She remembered Patty and Mona, and greeted them without shyness, clinging to Patty’s neck and begging her to stay and sing her to sleep.
This Patty would have done, but Adèle wouldn’t allow it, and ordered the girls back to their rooms to dress for dinner.
“Eight o’clock sharp,” she warned them, “and don’t put on your prettiest gowns; save those for to-morrow night.”
Patty wandered around her room, singing softly, as she dressed. Looking over her dinner gowns, she decided upon her second best, a white marquisette with a garniture of pearl beads and knots of pale blue velvet. When the maid came to assist her she was nearly dressed, and ten minutes before the dinner hour she was quite ready to go downstairs. “I may as well go on down,” she thought to herself. “I can explore the house a little.”
She looked in at Mona’s door as she passed, but as that young woman was just having her gown put over her head, she didn’t see Patty, and so Patty went on downstairs.
There was no one about, so she strolled through the various rooms, admiring the big, pleasant living-room, the cosy library, and then drifted back to the great hall, which was very large, even for a modern country house. It was wainscoted in dark wood, and contained many antique bits of furniture and some fine specimens of old armour and other curios. Jim Kenerley’s father had been rather a noted collector, and had left his treasures to his only son. They had chosen this house as being roomy and well-fitted for their belongings.
Patty came back to the great fireplace, and stood there, leaning her golden head against one of the massive uprights.
“Adèle told me you were a peach,” exclaimed a laughing voice, “but she didn’t half tell me how much of a one you are!”
Patty turned her head slowly, and looked at Mr. Hal Ferris.
“And I thought you were a mannerly boy!” she said, in a tone of grave reproach.