Patty Blossom Part 16

"I don't want to hurry you," she said, at last, "but I mustn't stay here too long. Please write it now, Mr. Blaney. I'm sure you can do it,--why delay?"

"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but I want to get the highest, the divinest inspiration, in order to produce a gem worthy of your acceptance."

"Well, don't wait longer for that. Give me your second best, if need be,--only write something. I've always wanted to see a real, true poet write a real true poem. I never had a chance before. Now, don't dare disappoint me!"

Patty looked very sweet and coaxing, and her voice was earnestly pleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.

Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.

"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think you can't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius ought to burn by this time. If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,--but it will disappoint me horribly."

The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarf round her shoulders and seemed about to rise.

"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "a moment,--just a moment,--stay, I have it!"

He began to scribble rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him.

Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in his eyes, and an exalted expression on his face.

He wrote fast, but not steadily, now and then pausing, as if waiting for the right word, and then doing two or three lines without hesitation. Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to be finished.

"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made for you. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.

In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney read these lines:

"I loved her.--Why? I never knew.--Perhaps Because her face was fair; perhaps because Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air;-- Perhaps . . . perhaps because her limpid face Was eddied with a restless tide, wherein The dimples found no place to anchor and Abide; perhaps because her tresses beat A froth of gold about her throat, and poured In splendour to the feet that ever seemed Afloat. Perhaps because of that wild way Her sudden laughter overleapt propriety; Or--who will say?--perhaps the way she wept."

The lovely voice ceased, and its musical vibrations seemed to hover in the air after the sound was stilled.

"It's beautiful," Patty said, at last, in an awed tone; "I had no idea you could write like that! Why, it's real poetry."

"You're real poetry," said Blaney, simply, as he put the written paper in his pocket.

"No, no," cried Patty, "give it to me. It's mine. You made it for me and it's mine. n.o.body ever made a real poem for me before. I want it."

"Oh, nonsense, you don't want it."

"Indeed I do. I must have it."

"Will you promise not to show it to anybody?"

"'Course not! I'll show it to everybody!"

"Then you can't have it. I'm sensitive, I admit, but I can't bear to have the children of my brain bruited to the world----"

"I haven't a notion what bruited means, but I promise you I won't do that. I'll keep it sacredly guarded from human eyes, and read it to myself when I'm all alone. Why, Mr. Blaney, it's a wonderful poem.

I've simply got to have it, and that's all there is about that!"

"I give it to you, then, but don't,--please don't show it to the hilarious populace. It is for you only."

"All right. I'll keep it for me only. But I haven't half thanked you for it. I do appreciate it, I a.s.sure you, and I feel guilty because I underrated your talent. But perhaps it is because I saw you do it, that I care so very much for it. Anyway, I thank you."

Patty held out her hand in genuine grat.i.tude, and, taking it gently, Blaney held it a moment as he said, "I claim my reward. May I come to see you in New York?"

"Yes, indeed, I'll be awfully glad to have you. And Alla must come, too. I'll make a party for you as soon as the wedding is over. Will you be at that?"

"At the reception, yes. And I shall see you there?"

"Of course. I say, Mr. Blaney, why don't you write a wedding poem for Miss Galbraith? She'd love it! She wants everything for her wedding that can possibly be procured."

"No. A poem of mine cannot be ordered, as from a caterer!"

"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean that. But, I thought you might write one, because I asked you."

"No, Miss Fairfield. Anything you want for yourself, but not for others. A thousand times no! You understand?"

"Yes, of course. I oughtn't to have asked you. But I'm so delighted with this poem of mine, that I spoke unthinkingly. Now, I must run away; Elise is beckoning frantically, and I daresay the guests are taking leave of me, and I'm not there! Good-bye, Mr. Blaney, until we meet in New York. And thank you more than I can say for your gift, your ever-to-be treasured gift."

"It is my privilege to have offered it and for me to thank you for the opportunity."

CHAPTER IX

A SHOWER

"If you ask me," Patty said to Nan, "I think these 'shower' affairs are ridiculous. All the girls who are coming today will give Mona a wedding present, so why add a shower gift?"

"I didn't ask you," returned Nan, "but since you raise the question, I'll just remark, in pa.s.sing, that it's part of the performance, and it's no more ridiculous than lots of the other flummery that goes along with a this year's model wedding. _I_ didn't have any showers,--but that was then."

"Right you are, Lady Gay, and as Mona most especially desired this mark of esteem from her friends, I'm glad she's going to have it."

"But I thought showers were usually surprises,--I didn't know the bride-elect requested one, or even knew of it beforehand."

"Your think is correct. It's most unusual, but Mona is unusual, and any surprise in connection with her wedding would be impossible. She knows it all, and the arrangements are all under her direct supervision. It's going to be a pretty stunning affair, Nansome."

"So I gather from what I hear. While you were at Lakewood, I didn't get much of the news about it, but since your return I've heard of nothing else."

"And you won't until after the fifteenth. I declare, Nan, I've had no time for a real heart to heart talk with you since I got back. I haven't even told you about the Blaneys."

"Oh, the highbrow people? No; were they interesting?"

"Yes, indeed. You'll meet them at the wedding. Now, see here, I've asked half a dozen of the crowd to stay to dinner tonight after the shower, so look after the commissariat, won't you?"

"With pleasure. Who's staying?"