Part 7 (1/2)
After she had sung as long as she dared, she practiced some accompaniments till her fingers tired, and then she took up a magazine and read a couple of stories, becoming so absorbed in the last one that she hardly heard a clock below striking loudly, though some sense of its strident tones made her start from her chair in dismay lest she should have missed the tea-hour.
”How stupid of me--” she began, glancing at her plain little wrist-watch. Her face fell as she looked unbelievingly at the hands pointing to three o'clock.
”It must be run down,” she said, frowning and holding the watch to her ear. ”No, it's going. It must be slow.”
A glance at the big clock in the tower opposite her bedroom window convinced her that her watch was to be taken seriously. There was nearly an hour and a half before she might venture down into the tea-room and make such acquaintances as she could without the aid of Doris Leighton or Rosamond Merton.
”I wish I hadn't been so particular about that mending,” she thought ruefully. ”It was a shameful waste of time to do it at the studio. I was so particular to have everything done up to the last notch that there isn't a single letter to write, or b.u.t.ton to sew on, or--or--anything. I simply can't sit down like a tame tabby this first exciting afternoon, when all sorts of wonderful things may be going to happen to me after while.”
She sighed over the prospect of being bottled up for such an interminable period and regretted that Milano's orders were so strict in regard to her intercourse with her family.
”It's a perfect shame that I can't go home every day,” she thought suddenly, rather pitying herself for the privations she was suffering.
”I am going to miss them terribly and I shouldn't wonder if I'd get rather hard-hearted and self-centered, living this way just for myself.”
She never thought of seeking Miss Ardsley, although that lady had given her the most cordial invitation to visit her in her own rooms any time that she wished, particularly insisting on her bringing Mrs. Bruce Hayden in to call at any time she might be in the building. Somehow, the atmosphere of Miss Ardsley's luxuriant rooms had rather stifled Patricia on her one admission to them when she went with Elinor and Rosamond Merton to make the necessary arrangements for procuring the little room.
”If Doris Leighton hadn't gone off for a week just as we got that first glimpse of her,” she mourned, fussing about the trifles on the dainty dresser. ”Or if I only knew someone to say a word to. It seems like a week since I heard a human voice. I'd go out and take a walk if----”
Rap-a-tap! Someone was using the diminutive knocker on the sitting-room door.
Patricia flew to open it, and a dark, medium-sized girl in a shabby bronze velveteen frock stood on the threshold, looking very much surprised indeed.
”Is Miss Merton in?” she asked, looking beyond Patricia into the vacant rooms.
Patricia was sorry to have to confess that Miss Merton was away for the rest of the week. She hoped the girl might come in notwithstanding, but she turned to go without much ceremony and was half-way across the hall when she suddenly paused and came back to where Patricia lingered on the the sill.
”Are you the new girl?” she asked with surprising directness. ”Pupil of Tancredi?”
Patricia answered eagerly that she was very new and that she had taken two lessons from the noted teacher.
The other girl turned and walked into the room, selecting an easy chair and seating herself with every appearance of meaning to stay.
Patricia was delighted.
”I'm so glad you came,” she said with great cordiality, seating herself near the other and beaming on her. ”I haven't seen a soul since one o'clock and I was beginning to petrify.”
”First day?” inquired the girl laconically.
On Patricia admitting it was not only her first day, but first afternoon, having parted from her sister only after a light and early lunch in her own room, the newcomer nodded.
”H--h'm. It gets you, doesn't it? The first time you're stranded on a lonely sh.o.r.e certainly makes home look good,” she said thoughtfully.
”Funny thing is, that no matter how dressy the sh.o.r.e happens to be,” she threw a glance about the luxuriant room, ”it's just as lonely--the first time. Ever been away from home before?”
Patricia explained that she had never had a real home till nearly two years ago, but that she had never been entirely separated from both her sisters and friends until now.
”Plenty of nice girls here,” the girl acknowledged. ”But you have to pick out your own sort for yourself. Have you known Merton long?”
Patricia recognized the art student in the use of the last name, and she said eagerly, ”I hardly know her at all. You aren't studying with Tancredi, are you?”
As she expected, the girl laughed a quick negative. ”Not me,” she returned, ungrammatical and emphatic. ”I can't croak a note and my fingers never would make melody if I tried till I were a hundred. I'm doing the other side--paint and the like.”
”I knew it!” cried Patricia, much pleased by her own perception. ”I was sure I smelled paint when you came in. Have you a studio, or are you studying at one of the schools?”