Hilda Henderson was the only one who realised this, and, taking Patty aside, she said to her, quietly, “Look here, girl, I’ll attend to everything else; there’s not much left that needs special attention. And I want you to go right straight home, take a hot bath, and then lie down and rest until time to dress for the afternoon programme. Will you?”
Patty looked at Hilda with a queer, uncomprehending gaze. She seemed scarcely to understand what was being said to her.
“Yes,” she said, but as she turned she half stumbled, and would have fallen to the floor if Hilda had not caught her strongly by the arm.
“Brace up,” she said, and her voice was stern because she was thoroughly frightened. “Patty Fairfield, don’t you dare to collapse now! If you do, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do to you! Come on, now, I’ll go home with you.”
Hilda was really afraid to let Patty go alone, so hastily donning her hat and coat she went with her to her very door.
“Take this girl,” she said to Nan, “and put her to bed, and don’t let her see anybody or say anything until the programme begins this afternoon. I’ll look after everything that isn’t finished, if you’ll just keep her quiet.”
Nan was thoroughly alarmed, but she only said, “All right, Hilda, I’ll take care of her, and thank you very much for bringing her home.”
Patty sank down on a couch in a limp heap, but her eyes were big and bright as she looked at Hilda, saying, “See that the stars are put on the gilt wands, and the green bay leaves on the white ones. Lorraine’s spangled skirt is in Miss Oliphant’s room, and please be sure,—” Patty didn’t finish this sentence, but lay back among the cushions, exhausted.
“Run along, Hilda,” said Nan; “do the best you can with the stars and things, and I’ll see to it that Patty’s all right by afternoon.”