She laughed outright at the tragic attitude of the two, and knew at once what they were troubled about.
“Listen to me, Pattypet,” she said. “Am I your fairy godmother, or am I not?”
“You are,” said Patty, with an air of conviction, and feeling sure that Lady Hamilton was about to help her out of her troubles, somehow.
“Well, I’ve carefully considered the case. I’ve sent Marie to canvass the house for clothes suitable for a mademoiselle of seventeen.”
“Nearly eighteen,” murmured Patty.
“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t what’s known as a ‘misses’ costume’ beneath this roof. Now, I simply refuse to let you be absent from this dinner. It will be both a pleasure and an education to you to see this especial kind of a formal function, and probably you’ll not often have a chance. They’ve sent a man and a wagon over to the next station, several miles away for your boxes; that’s the way they do things here. But he can’t get back until long after the dinner hour. So listen, to my command, dictum, fiat—call it what you please, but this is what you’re to do.”
“I’ll do anything you say, Kitty Lady, if it’s to go to bed at once, and sleep soundly till morning.”
“Nothing of the sort. You must and shall attend this dinner. And—you’re going to wear one of my gowns!”
“Yours?”
“Yes. We’re so nearly the same size that it will fit you quite well enough. I’ve picked out the simplest one, a white Irish point. It’s cut princess, but all my gowns are. I’m sure Marie can make it fit you perfectly, with a few pins or a stitch here and there.”