At last the wedding day arrived, and a brighter or more sunshiny day could not have been asked for by the most exacting of brides.

It was to be an evening wedding, but from early in the morning there was a constant succession of exciting events. The last touches were being put to the decorations, belated presents were coming in, house guests were arriving, messengers coming and going, and through it all Mrs. Allen bustled about, supremely happy in watching the culminating success of her elaborate plans. Patty looked at her with a wondering admiration, for she always admired capability, and Mrs. Allen was exhibiting what might almost be called generalship in her house that day.

Of course, Patty had no care or responsibility, and nothing to do but enjoy herself, so she did this thoroughly.

In the morning Marian and Frank Elliott came. They were staying at the Barlows’, and Mr. Fairfield was staying there too.

It sometimes seemed to Patty that her father ought to have played a more prominent part in all the preliminary festivities, but Mrs. Allen calmly told her, in Mr. Fairfield’s presence, that a bridegroom had no part in wedding affairs until the time of the ceremony itself.

Mr. Fairfield laughed good-humouredly, and replied that he was quite satisfied to be left out of the mad rush, until the real occasion came.

Like Nan, Mr. Fairfield would have preferred a quiet wedding, but Mrs. Allen utterly refused to hear of such a thing. Nan was her only daughter, and this her only chance to arrange an entertainment such as her soul delighted in. Mr. Allen was willing to indulge his wife in her wishes, and was exceedingly hospitable by nature. Moreover, he took great pride in his charming daughter, and wanted everything done that could in any way contribute to the success or add to the beauty of her wedding celebration.

Patty fluttered around the house in a sort of inconsequent delight. Now in the present-room, looking over the beautiful collection, now chatting with her cousins, or other friends, now strolling through the great parlours with their wonderful decorations of banked roses and garland-draped ceilings.

Dinner was early that night, as the ceremony was to be performed at eight o’clock, and after dinner Patty flew to her room to don her own beautiful new gown.

This dress delighted Patty’s beauty-loving heart. It was a white tulle sprinkled with silver, and its soft, dainty glitter seemed to Patty like moonlight on the snow. Her hair was done low on her neck, in a most becoming fashion, and her only ornament was a necklace of pearls which had belonged to her mother, and which her father had given her that very day. The first Mrs. Fairfield had died when Patty was a mere baby, so of course she had no recollection of her, but she had always idealised the personality of her mother, and she took the beautiful pearls from her father with almost a feeling of reverence as she touched them.

“I’m so glad it’s Nan you’re going to marry, Papa,” she said. “I wouldn’t like it as well if it were somebody who would really try to be a stepmother to me, but dear old Nan is more like a sister, and I’m so glad she’s ours.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Patty, dear, and I only hope Nan will never regret marrying a man so much older than herself.”

“You’re not old, Papa Fairfield,” cried Patty indignantly; “I won’t have you say such a thing! Why, you’re not forty yet, and Nan is twenty-four. Why, that’s hardly any difference at all.”

“So Nan says,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “so I dare say my arithmetic’s at fault.”

“Of course it is,” said Patty, “and you don’t look a bit old either. Why, you look as young as Mr. Hepworth, and he looks nearly as young as Kenneth, and Kenneth’s only two years older than I am.”

“That sounds a little complicated, Patty, but I’m sure you mean it as a compliment, so I’ll take it as such.”

A little before eight o’clock, Patty, in her shimmering gown, went dancing downstairs.

The rooms were already crowded with guests, and the first familiar face Patty saw was that of Mr. Hepworth, who came toward her with a glad smile of greeting.

“How grown-up we are looking to-night,” he said. “I shall have to paint your portrait all over again, and you must wear that gown, and we will call it, ‘A Moonlight Sonata,’ and send it to the exhibition.”

“That will be lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “but can you paint silver?”

“Well, I could try to get a silvery effect, at least.”

“That wouldn’t do; it must be the real thing. I think you could only get it right by using aluminum paint like they paint the letter-boxes with.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “that would be realistic, at least, but I see a crowd of your young friends coming this way, and I feel quite sure they mean to carry you off. So won’t you promise me a dance or two, when the time comes for that part of the programme?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “and there is going to be dancing after the supper.”

Mr. Hepworth looked after Patty, as, all unconscious of his gaze, she went on through the rooms with the young friends who had claimed her.

Gilbert Hepworth had long realised his growing interest in Patty, and acknowledged to himself that he loved the girl devotedly. But he had never by word or look intimated this, and had no intention of doing so until she should be some years older. He, himself, was thirty-four, and he knew that must seem old indeed to a girl of seventeen. So he really had little hope that he ever could win her for his own, but he allowed himself the pleasure of her society whenever opportunity offered, and it pleased him to do for her such acts of courtesy and kindness as could not be construed into special attentions, or indication of an unwelcome devotion.

Among the group that surrounded Patty was Kenneth Harper, a college boy who was a good chum of Patty’s and a favourite with Mr. Fairfield. Marian and Frank were with them, also Bob and Bumble, the Barlow Twins, and a number of the Philadelphia young people.

This group laughed and chatted merrily until the orchestra struck up the wedding march, and an expectant hush fell upon the assembly.

At Nan’s special request, there were no bridesmaids, and when the bride entered with her father, she was, as Patty had prophesied, a perfect picture in her beautiful wedding gown.

Mr. Fairfield seemed to think so too, and his happy smile as he came to meet her, gave Patty a thrill of gladness to think that this happiness had come to her father. His life had been lonely, and she was glad that it was to be shared by such a truly sweet and lovely woman as Nan.

Patty was the first to congratulate the wedded pair, and Mr. Hepworth, who was an usher, escorted her up to them that she might do so. Patty kissed both the bride and the bridegroom with whole-hearted affection, and after a few merry words turned away to give place to others.

“Come on, Patty,” said Kenneth, “a whole crowd of us are going to camp out in one of those jolly cozy corners on the verandah, and have our supper there.”

So Patty went with the merry crowd, and found that Kenneth had selected a conveniently located spot near one of the dining-room windows.

“I’m so glad it’s supper time,” she said, as they settled themselves comfortably in their chosen retreat. “I’ve been so busy and excited to-day that I’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I’m starving with hunger. And now that I’ve got my father safely married, and off my hands, I feel relieved of a great responsibility, and can eat my supper with a mind at rest.”

“When I’m married,” said Helen Barlow, “I mean to have a wedding exactly like this one. I think it’s the loveliest one I ever saw.”

“You won’t, though, Bumble,” said Patty, laughing. “In the first place, you’ll forget to order your wedding gown until a day or two before the occasion, and of course it won’t be done. And then you’ll forget to send out the invitations, so of course you’ll have no guests. And I’m sure you’ll forget to invite the minister, so there’ll be no ceremony, anyway.”

Bumble laughed good-naturedly at this, for the helter-skelter ways of the Barlow family were well known to everybody.

“It would be that way,” she said, “if I looked after things myself, but I shall expect you, Patty, to take entire charge of the occasion, and then everything will go along like clockwork.”

“Are you staying long in Philadelphia, Miss Fairfield?” asked Ethel Banks, a Philadelphia girl, who lived not far from the Allens.

“A few days longer,” said Patty. “I have to go back to New York next Tuesday, and then no more gaiety for me. I don’t know how I shall survive such a sudden change, but after this mad whirl of parties and things, I have to come down to plain everyday studying of lessons,—but we won’t talk about that now; it’s a painful subject to me at any time, but especially when I’m at a party.”

“Me, too,” said Kenneth. “If ever I get through college, I don’t think I’ll want to see a book for the next twenty years.”

“I didn’t know you hated your lessons so, Kenneth,” said Marian. “I thought Patty was the only one of my friends who was willing to avow that she was like that ‘Poor little Paul, who didn’t like study at all.’”

“Yes, I’m a Paul too,” said Kenneth, “and I may as well own up to it.”

“But you don’t let it interfere with your work,” said Patty; “you dig just as hard as if you really enjoyed it.”

“So do you,” said Kenneth, “but some day after we have both been graduated, I suppose we’ll be glad that we did our digging after all.”

A little later, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went away, amid showers of confetti, and after that there was an hour of informal dancing.

Patty was besieged with partners asking for a dance, and as there was no programme, she would make no promises, but accepted whoever might ask her first at the beginning of each dance. She liked to dance with Kenneth, for his step suited hers perfectly, and her cousin Bob was also an exceptionally good dancer.

But Patty showed no partiality, and enjoyed all the dances with her usual enthusiasm.

Suddenly she remembered that she had promised Mr. Hepworth a dance, but he had not come to claim it. Wondering, she looked around to see where he might be, and discovered him watching her from across the room.

There was an amused smile on his face, and Patty went to him, and asked him in her direct way, why he didn’t claim his dance.

“You are so surrounded,” he said, “by other and more attractive partners, that I hated to disturb you.”

“Nonsense,” said Patty, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “I like you better than lots of these Philadelphia boys. Come on.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Mr. Hepworth, as they began to dance, “but you seemed to be finding these Philadelphia boys very agreeable.”

“They’re nice enough,” said Patty, carelessly, “and some of them are good dancers, but not as good as you are, Mr. Hepworth. Do you know you dance like a—like a—will-o’-the-wisp.”

“I never met a will-o’-the-wisp, but I’m sure they must be delightful people, to judge from the enthusiastic tone in which you mention them. Do you never get tired of parties and dancing, Patty?”

“Oh, no, indeed. I love it all. But you see I haven’t had very much. I’ve never been to but two or three real dancing-parties in my life. Why, I’ve only just outgrown children’s parties. I may get tired of it all, after two or three seasons, but as yet it’s such a novelty to me that I enjoy every speck of it.”

Mr. Hepworth suddenly realised how many social seasons he had been through, and how far removed he was from this young dÉbutante in his views on such matters. He assured himself that he need never hope she would take any special interest in him, and he vowed she should never know of his feelings toward her. So he adapted his mood to hers, and chatted gaily of the events of the evening. Patty told him of the many pleasures that had been planned for her, during the rest of her visit at Mrs. Allen’s, and he was truly glad that the girl was to have a taste of the social gaiety that so strongly appealed to her.

“Miss Fairfield,” said Ethel Banks, coming up to Patty, as the music stopped, “I’ve been talking with my father, and he says if you and Mr. and Mrs. Allen will go, he’ll take us all in the automobile down to Atlantic City for the week-end.”

“How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with delight. “I’d love to go. I’ve never been in an automobile but a few times in my life, and never for such a long trip as that. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Allen at once.”

Without further thought of Mr. Hepworth, save to give him a smiling nod as she turned away, Patty went with Ethel to ask Mrs. Allen about the projected trip.

Mrs. Allen was delighted to go, and said she would also answer for her husband. So it was arranged, and the girls went dancing back to Mr. Banks to tell him so. Ethel’s father was a kind-hearted, hospitable man, whose principal thought was to give pleasure to his only child. Ethel had no mother, and Mrs. Allen had often before chaperoned the girl on similar excursions to the one now in prospect.

As Mr. Banks was an enthusiastic motorist, and drove his own car, there was ample room for Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Patty.

Soon the wedding guests departed, and Patty was glad to take off her pretty gown and tumble into bed.

She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Mrs. Allen sitting on the bed beside her, caressing her curly hair.

“I hate to waken you,” said that lady, “but it’s after ten o’clock, and you know you are to go to your Cousin Helen’s to spend the day. I want you to come home early this evening, as I have a little party planned for you, and so it’s only right that you should start as soon as possible this morning. Here is a nice cup of cocoa and a bit of toast. Let me slip a kimono around you, while you breakfast.”

In her usual busy way, Mrs. Allen fluttered about, while she talked, and after putting a kimono round her visitor, she drew up beside her a small table, containing a dainty breakfast tray.

“It’s just as well you’re going away to-day,” Mrs. Allen chattered on, “because the house is a perfect sight. Not one thing is in its place, and about a dozen men have already arrived to try to straighten out the chaos. So, as you may judge, my dear, since I have to superintend all these things, I’ll really get along better without you. Now, you get dressed, and run right along to the Barlows’. James will take you over in the pony cart, and he’ll come for you again at eight o’clock this evening. Mind, now, you’re not to stay a minute after eight o’clock, for I have invited some young people here to see you. I’ll send the carriage to-night, and then you can bring your Barlow cousins back with you.”

As Mrs. Allen rattled on, she had been fussing around the room getting out Patty’s clothes to wear that day, and acting in such a generally motherly manner that Patty felt sure she must be missing Nan, and she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her, and told her so.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Allen, “it’s awful. I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve lost my girl; still it had to come, I suppose, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t put a straw in the way of Nan’s happiness. Well, I shall get used to it in time, I suppose, and then sometimes I shall expect Nan to come and visit me.”