Part 7 (2/2)
”Both,” answered the other, briskly. ”I have a sort of studio across the hall here, and I am going to night life at the only school in New York.
How did you recognize the hall-marks? I thought you were vocal and Tancredi?”
Patricia told her that she had spent some months at the Academy in another city, and that both her sister and brother-in-law were artists, and though she had just started in as a music student, she was much more familiar with the fraternity than with the song birds.
”I see,” said the girl. ”You must be worth while, even though you are located in these fluffy apartments with the ultra Merton. I think I shall become better acquainted. What's your name?”
Patricia was much diverted by this direct address. ”I am Patricia Kendall,” she returned with equal candor. ”I like your looks, too, and I'm quite willing to be as chummy as you like.”
”H--h'm,” said the girl again. ”Don't bank on me. Merton isn't in my cla.s.s, and if you're her chum, I'll have to decline anything more than mere acquaintance.”
Patricia began a hasty explanation of her presence in the luxurious rooms, but the girl waved her words aside with abrupt good humor. ”You may not know her well,” she insisted, smiling a pleasant wide smile.
”But you simply must be some sort of a bob or she wouldn't take to you.
Merton is not a wasteful child.”
Patricia understood that the girl was entirely in earnest, and the idea that she was committed to an exclusive and perhaps unpopular set among the democracy of talent at Artemis Lodge rather chilled her.
”You are a friend of hers yourself,” she accused with a trace of indignation. ”You wouldn't be coming in here to see her if you weren't.”
”Oh, am I, indeed?” grinned the girl. ”Don't jump at conclusions at that reckless rate, Miss Patricia Kendall. I'm merely connected with the ultra Merton by means of a piece of canvas and some paint tubes. In other words, I'm at work on a panel of peac.o.c.ks and goldy sunbeams for her music room at home, and am only tolerated because I can draw little birdies with pretty eyes in their tails better than anyone who happens to be here now.”
Patricia forgot Miss Merton in her sudden interest. ”Oh, are you doing some panels for her?” she asked, leaning forward with s.h.i.+ning eyes. ”You must be awfully clever. Will you let me see them? I want to tell Bruce all about them, if I may.”
Her interest seemed to please the girl. She rose abruptly and held out her hand. ”Shake on good fellows.h.i.+p,” she said heartily, and Patricia accepted the queer invitation with great good will.
”Come along over,” invited the girl, jerking her head toward the opposite side of the hall. ”Everything's in a mess, but you won't mind.
You'll have to put up with that sort of things if we're to be friends.”
”Indeed, I'll love it!” said Patricia enthusiastically. It was very good to be taken into fellows.h.i.+p so informally. ”Bruce and Elinor mess up their studios terribly and I used to trail clay all over the place when I had the modeling mania.”
The girl threw open the door of a large bare, well-lighted room, that somehow managed, in spite of rather poor furniture and much disorder, to look attractive and inviting; and Patricia saw on a huge easel a tall canvas with beautiful, gorgeous peac.o.c.ks strutting proudly against a background of ruddy gold.
”How stunning!” she cried with such conviction that the girl smiled and then grew serious. ”How wonderful! How can you do it, when you're so young? Where did you learn to make such lovely things?”
”My father was an artist and he taught me when I was a little tad,”
replied the girl in a subdued tone which made the sympathetic Patricia's heart warm toward her.
”Was he--” began Patricia, hesitating.
”He was Henry Fellows. He died three years ago,” said the girl quietly, and as though closing the subject, she added, ”My name is Constance. I am nearly twenty years old, though I look younger.” And then in a changed tone she added, ”Tell me who this Bruce and Elinor are. I ought to know them if they aren't the rankest newcomers.”
Patricia was gratified at the expression which Bruce's name brought to the clear hazel eyes.
”You're a fortunate piece,” commented Constance Fellows, with a familiarity which was not too intimate. ”Tancredi and Bruce Hayden and a real family of your own--not to mention being a chum of Rosamond Merton.”
Patricia thought she caught a flavor of sarcasm in the last name, but instantly decided that it was her own suspicious nature that suggested the thought. She was beginning to like Constance Fellows in a sincere and unaffected way that could not be compared with the ardent admiration she had felt for Miss Merton, and, as she always attributed the best motives to those she liked, she felt quite ashamed of her ungenerous thought.
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