Part 20 (1/2)

Maids came and went across the courtyard. The first guests came in a straggling fas.h.i.+on, and then suddenly everyone seemed to be rus.h.i.+ng in at once. Patricia laughed as she recognized the tall, lanky figure of Bob Wetherill, whose attachment to Rosamond Merton was the bane of that young lady's life. Then she gave a little cry. She had recognized Bruce and Elinor.

She flew down to them for a rapturous greeting and though the courtyard was filled with hurrying people she hugged both of them heartily, dropping some tears of real delight on her own apple blossoms.

”I'll be down later,” she told them. ”I'm waiting for Doris Leighton. Do look after Mr. Long if he comes in before I do, and for goodness sake tell him not to breathe a word about what I was talking to him about in the Park the other day.”

”Mysteries, and with your late rival in the hen-yard?” cried Bruce with feigned concern. ”I'll have to look into this later, Miss Pat, and see what you've been up to behind our backs.”

”You'll find out later, I hope,” laughed Patricia, giving Elinor another squeeze before she ran off laughing at the thought of her conspiracy with Mr. Long coming under Bruce's notice in this unexpected way.

”I had to tell him,” she thought, as she hurried back to her post. ”He might have found it out before it came to anything and then I'd have felt so silly.”

As she sat down again she thought she heard the door open and she asked, ”Is that you, Constance?”

It was Judith with her kimono over her nightdress and her bare feet poked into her slippers. She came over and cuddled down beside Patricia.

”Don't send me back right away, please. I have something to tell you, Miss Pat,” she said earnestly, and Patricia made room for her on the wide seat.

”What is it, Judy-pudy?” she asked kindly. ”Bad dreams?”

Judith gave a little sound that seemed to mean satisfaction with the question. ”Oh, no, not bad dreams,” she answered happily, cuddling closer. ”Not bad dreams. Very pleasant ones. About you, Patricia.”

Patricia patted her. ”Tell me,” she said, not because she wanted to hear the dream, but to please Judith.

”I dreamed,” began Judith, sitting up to look earnestly in Patricia's face in the dim light reflected from the courtyard. ”I dreamed that you were unhappy and it was because you thought that you would never be a real singer.”

Patricia interrupted her with a little laugh. ”Sounds perilously like wide-awake news to me, Ju,” she said lightly, determined to conquer the idea which possessed her small sister that she was unhappy over her discovery of failure. ”We've put that on the shelf long ago, you and I.”

Judith went on, scanning her face. ”I dreamed that you cried about it when no one saw you and that you felt you'd never be happy again. Now don't say 'Stuff,' for it's true. And I couldn't bear it, so I thought and thought and then I went out and walked straight down to Tancredi's and I asked for her, and found her in. She was in the music-room and I went in and said, 'I am Judith Kendall, and I've come to ask about my sister.'”

”Good little Ju,” said Patricia as she took breath. ”I believe you could really have done it.”

It was rather dim to read expressions, but she thought a strange look flitted across the eager face that was staring so hard at her. ”You mustn't take it so seriously, Judy,” she said, but Judith went on.

”'I've come to see if it's true that she'll never be a great singer and I know you'll tell me,' I said to Madame Tancredi, and she just put her arm about me and kissed me quite hard.”

”That's what she would have done. How did you guess it?” cried Patricia.

”And she said very seriously, 'Your sister, my dear, is going to be the greatest singer I have ever taught, if she keeps on as she has begun, or if some stupid silly one doesn't take her from the only right method.'”

Patricia felt a surge of agonizing regret for all the bright hopes that she had lost forever, but she tried to laugh down into Judith's eager face.

”That sounds exactly like Tancredi,” she declared. ”How strange you should dream it so truly.”

”It sounds true, doesn't it?” persisted Judith. ”Should you be very cross with me if it weren't all a dream, Miss Pat?”

Patricia's heart stopped beating for a moment and then it leaped to her throat.

”What do you mean, Judith?” she called out, clutching her tightly by the shoulders. ”What are you trying to tell me?”

”Ow! you hurt!” returned Judith, wriggling, and then she responded to the agony of appeal in Patricia's big gray eyes. ”It isn't a dream. It's true,” she said. ”I went this afternoon.”