“Because he loves you,” whispered Patty, “and you love him. And you’ve both been acting like silly geese, but now that’s all over.”
“Yes, it is!” And Lady Hamilton gave a soft sigh of relief. Then, following her father’s example, she devoted herself to her young guests, and the time passed pleasantly until their departure.
Of course, these young people knew nothing of the state of affairs between “Peter Pan” and his hostess, though they soon discovered the identity of Sir Otho.
Soon after six, the “children” went away, declaring that it had been the event of the season, and they had never enjoyed a party more. The three Fairfields took leave at the same time, and Lady Hamilton was left alone with her father.
Exactly what was said in the next half hour neither of them ever told, but when it was past, the two were entirely reconciled, and Lady Kitty had consented to return to her father’s house to live. Then she sent a note to the Fairfields, asking them all to dine with herself and her father that evening.
“And meantime, Kitty,” said Sir Otho, “I’ll go and get out of this foolish toggery.”
“Yes, but save that suit to be photographed in. I must have your picture to put with those of the other ‘children.’”
Sir Otho went away, enveloped in a long raincoat, and promising to return at the dinner hour. It was a merry dinner party that night.
Patty had a new frock in honour of the occasion, and as she donned the pretty demi-toilette of pale green gauze, Nan said it was the most becoming costume she had ever worn.
“Now that you’re really eighteen, Patty,” she said, “I think you might discard hair-ribbons.”