Part 15 (1/2)

”I'll never be a real singer,” she thought dolefully, as she walked slowly towards Artemis Lodge. ”Tancredi doesn't care a rap about my voice and I don't believe she'd have bothered with me if it hadn't been to please Madame Milano, and Madame Milano only told me to go on because she wanted to please Elinor and Bruce because they are friends of the Van Kelts, who are such chums with her Dutch friend.”

If she had not been so woebegone she would have laughed at this string of disheartening reasons for her being so falsely encouraged to compete with gifted creatures like Rosamond Merton, but her gloom was too deep and too real to see the funny side of anything just then.

The clock in the tower was pointing to twelve as she pa.s.sed along on the other side of the Square, and she looked wistfully up at the big window of the studio, where she knew that Elinor or Bruce would be just dismissing a model and making ready to clean their brushes and tidy up for the one o'clock luncheon which they always had sent in to them.

”I wonder if they'd care if they never saw me again,” she thought with what she instantly knew to be shallow sentimentality. ”I suppose they would care,” she acknowledged, and her sense of justice saved her from any more silly speeches like that. ”They think I'm an awful goose, though,” she amended, and she knew she was rather safe in this.

As she turned the corner toward her own street, she saw a couple of figures come out of the rather imposing entrance of the studio building, and her dejection deepened. She could easily recognize Elinor's blue coat and Doris Leighton's black suit with the white fur collar. They were coming briskly toward her and she hastily turned on a sudden impulse and crossed the Square in the opposite direction.

”I simply can't see anyone just now,” she told herself miserably.

She walked with her head up, though the tears were in her eyes, and she went along very briskly, not caring at all where she went, so that it was away from Artemis Lodge and her troubles.

She walked for more than an hour, and found that her troubles would not leave her so readily, so she turned toward the down-town section again and went resolutely back to them.

It was one of those days when spring seems to leap suddenly into the suns.h.i.+ne, and Patricia, though very miserable indeed, could not help responding a little to the waking season.

”Perhaps I was a bit hard to manage last night,” she thought, as she reached the green door, and the fact that the caretaker smiled at her added to her conviction that she had been hasty.

She ran up the stairs and with a light tap came into the room where she expected to find Rosamond, but the words of contrition died on her lips, for the room was filled with a litter of lovely gowns, hats and slippers, in the midst of which sat Rosamond criticising and selecting, while a deferential young woman in correct black made notes on a little pad. The name of an exclusive outfitter was on the box-lids and wrappers.

Rosamond looked up smiling at Patricia. She seemed to have forgotten that there had been any coolness between them.

”Come and help me select some of these things, Miss Pat,” she said amiably.

And Patricia was instantly ashamed of her resentment.

Rosamond, it seemed, had received an unusually large remittance from home, and was employing it in enlarging her wardrobe, which she declared was scandalously shabby. She bought recklessly, while Patricia sighed over the beautiful things and felt that she must have been childish and unreasonable indeed to accuse this friendly, chatting girl of wilful neglect or unkindness.

They were pleasantly engaged in this delightful fas.h.i.+on when the knocker tapped and Constance Fellows' bright face appeared in the doorway.

”Ods-bodikins! What have we here?” she asked with a twinkle in her clear hazel eyes. ”Going to be married, Fair Rosamond, or is it merely preparation for the dance next week?”

Rosamond disclaimed either. ”I'm just getting a few things to freshen up my old clothes,” she said with a tinge of ostentation, which was not lost on Constance.

”My word, but you need a lot of freshening,” she said gayly, glancing at the array on chairs and divan. ”One quarter of this would make me absolutely over. That's what it is to be ambitious.”

Patricia thought Rosamond seemed vexed at this free speech, but Constance gave her no time for reply.

”Your sister is in Miss Ardsley's rooms and they would like to speak to you,” she said to Patricia. ”They were coming up here, but they saw the dray-load of hats being taken in, and they concluded there would be more breathing room downstairs.”

Patricia had a sudden misgiving that something might be wrong at the studio--Judith or Bruce ill. Constance saw the thought in her face and shook her hand.

”Everything's O.K.” she a.s.sured her. ”Miss Ardsley's got a room for you at last, that's all. They want you to come down and deliver sentence.”

To Patricia this seemed a veritable finger of destiny.

”Shall I bother you if I move out?” she asked Rosamond rather wistfully.

If she had hoped for comfort, she got very little. ”Why should you go at all?” asked Rosamond, while she held a hat up for inspection, viewing it first on one side and then on the other. ”I thought you were very well as you are.”