CHAPTER VIIA DINNER FOR TWO
Rosamond Merton came home unexpectedly to find Patricia grown very much at home indeed during the four days of her absence.
She opened the door of the sitting-room, after a light tap of the tiny brass knocker, to find Patricia rising from the piano-stool with pleased expectation in her face, an expression which rapidly became one of joyful surprise. Rosamond was so much prettier than Patricia had been picturing her that she fairly beamed as she came to greet her.
"How lovely of you to come back so soon," she said with such warmth that Rosamond Merton felt glad that she had been compelled to cut her visit short.
"It's lovely to be welcomed home," she returned, beginning to pull off her gloves. "I always dreaded the empty rooms after I had been away. Have you been quitecomfortable? I left so hurriedly that I hadn't time to arrange for your arrival."
Patricia assured her that she was absolutely in clover, and she showed her the little bedroom as a proof, exhibiting the easy chair, the cosy table and all her other small comforts with a great deal of pride.
Rosamond was genuinely interested in all the contrivances which had been installed for Patricia's well-being and she showed so much of what Patricia called "human" feeling that she won the last citadel in that young lady's affections.
"Do you know I was dreadfully afraid of you that day at Tancredi's?" she confessed when they were once more in the sitting-room by the fire.
Rosamond had laid aside her traveling dress and slipped on a soft fur-trimmed crepe lounging robe with her feet in embroidered satin mules, and the impressionable Patricia was feasting her eyes on her. She was used to beauty—and beauty of a much higher class—in her own sister Elinor, and every day her mirror reflected quite as attractive features as those of her new companion,but the extreme luxury with which Rosamond indulged her fancy in the matter of clothing was a revelation to her.
She looked at the shimmering cloudy-blue folds of the robe, at the soft dark edges of fur with their under-ruffles of pink chiffon, at the lace and ribbons of the petticoat which showed where the robe fell away, and she forgot they were merely outer trappings, to be bought from any department store or private shop. They seemed part of a superior charm belonging exclusively to Rosamond Merton, and Patricia sighed as she saw in the mirror over the mantel-shelf the image of a fluffy-haired girl in an unpretentious blouse.
"I wonder that she can put up with me," she thought ruefully, smoothing down the folds of her simple corduroy skirt. "She must be very kind-hearted indeed. I wish that I might do something to show how I feel about it."
As Rosamond chatted on, telling of her visit to Red Top and describing the house party with a good deal of cleverness, Patricia became so interested that she forgot hergrateful intentions in listening to the gossip which her new friend retailed so sparklingly. She laughed over the description of the model poultry farm and chaffed Rosamond quite freely on her lack of technical terms; she smiled a little uneasily over the dinner party at the rectory, feeling a bit guilty that she should find matter for mirth in the precise and dainty entertainment offered impartially by the gentle rector and his ladylike maiden sisters; and she was frankly disturbed by the careless fashion of treating the attack of measles which had disbanded the house party a week earlier than planned.
"Of course, you weren't in any danger," she said, more to herself than to Rosamond. "Measles aren't much to be afraid of, anyway, unless one is a perfect Methuselah. I think it was hard on Mr. Long to have his nice party broken up after all his planning, just because a lot of grown-ups got scared aboutmeasles. If I were the girl he's in love with, I'd stayed and helped nurse Danny, instead of running away from the place."
Rosamond laughed her indolent laugh."And been quarantined for three weeks out there in the desolate country," she mocked. "My cousin isn't that heroic sort, even if she were devoted to a man. She doesn't care two pins for your Mr. Long, and I fancy he knows it by this time."
"Not care for him?" cried Patricia in amazement. "Why in the world did she and her mother come to see him then? I thought they were engaged."
Rosamond shook her head slowly and emphatically. "Not at all," she said calmly. "She thought she might like him well enough last fall, but he has developed such queer tastes recently—burying himself on that ridiculous chicken-farm and taking up with stupid little boys who develop measles when they run away from school to visit their benefactor, that she really has had quite enough of him without marrying him."
Patricia was silent, puckering her brows over the problem of unrewarded virtue, while Rosamond Merton watched her with something like a twinkle in her long eyes.
"It seems pretty hard that Mr. Long hasto lose his happiness just because he's done right and been kind," she said finally, with a little sigh at the topsy-turvy ways of this wilful world. "He's saving Danny Sneath from growing up a horrid worthless man like his father—that's plain from Danny coming back on the sly to see him—and he's doing splendidly with Red Top, and yet he doesn't get what he wants."
"He shouldn't want what he can't get then," smiled Rosamond, indulgent as far as Patricia was concerned. "Don't worry your pretty head about such stupid things—men always get over disappointments like that. He'll probably be in love with the next girl who happens to look at him twice. Tell me how you've been putting in the time since I ran off so unceremoniously. Have you been fearfully homesick?"
Patricia abandoned Mr. Long and his deserts reluctantly. "He ought to be happy and I am sure he will," she insisted warmly. "People always get paid back in the same coin they use." A sudden memory of her own debt made her add, more shyly, "You ought to believe in that—after all the kindnessyou've shown me. And I do want you to know that I'm going to pay you back just a tiny bit some day. I don't know how, but I'm going to do it."
Rosamond's slow smile answered her fully, and she plunged into an eager account of the way in which she had been taken into the inner circles of Artemis Lodge and made to feel so entirely at home. "They've been wonderfully nice to me," she said gayly. "I've had a splendid time each day, and my lessons have gone beautifully, too. I haven't had a single dull moment. I'm so grateful to you for taking me in."
The little cloud which had slightly dimmed Rosamond's smile faded at these words and left her face serene. "We will have better times yet," she promised as she rose to glance at the clock in the tower across the housetops. "Let's begin by having dinner upstairs here by ourselves. I'll phone down to the office at once. Isn't it stupid to have to call up Tatten every time one wants a tray in one's room? They take great care of us here," and she shrugged her shoulders gracefully.
Patricia feared that the expense of such select dining might be too much for her small store of funds and she was determined not to sail under false colors with this luxuriant companion.
"It would be jolly enough, but how about the cost?" she asked frankly. "I can't stand many extras, you know. I'm rather poor as far as cash is concerned."
Miss Merton paused with her hand on the receiver. "You surely didn't think I was intending you to pay for my treat," she said in such a gently grieved tone that Patricia became most uncomfortable.
"It's sweet of you to ask me," she said with a good deal of courage. "And I can't be horrid enough to refuse this first time, but I do want you to understand that I can't spend money like you do. I'm not really stingy, as you may think—I'm only trying to be careful. I'm so afraid of being selfish."
Her speech was rather unintelligible to Rosamond, who could not know of Bruce's compact with Patricia, but she smiled pleasantly and took down the receiver.
"I don't think you could be stingy or selfish or anything that wasn't sweet," she said and then proceeded to announce to Miss Tatten that Miss Kendall and she were dining in their own rooms that evening, and would she please see that dinner was sent up promptly at six-thirty, adding a list of dishes that seemed to the anxious Patricia recklessly expensive.
The dinner was great fun, however, and Patricia felt very pleasantly luxurious as she slipped into her new kimono, a poor affair indeed compared to the fur and crepe robe, and lounged before the fire listening to Rosamond's accounts of the travels and studies which had filled her life.
"You must have been almost everywhere," she murmured admiringly. "You have seen such a lot—for a girl. I'm only two years younger, but I've never been to Niagara Falls, nor Hot Springs, nor the Tower of London——"
A ripple of laughter broke in on her confession. "What a delicious jumble!" cried Rosamond, springing up to adjust a lock that had fallen. "One can't tell which isthe place of confinement and which the playground. For Heaven's sake, though, don'tcomplainthat you've never seen Niagara Falls, no self-respecting person nowadays is willing to confess that such a place even exists. It went out of date with the bridal bonnet and the what-not."
Patricia laughed, but this troubled her, and later on she recurred to it while they were beginning on their salad.
"Why shouldn't one see all the wonderful places and things in the world?" she asked. "I should think Niagara Falls was quite as important as those snippy little falls at that camp in the Adirondacks that you said were so much admired."
Rosamond laid down her fork and looked at her very carefully. "Are you actually in earnest?" she inquired with a polite repression of any hint of a smile. "My dear Miss Patricia Kendall, you forget that the most exclusive families have their camps near that snippy falls, while only the cheap tourist makes the pilgrimage to Niagara."
Patricia was obstinate. "I don't see what that has to do with it. The falls werethere before the exclusive families were thought of, and it's a wonderful, wonderful falls. It seems rather stupid to me to ignore such a big thing in nature," she insisted with flushing cheeks.
Rosamond waved the argument away. "Never mind the falls, large or small," she said, with unruffled amiability. "Tell me some more about yourself and your doings."
Patricia was won instantly. She was to learn later on in her friendship with Rosamond Merton that this was one of her readiest answers to argument, particularly when she was not faring so well as she would like. As yet, however, she had not learned the skilled defences which Rosamond kept for her protection against better logic than her own, and she responded with her usual impetuous generosity.
"I've told you almost everything," she said brightly. "I'd rather hear about you. It's twice as exciting as my humdrum accounts of myself. Tell me about your studio at home. Is it so gorgeous as the peacock panels that Constance Fellows is doing for you?"
"It's hardly gorgeous, but it's rather good." Rosamond's interest was plainly forced. "Constance is getting on with them, is she? I must see them in the morning. How do you like her? I suppose you have heard that she is very eccentric. She refused to live in a perfect palace with an aunt of hers, merely because the aunt objected to her going to life class. Fancy her giving up such a life for a mere trifle."
"She didn't feel that it was a trifle, I suppose," replied Patricia lightly. She did not sympathize with Rosamond's view of the matter, but she had learned in this short hour to steer her bark away from the shoals.
"I think she showed very little judgment," said Rosamond, selecting a bonbon with care. "She should have lived peaceably with her aunt and had her own models in her own studio, and she'd have been comfortable and the aunt would have been happy. There is always a way of doing as one wishes if one will only take the trouble to look it up."
Patricia hid her uneasy feelings as bestshe could, but her face was never hard to read, and Rosamond shook her head at her with the slow smile curving her red lips.
"You think me a monster of deceit," she accused. "Your big eyes are quite horrified at such shallow cunning. Don't worry, my dear Miss Kendall. I'm not half so bad as you think me."
Patricia flushed. "I know you are far above any such mean doings," she said stoutly, "but I wish you wouldn't talk that way. It makes me feel—but I'm not going to be such a goose as to preach. Do go on about the yachting trip. You were in the middle of it when dinner came in."
Rosamond, always graceful, responded readily enough, and the evening sped rapidly. Patricia had enjoyed herself tremendously, as she very truthfully told her hostess when she said good-night and shut herself into her own snug little room, and she looked forward to the morrow with Rosamond Merton with a thrill of pleasure.
She could not help wondering, though, as she shook out the kinks and tangles of her bright hair, why she had not told about theSunday evening supper in the studio, nor the spread in Ethel Walters' room.
"I must be getting terribly secret and crafty," she thought with some surprise. "I suppose that's the effect of being thrown with so many strangers all at once."
She did not realize that it was Rosamond Merton's slow smile that had held her confidences back and if anyone had told her so, she would have denied it most emphatically.
Ethel Walters' spread had consisted of crackers and sardines, with olives and oranges and walnut bars for side dishes. The studio supper, though beautifully correct in most details, had Constance Fellows and a very shabby yet delightfully entertaining friend of hers, as chief guests. And how was anyone to know what Rosamond Merton might think of such swift intimacies?
CHAPTER VIIIPATRICIA RECEIVES AN INVITATION
The next few weeks sped pleasantly for Patricia.
Rosamond Merton was an ideal room-mate. She never intruded on Patricia's privacy, nor withdrew unsociably when Patricia felt inclined for chat. She allowed Patricia to make her own hours for use of the fine piano in her sitting-room and was patient under the many changes which the despotic Tancredi inflicted on the submissive Patricia, shifting her own practicing with such delicate tact that her fellow student scarcely realized her sacrifices.
"She's perfectly wonderful, Norn," declared Patricia, standing at the studio window one Sunday night about the middle of February. "She never gets cross or fussed like I do, and she is always so beautifully dressed. I am sometimes quite ashamed of my plain self when we are going abouttogether. I do look awfully little-girly and prim in most of my clothes. I wish I were more ornamental," she ended with a tiny apologetic frown.
Judith looked at Elinor and nodded. "I knew it," she said. "I knew Miss Pat would be getting spoiled by spending all her time with such a showy person."
Patricia laughed a short, annoyed laugh. "Nonsense, Judy. I'm not a bit different. I only wish I didn't have to put all my patrimony into Madame Tancredi's pocket. I hate to go about with Rosamond, looking like her maid. I've worn that same suit to every place we've gone and I believe people think I sleep in it now."
Elinor looked slightly troubled. "If you'd only let us get you a new frock——" she began.
Patricia cut her short. "Hardly," she said emphatically. "I've told you all along that I wouldn't sponge on any of you. It's bad enough to take so much from dear old Ted. No, I'll go on exactly as I planned, and I won't get a single new thing until spring."
This virtuous declaration did not seem to stimulate her as it should have done, for she added, rather dolefully for her, "I wish I were like Constance Fellows or Ethel Walters. They never seem to mind being shabby."
"You can scarcely call yourself shabby—and I'm sure Constance loves beautiful things," said Elinor with gentle firmness. "You couldn't look at her work and not realize how she gloried in color and form."
Judith wagged her head wisely. "Perhaps she can stand doing without pretty things for herself," she suggested, "because she can put so much of it into her work."
This thoughtful sifting for motives was so like Judith that Patricia forgot her grievances in an amused laugh. "Good for you, Judy-pudy," she cried, flinging an arm about her small sister. "There's a hint for me, is it? I'll try to take it, Miss Minerva, and if you hear that my exercises are growing too frilly for Tancredi's taste you'll know the reason why."
Judith was not at all discomposed by herlight-minded raillery. "I should think it would be a very good thing for you to try, Miss Pat," she said sedately. "Clothes go out of fashion so dreadfully soon nowadays and the singing exercises will last most of your life."
Patricia watched her leave the room to arrange the materials for the salad dressing—Bruce always made the dressing on Sunday nights—and she smiled at Elinor in a very tender fashion.
"Judy is a wonder," she confessed. "She has a mind of her own. I wonder why she's taken such an aversion to Rosamond lately? She never misses a chance to undermine her. Not openly, you know, but in a quiet way. I've noticed it ever since Doris Leighton came back and we had the spread that evening in her room."
"Judith couldn't have gotten it from Doris," said Elinor positively. "I heard all that Doris said about Miss Merton, and it was rather nice. I think you must be over-sensitive, Miss Pat. Judith has been at the Lodge several times since then and she may have been talking with someonewho is envious of your Rosamond. She isn't as popular as she might be, you know."
"Of course, she isn't," exclaimed Patricia, on the defensive at once. "She doesn't choose to hobnob with everyone, and so they say she's stuck up, and ultra, and exclusive. If she were as much of a snob as they say, she certainly wouldn't have chosen to take me in."
Judith had returned, carrying the salad in its green bowl. She held it precisely between her slender, pale hands as she stood still to confute this heresy.
"You know perfectly well, Miss Pat, that there isn't a prettier girl in the musical set in Artemis Lodge," she declared with a touch of wrath in her calm tones. "You are related to a famous artist, and you have Madame Milano for a friend. Miss Merton wouldn't look at you, either, if you didn't have nice clothes and good manners, besides being very well-born indeed, as she certainly knows."
With this blast delivered, Judith set the salad-bowl carefully down on the table andleft the room, her head high and her mane tossing.
Patricia, instead of being amused this time, looked annoyed. "Judy's getting spoiled, Elinor," she said, turning away to ramble idly about the room. "She's as conceited a young imp as I know. These stories of hers have about turned her head. I wish you'd tell her for me that she must behave properly to Rosamond, or she'll have to stay away from the Lodge. I won't have her putting on her superior airs and looking mysterious over nothing with me."
Elinor sighed over this change in the sunny Patricia, but only said with a regretful glance at the discontented droop of her sister's golden head:
"Judith's fancies are sometimes short-lived, my dear. I shouldn't notice this one if I were you." And then to make a diversion she asked how the lessons were coming on.
Patricia brightened at once. "I believe I'm doing pretty well," she said hopefully. "Madame hardly says a word to me now,but she nods her head a good deal. And she's letting me take some new exercises already."
"That looks promising," began Elinor, pleased to have turned the current toward happier channels. "That is the best news——"
Here the door opened and Bruce, who had been out, came in. "Hullo, all alone?" he said, with some surprise. "I thought Constance Fellows was coming tonight. What's up? She's not ill, is she? There's a lot of grippe going about just now, I hear."
Elinor explained that so far as they knew Constance was not affected by the impending epidemic. "Miss Pat forgot to ask her in time," she said. "And so she made an engagement with one of the girls, that is all, Bruce. Are you going to make the salad in here? Judith has it all ready for you."
"Just as soon as I shed my skin," returned Bruce gayly, throwing his great-coat on the divan, with his hat and gloves. "I tell you, it's fine weather—this. The stars are snapping and the moon-crescent is like silver. It makes one glad to be alive."
Patricia, with her disquiet mood still hovering about her, came over to the table to watch him begin operations. She always liked to see Bruce mix the dressing and make the salad, and tonight his strong cheerfulness seemed particularly good to her.
"I'm sorry I forgot about Constance, Bruce," she said, as he uncorked the oil bottle. "I had two concerts with Rosamond and the music was so perfectly heavenly that I didn't get back to earth until it was too late to get her for tonight. I'll bring her over next week."
"Right-o," said Bruce genially. "We're all strong for Constance, you know. Besides being a paint slinger of promise, she's the straight goods. See as much of her as you can, little sister, for she's the sort that true friends are made of."
Patricia really liked Constance immensely and had it not been for the overshadowing Rosamond, would have chosen her for the close intimacy for which Constance had shown she was quite ready and willing. But she had a feeling that in so praisingConstance, Bruce was neglecting Rosamond, and she said rather petulantly:
"I can't be always looking her up, Bruce. You know she's busy and out of the house most of the time. It would be different if she were studying with Tancredi like Rosamond."
Bruce opened his eyes at this unusual peevishness on Patricia's part, but he went on mixing his ingredients without comment, while Elinor, who had been bringing in the rest of the picnic supper, flitted about, straightening the room preparatory to lighting the candles for the feast.
As she picked up Bruce's overcoat from the divan, some letters fell out of the pockets, scattering over the floor. She stooped to collect them, and gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Bruce Hayden, when did these come?" she asked, sorting the letters rapidly into little piles on the table at his elbow.
Bruce regarded the envelopes with undisguised astonishment, and then he broke into a guilty grin.
"Oh, thunder, I must have forgottenthem!" he cried. "How in creation did you unearth them?"
Elinor explained, while Patricia eagerly seized on one addressed to her in Bruce's care and began to tear it open.
"It's from Madame Milano!" she cried excitedly. "Oh, Elinor, she's inviting me to her afternoon reception today, and it's hours and hours too late."
Bruce looked crestfallen. "But is Milano in town?" he argued. "She isn't singing till Tuesday night, you know——"
Patricia thrust the sheet before him. "See for yourself," she said. "It says the seventeenth, doesn't it? Look, Elinor, what a big sprawling hand she writes."
Bruce shook his head dolefully over the clearly written date. "It's today, all right," he admitted ruefully. "You've lost a jolly fine chance of seeing opera folk at home, thanks to my block-headedness."
Judith joined the group, and when she heard of Patricia's misfortune she put a consoling arm about her sister. "Never mind, Miss Pat dear," she said. "Perhaps when Madame Milano knows how bad youfeel about missing her reception she'll do something that's a lot nicer for you."
Bruce chuckled and his face cleared. "Wait a minute," he said hastily, and disappeared into the other room.
"What in the world—" began Elinor and then she, too, smiled. "He's telephoning to Madame Milano. Listen, Patricia."
Patricia heard with rising hopes the deep regret of Bruce's rich tones as he explained to the prima donna the reason Patricia had not availed herself of the gracious invitation. The pauses in which Bruce listened must have been filled to his satisfaction, for after he had hung up the receiver he came back into the studio rubbing his hands gleefully.
"Did you hear me put it to her?" he asked, grinning. "I got her hotel and then her apartment and then her maid, and finally the Madame herself. She is sorrier than she was ten minutes ago and she is going to ask you to her Monday 'Hour,' as she calls it, a much more intimate affair, I can assure you."
Patricia clasped her hands rapturously. "Oh, youduck!" she cried ardently."You're the cleverest thing in the world to get me another invitation. Am I to go alone? And what time am I to come?"
"You're to have your elder sister for a chaperon and your distinguished brother-in-law as attendant," replied Bruce gravely. "I wanted to put in a word for you, Judy, but I was afraid to push her too hard this time."
"I couldn't go, thank you," returned Judith composedly. "I have an extra in French tomorrow after school and I've made an engagement to go to the French church with Mademoiselle afterward."
Patricia was in the seventh heaven of delight at the prospect of actually taking tea with the noted singer and her intimate friends. She plied Bruce with innumerable questions and grew so Patricia-like and merry over the absurd answers he manufactured to meet her demands that the picnic supper was the gayest family affair they had had since Patricia left them.
"I'll be over at three tomorrow, Elinor," she promised as they left her at the green entrance door of Artemis Lodge after havingwalked home with her through the sparkling night. "Don't let Bruce be late, or she'll never forgive us."
Elinor promised to keep an eye on her erring husband and see that everything went smoothly this time.
Patricia watched the three figures walking briskly down the street, and she closed the door with a little bang.
"Won't Rosamond be surprised?" she smiled to herself, seeing the light in the windows which told that their rooms were occupied.
She found Rosamond wrapped in a sumptuous down quilt, sitting over the fire in a drowsy state, and she had to repeat the glorious news twice before her friend responded. Even then she was not as interested as Patricia had hoped.
"Yes, it's lovely," she said, slowly, "and I'm sure you'll have a good time. Do you mind getting out my night things? I'm awfully sleepy and I'm going straight to bed."
Patricia did as she was asked and then helped the heavy-lidded Rosamond to herrose-and-gold room, saying good-night a little coolly.
"She might have tried to wake up for such splendid news," she thought, a little dampened by this casual reception of her glad tidings.
The next morning Rosamond was still too sleepy and tired to rise and Patricia was afraid that she might be really ill. But she denied more than a slight cold—a "sleepy headache," as she called it—and asked to be left alone to sleep it out.
Patricia left her still in bed when she started to the studio in the afternoon, though she seemed almost herself again.
"Come in and tell me all about it the moment you get back," she called as Patricia left her.
And Patricia promised blithely.
CHAPTER IXROSAMOND'S FRIEND
Patricia kept her promise. She ran upstairs to the pretty rooms in Artemis Lodge with such a radiant face that Rosamond, who was sitting up trying to get interested in a magazine story, laid down the book with a sigh of relief.
"You've had a wonderful time, I know," she said expectantly. "Throw your things on the couch and tell me all about it."
Patricia complied joyfully. "Do you want to hear every scrap, just as it happened," she asked, "from beginning to end?"
"From the very beginning to the very end," nodded Rosamond.
"Well, then, I hustled over to the studio," Patricia told her, "and found them waiting for me. Elinor looked as sweet as ever and Bruce, of course, was just as heshould be. We took the car to the hotel and just as we were going in, a violet-man pushed his tray right in front of me, and I must have looked at it pretty hard, for Bruce bought me the dearest duck of a bunch with cords and tassels on it. And, of course, that made me feel better still, for my suit isn't terribly gay, you know, having been selected when I was expecting to spend the whole winter in the country."
"Was Elinor wearing her gray furs?" asked Rosamond with critical interest.
Patricia nodded. "And her amethyst velvet," she said, with appreciation of her friend's fondness for such matters. "She has the sweetest hat to go with it, too, and she looked lovelier than anyone there. Norn is the dearest thing, and I believe she's so pretty because she's so good."
This digression was not received with any show of enthusiasm, so she hurried on.
"We went into the lobby—it's a stunning place. Awfully select and quiet, you know. And after sending up our names the page took us to her rooms, and we had to wait a moment in an outer room whilethe maid announced us; then we went right in, and there was Madame Milano, in the midst of a lot of chatting people, looking just as sociable and everyday as you please. She came straight over to us and shook hands as tight as Constance does, and then she introduced us to all the people there. Oh, Rosamond, I was never so excited in my life!"
"Was it the musical set, or social?" asked Rosamond.
Patricia looked puzzled. "They seemed like both to me," she confessed. "They were beautifully dressed and they had lovely manners, and some of them were singers and others seemed to be just society people, from the way they talked about things. Madame Garti was there, and Sculke, the baritone, and Mrs. Winderly—she was perfectly lovely——"
"Social climber," Rosamond ticketed her with a calm that made Patricia wince.
"And there was a plain girl with a gorgeous hat, whom Madame called Felice—I didn't catch her other name, but I liked her immensely."
Rosamond sat up and bent forward. "Felice Vanding?" she asked, and at Patricia's rather uncertain nod, she said decisively, "That is the most exclusive girl in New York. Was her mother there?"
Patricia searched her memory. "Is she sort of stiff and dried-up?" she hazarded. "With a big nose?"
"That is Mrs. Vanding!" cried Rosamond with more animation than Patricia had known her to show. "Milano must be quite the proper thing, or the Vandings would never take her up. Tell me some more about her."
Patricia felt rather disconcerted. This was not the point of view she could sympathize with. She went on less gayly.
"Madame Milano was very kind. She asked all about my lessons, and said she was going to ask Tancredi to lunch with her tomorrow to find out how I had been shirking. She asked about Artemis Lodge, too, and how I like the life here. I told her how jolly it was, and I told her, too, how dear you'd been to me."
"Did you indeed?" said Rosamond witha pleased look. "Was she at all interested?"
"I should say she was!" cried Patricia, glad to recall the tone and look. "She smiled and said in the nicest possible way, 'I should like to meet your friend, Miss Pat. It is rare to find such good comradeship among rivals.' I told her that we weren't rivals, that we couldn't possibly be, for you had a wonderful voice and were far, far more gifted than plain me."
"What did she say at that?" demanded the now eager Rosamond, forgetting to contradict this generous statement.
"She laughed and pinched my cheek," Patricia had to confess shamefacedly. "And she said something about violets and I thought she meant my bunch, so I took it off and offered it to her, feeling so glad I had the chance to give her even that tiny gift. She took it and pinned it on her, and told me to be a good child. It was rather puzzling, though, for the other people laughed and I was sure I'd made a mistake of some sort. I felt horridly uncomfortable."
"Didn't your sister know what she meant?" inquired Rosamond, sinking back into her cushions again.
"No, Elinor and Bruce were both over at the other side of the room, talking to Madame Alda, who had just come in. To tell the truth, I didn't say anything to them about it," Patricia said. "It wasn't much, anyway, for in a little while I was introduced to Felice and we had a good time together behind the palms while the music was going on. She knows lots about music, and I learned a good many things from her."
Rosamond approved. "She's worth cultivating," she declared warmly, her long eyes brightening. "But tell me, Miss Pat, was that all that Milano said? Did she know I'd been with Pancri in Rome and Martona in Paris? Did she say that Tancredi had spoken of me?"
"I told her every last thing I could possibly think of that would make her realize I had a good angel to watch over me," laughed Patricia. "But, of course, we couldn't keep on talking all the afternoon.There were a good many other people who wanted a word with her."
Rosamond subsided into her usual amiable indifference. "You must have had a charming time," she said pleasantly. "Tell me how they were all dressed."
Patricia very willingly launched into an enthusiastic account of the beautiful garments worn by the hostess and guests, and the topic was so absorbing that neither girl noticed the speeding hour, until a tap on the door brought them back to the needs of the present.
Constance Fellows in her shabbiest frock, paint stains on her hastily washed hands, looked gayly in on them.
"May I break my rules and use your phone?" she asked. "I haven't time to chase down across the courtyard to the other phone, and it's very important."
They went on talking in subdued tones, but it was impossible not to hear all that Constance said, since the telephone was on the table at Rosamond's elbow; and what she said made Rosamond's long eyes droop in a very peculiar manner.
"Tell Auntie," Constance said briskly after having gotten her number, "that I can't possibly have it done in time, unless I stick at it tonight. I'll hold the wire. Be as quick as you can, please. She'll understand."
In the interval of waiting for the reply Constance smiled cheerfully at them, receiver at ear, taking meanwhile a lively interest in Patricia's description of Madame Alda's wonderful coat.
"Sounds very uppity to me," she said with a humorous glance at her own ancient gown. "Been associating with the song-birds in the upper air, Miss Pat? I thought you'd left town. Haven't seen hide nor hair of you since Friday."
Patricia was about to explain that she had been occupied with musical matters under Rosamond's direction, when the answer came to Constance's message. It seemed satisfactory, for she accepted it cheerily and hung up the receiver with an expression of great content.
"Thank you so much for allowing me to grab your luxuries," she said with asmile to Rosamond. "Are either of you going down to dinner now? I can't get there, but if you'd tell Christine to bring me some milk and rasp-rolls when she's at liberty, I'd be awfully obliged. I have some dates and peanuts in my room," she added as though to relieve their possible fears that she was denying herself too strictly.
"I'm going down, and I'll be glad to do it," said Patricia quickly. She was so afraid that Constance might see the amused look on Rosamond's face that she jumped up at once and took her arm, twirling her around toward the door as she asked, "Is there anything I can order for you, Rosamond?"
"I think not, thank you," returned that young lady amiably. "I usually order by phone, you know. One is sure of getting what one wants then."
Patricia felt a bit uncomfortable at this untactful speech, but Constance merely laughed and nodded back over her shoulder at the indifferent Rosamond.
"That's the difference between us, LadyRosamond," she smiled. "You are so sure of getting what you want, while I am always trying to make up my mind what it is I want. Sometimes I simply ache for prunes and ice cream cones, and other times I hanker after caviar."
Rosamond smiled indulgently, but after Patricia had returned from her dinner and her own dainty tray had been sent down, she said in a slow thoughtful way, "Constance Fellows is an absurd creature at times. I wonder what she meant by caviar?"
Patricia was often surprised by the lack of penetration on the part of her admired friend, and she said without hesitation, "Why, I supposed she meant living with her aunt. Shabby frocks and peanuts mean the other side of it."
"Do you think so?" insisted Rosamond. "I fancied she was joking about the prunes and cones, but of course there's no accounting for Constance. I'm glad she has my panels finished, for I have a feeling that she isn't too dependable, after all. I wonder what she is phoning to Mrs. Blakely for? I thought they were not on good terms."
"Oh, they're quite good friends," said Patricia, as she lighted her gold-shaded lamp. "Constance told me that her aunt often came to see her at the school, though she won't step foot in Artemis Lodge, because she vowed never to countenance Constance in her desire to live like a savage," Patricia giggled with enjoyment. "She seems to think we're a bit too primitive for her here."
"Indeed! I'd like Miss Ardsley to hear that," frowned Rosamond. "Mrs. Blakely should remember that though there are some poor art students here, there are quite enough of a better class to give tone to the place."
Patricia adjusted the shade and then smiled over it at her perturbed room-mate. "But you can't deny that, according to her estimate, we are Bohemian," she said gayly. "She declares that any place is Bohemian where they give parties in their sitting rooms and wash the dishes in the bathrooms."
Rosamond shrugged her shoulders quite impatiently. "Bother Mrs. Blakely," shesaid in the most downright way she had ever spoken before Patricia. "I'm going to bed."
Patricia came into her bedroom to turn out the light for her after she was in bed, and as she had her hand on the button, she gave a little start of remembrance.
"Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Bruce has tickets for Tosca tomorrow night for all of us," she said eagerly. "I don't know how I was so stupid as to let it slip my mind. Elinor and Judy and Bruce and I are going, and we want you to go with us."
Rosamond turned drowsily on her pillows, pulling the satin coverlet up to her chin.
"Awfully kind," she said indifferently. "I had tickets for us two and Miss Ardsley was to chaperone us. It was to surprise you, but we can give our tickets to her and let her take someone else. I fancy she can find some one who will go."
She turned over with so definite an air that Patricia snapped off the light and went slowly to her own little room, where she sat down before her table and gotout her writing materials. She had a letter to write to Mrs. Spicer, but somehow the bloom seemed to be rubbed off of her wonderful afternoon, and she sat staring at the heading, 'Dear Mrs. Nat,' for a long time before she began to write.
Her mind was ranging over the costumes which Rosamond had made her describe so minutely and she was thinking with an earnestness new to her how much she should like to be like Rosamond, with her lovely voice and sumptuous clothes.
At last she dipped her dry pen and laid the blotter ready. "I guess Mrs. Nat will be glad to hear all about it," she said with a little self-conscious smile twisting her pink lips. "She hasn't much chance at really splendid doings, and she does love pretty things."
She stopped before she had written a sentence to muse again. "I wish she hadn't taken a sort of dislike to Rosamond when she saw her out at Red Top," she said wistfully. "It's so hard to write without putting Rosamond in. She's in almost everything I do now."
CHAPTER XMISS PAT PLAYS NURSE
Patricia found that Rosamond was still more interwoven into her daily life when she went into her room the next morning, and found her breathing heavily and entirely oblivious of all about her.
"Oh, dear, she must be really ill," said Patricia, half aloud, as she bent over the bed and looked at the flushed face anxiously. "I wonder if I ought to call Miss Ardsley or Miss Tatten."
She tried to find out just how ill poor Rosamond was, but in spite of her careful attempts to rouse her, Rosamond refused to come back to wakefulness, and Patricia was forced to give up the effort.
"I wish I could go to Miss Tatten," she thought, drawing the door softly to behind her and hurrying through the sitting-room. "She's the one in charge, afterall. And she doesn't make so much conversation about things as Miss Ardsley does."
A picture of the fastidious, affable Directress rose clearly before her and she saw what a contrast to little efficient "Tattie," as the girls called the sturdy little house-keeper behind her back, Miss Ardsley would make at a sick-bed.
"I suppose I'll have to go straight down to the office," she said aloud, as she went out into the hall. "Oh, dear, I hope she isn't going to be ill."
Constance Fellows was at her door, unseen by Patricia, and she caught the distressed words. As Patricia hurriedly started for the stair she called to her.
"Is the fair Rosamond under the weather again?" she asked lightly.
Patricia turned, indignant at her levity in the face of trouble.
"Rosamond is in a stupor and I can't wake her up. I'm going for Miss Ardsley," she said shortly.
Then Constance dropped her bantering tone and, closing her own door, came overto Patricia. "Let me see her before you call out the authorities," she said earnestly. "She may not be seriously ill, and if they once get hold of her they'll keep her in quarantine for weeks after she's all over it."
Patricia remembered Rosamond saying something much to this effect, and she agreed eagerly.
"I'll go in first and see if she's waked up," she said on the threshold of Rosamond's room.
Rosamond was lying in the same position as she had been and was as unresponsive to efforts to rouse her as before. Patricia beckoned Constance into the room.
"I'm afraid she's very ill," she whispered, as Constance came to the bedside, and she waited in great suspense for what should come next.
Constance felt Rosamond's head and listened to her heart in quite a professional manner. Then she disappeared for a moment and came back with a thermometer and an alcohol bottle.
"Get some hot water ready for me," she said in a business-like way that wonPatricia's confidence. "I think it's an attack of the grippe, but I'm not sure yet."
When Patricia came back with the steaming pitcher, she had finished her investigations. "It's grippe, all right," she said, contentedly. "I know the symptoms without being told a word. I've had it every year since it became the fashion, drat it! We'll have to get the doctor, of course, but I think she can be made more comfortable in the meanwhile."
"Shall I tell Miss Ardsley before I phone to the doctor?" Patricia asked anxiously.
Constance shook her head. "Tell her just as soon as you are sure he is on the way," she advised. "The Countess is a nuisance about illness. She is scared stiff for fear she'll catch it—whatever it may be. Of course, she has to know—necessary evil—but don't let her in on me till I've freshened up this poor girl."
Patricia hurried off to telephone to Rosamond's doctor, whom she was fortunate enough to find in his office. And then she came back to the bedroom.Rosamond had her eyes open. Her face was flushed and miserable looking, but she was allowing Constance to arrange her pillows with something like gratitude in her long eyes.
"I've given her an alcohol rub and kept the hot-water bottles to her all the while," said Constance briskly. "She'll be feeling better after a by, won't you, Rosamond?"
Rosamond dropped her eyes in a way that meant yes, and Patricia flew to bend over her and whisper her grief at finding her so ill.
"Better not take in any more germs than you can help," said Constance in a business-like way. "Clear out, now, young one, and get your breakfast. The restaurant will be closed if you don't hurry."
Patricia went off, feeling that she was leaving her friend in competent hands, and after she had finished a hasty meal she went to Miss Ardsley's room to notify her of Rosamond's plight. There was no response to her knock and she was forced to leave without having done her errand. She met Miss Tatten on the way upstairs,however, and she poured out her tale of woe, grateful for the chance of enlisting the sturdy common sense of the house-keeper.
"Ah, indeed," was Miss Tatten's only comment. Her arched eyebrows rose with nervous twitches and her deep contralto voice rolled sonorously. "Have you notified Miss Ardsley? Has a physician been called?"
Patricia explained why the directress had not been told. "You'll do beautifully in her place, won't you?" she asked with such evident desire for an affirmative answer that Miss Tatten, being only human and liking Patricia exceedingly, showed signs of melting from her official starched dignity, and promised to come at once.
They went together into the sick-room and Patricia revised her former opinion of Miss Tatten as a just yet severe automaton when she saw the real kindliness and tender consideration she showed there.
The doctor was coming up the stairs as Patricia pinned on her hat and hurried away for her singing lesson, and only thesternness which Tancredi showed toward late-comers kept her from lingering to hear his verdict.
In the courtyard she met Miss Ardsley, coming placidly from her milliner's. "At this most unearthly hour, my dear, because the obstinate creature refused to make my new hat for 'Varnishing Day' on Friday unless I gave her a sitting this morning."
Patricia was not at any time much interested in Miss Ardsley's hats, but now they grew intolerable. She waited for a period in the gentle flow of criticism on the prevalent modes, and then she boldly broke in.
"I'm sorry I have to go," she said apologetically. "I must tell you, though, before I fly, that Rosamond Merton is ill with the grippe and we've sent for the doctor. He's in her room, now, so you'll have to go right up if you want to see him there."
Miss Ardsley gasped. "Ill with grippe! How—how very annoying. Really, I was hoping to keep Artemis Lodge free from that taint," she said with a slightly sharpedge to her gentle tones. "Is she suffering much?" she added more sweetly, being recalled perhaps by the incredulous expression in Patricia's very speaking eyes.
"She's very miserable indeed," Patricia returned promptly, determined not to spare the Directress. "She was in a stupor when I went in to her this morning, but she's better now. Constance Fellows had been with her and Miss Tatten has just gone up——"
"Miss Tatten?" began Miss Ardsley in a somewhat vexed tone, which swiftly changed to a pleased one. "Ah, yes, Miss Tatten. She is most capable and will do all that is necessary. Thank you so much, my dear, for telling me of this sad affair. I shall notify Madame Tancredi at once." And before Patricia could offer to carry the message, she sailed off serenely to her own quarters, leaving Patricia wasting yet more valuable time by standing quite still in the middle of the courtyard staring blankly after her.
"Well!" was all she found voice for as she gathered herself together. "Well."
Notwithstanding Miss Ardsley's intentions, Patricia told Madame Tancredi of her favorite pupil's illness and was gratified at the warmth of her solicitude. She carried home from her lesson a strong impression that Rosamond must be a very remarkable person indeed to call forth such expressions of regret from her teacher.
"I shouldn't wonder if she were going to be a great opera singer like Madame Milano," she thought, somewhat awed by this high fate for Rosamond, and she went to the sick room with more anxiety for the future prima donna than she had felt even for her friend.
Constance Fellows was still in charge and tremendously relieved at her appearance. "She's keen enough now," she replied to Patricia's eager questions. "She won't hear to a nurse, and the doctor doesn't insist. I fancy he knows her better than we do. I'd stay longer, but there's something I have on hand—but I'll be back later if you want me."
Patricia thought she could manage the rest of the day very well, and as soon asthe medicines were explained and the diet understood, Constance hurried off.
Rosamond was looking much better when Patricia went to her, and she improved so rapidly that her objection to the nurse was justified. Patricia found her an easy patient, though to her inexperience the hours for medicine came swiftly and the nourishment seemed to be always waiting to be administered. By the time night came she was completely exhausted, but she bore up gallantly, love of her gifted friend giving her strength and courage in the long hours before the happy moment when she felt safe in going to bed.
She wakened a great many times in her short night, to sit up and listen or to steal to the door of Rosamond's room and noiselessly peep in to see how she fared; but Rosamond was sleeping heavily each time she listened, and after the dawn came she gave herself up to the deep fatigue which overpowered her.
The sun was shining into her room when she awoke to hear someone knocking on the outer door. It was Constance on herway up from breakfast, bringing some flowers from Tancredi and the mail.
Flowers from Tancredi! Patricia thought that must rouse any pupil of her's, even from the dead!
But no, the gifted Rosamond lifted them to her face as indifferently as if they had been common weeds and sighed as she turned her pale face away from the insistent odor of the jasmine.
"How suggestive to send white ones," she murmured with half a smile, and Patricia, who had been half-way to the skies at this condescension on the part of Tancredi, became aware that she was making a mountain out of a very mediocre mole-hill.
She took the flowers and laid them in the box while she could fill a vase with water, and when she lifted them again she saw an envelope cuddling under the green paper. It was addressed in Tancredi's hand, and she looked at it reverently despite herself.
Rosamond waved her to read it and she had the fun, at any rate, of seeing the actual words.
"I have news to cheer the invalid," wrote the good-natured Tancredi after a few phrases of regret. "The Milano was asking about you at luncheon today, and if you are able, I am to bring you to her next 'Hour' when she returns to New York within the fortnight."
Patricia beamed. She knew that it was her account of her friend which had brought this honor to Rosamond and she was eager to hear her grateful acknowledgment. She looked expectantly at Rosamond, who was on fire at last.
She sat up in her dainty bed and she actually clapped her hands.
"Oh, how lucky I got that embroidered crepe!" she cried, out of the fullness of her heart. "Oh, Miss Pat, my dear, I must order the stockings dyed to match! I will surely be well—I'llhaveto be well. Get the paper and see when she sings again."
Not a word about the loving praise which had won her this. Not a single syllable of gratitude for the generous love that had so forgotten self in admiration for another. But Patricia was so happyin what she felt she had helped bring about that she flew for the paper and found the advertisement for the coming operas with as much speed as though she herself were to be the guest.
After they found that it would be exactly eleven days till the next opera Milano was appearing in, Rosamond lay back with a sigh of relief.
"I'll surely be well by that time," she said positively. "I am feeling so much better this morning, and I always get over things very rapidly."
Patricia was bubbling with sympathetic pleasure. "I'll take the sample of the dress and get the stockings this morning," she offered. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"
Rosamond pondered for a moment and then replied amiably, "I can't think of anything else just now, but I'll be glad to have you go as soon as you can with the sample. One never knows how long those stupid stores may take. It's awfully good of you, Miss Pat," she ended carelessly.
"Oh, I just love to do it!" cried Patricia. "I love to do anything for you—you've been so nice to me. I'll go the very first minute after I've straightened you up and had some breakfast. I'm so glad it isn't my lesson morning."
Rosamond's improvement delighted her, and she danced off to attend to her various duties with a light heart. Breakfast over, she did her errand, and after a short walk in the Park she came back to find Rosamond in a flush of fever.
The doctor, when he came at her anxious bidding, assured her it meant nothing, that Miss Merton was recovering as rapidly as possible; but Patricia was so disturbed and unhappy over her friend's condition that she sat down and telephoned to Elinor that she could not go to the opera with them and that she had asked Constance Fellows and Marie Graham—the shabby entertaining friend—to go in the place of Rosamond and herself.
To Elinor's expostulations and arguments, she had one answer: "She has been too good to me for me to leave her now,"and her disappointed sister was forced to be content with that.
When, the next morning, she found that Rosamond was fulfilling the doctor's predictions and getting well by leaps, she was not sorry for her self-denial.
"I'm glad I could do it for her," she said, nodding at herself in the quaint mirror above her dresser. "I shall always do things for her, because I justloveto."