But in that small station, merely a tiny box, there was no telephone.
The impassive coachman and footman from Herenden Hall seemed to have no advice to offer, so there was nothing to do but to proceed to the house.
Patty was distressed at the outlook.
“Oh, Kitty,” she said; “I can’t go to dinner at all! Of course I couldn’t appear in this travelling costume, and I’ll have to put on one of your négligées, and eat dinner all alone in my room!”
The prospect was appalling, but neither of them could think of any help for it.
“Has Lady Herenden any daughters about my age?” Patty asked, after a few moments’ thought.
“No, indeed. She and Lord Herenden have no children. But if there are any young girls there as guests, you might borrow a frock for to-night. Surely they’ll get your things by to-morrow.”
They drove into the park, through great gates, and past various lodges. The wonderful old trees waved above their heads; the marvellous lawns stretched away in rolling slopes; and the well-kept road wound along, now over a bridge, now under an arch until they paused at the noble old entrance of Herenden Hall.
Liveried servants seemed to appear, as if by magic, from all directions at once. Dogs came, barking a noisy welcome, and, following Lady Hamilton across the terrace and into the great entrance hall, Patty found herself being presented to a lovely young woman, almost as beautiful as Lady Hamilton herself.
“You must be the greatest chums,” Lady Hamilton was saying, “for Miss Fairfield is one of my dearest friends, and I want you to adore each other.”