty Bumble laughed and joked with them, promising to write letters to them and knit comforts for them and to do numberless possible and impossible things when they were back in their camps, or wherever their duty led them.
Chester Wilde was present. He was an urgent suitor of Helen’s, but tonight he tried with all his energies to help Patty in the plan she had undertaken.
At last, when most of the uniformed guests had departed, Wilde noticing the tired expression in Patty’s eyes, led her to a cosy sofa and advised her to rest a little.
“I’ll bring you some hot bouillon,” he said, “and it will do you good. Let the rest of the girls speed the few parting guests, and you sit here and talk to me.”
Patty agreed and soon they were affably chatting. As often, their talk was of Helen.
“Doesn’t she look pretty tonight?” young Wilde asked, his eyes straying to the laughing face across the room.
“Yes, indeed, she always does,” agreed Patty. “She’s a darling thing, too, Mr. Wilde, and you mustn’t be down-hearted because she flouts you sometimes. I know my little old Bumble pretty well and she’s a great little scamp for teasing the people she likes best.”
“It would have been all right, I’m sure,” said the young man, moodily, “if she had stayed in Philadelphia. But here, there are so many men about,—oh, I don’t mean the uniformed men,—but a lot of others who are here at your house now and then, that I can’t help feeling Helen will forget me.”