Nan, you mustn’t act as if I associated with them socially. I assure you I was quite the haughty lady. But that slangy boy was an angel unawares. I’d probably be there yet but for his kindly aid.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll have to carry this absurd scheme through. And, Patty, I’ll help you in any way I can. Don’t you want me to wind silks, or something?”
“No, ducky stepmother of mine. The only way you can help is to head off callers. I can do the work if I can keep at it. But if the girls come bothering round, I’ll never get it done. Now, this afternoon, I want to do a lot, so if any one asks for me, won’t you gently but firmly refuse to let them see me? Make yourself so entertaining that they’ll forget my existence.”
“I’ll try,” said Nan, dubiously; “but if it’s Elise or Clementine, they’ll insist on seeing you.”
“Let ’em insist. Tell ’em I have a sick headache,—for I feel sure I shall before the afternoon’s over.”
“Now, Patty, I won’t have that sort of thing! You may work an hour or so, then you must rest, or go for a drive, or chat with the girls, or something.”
“I will, other days, Nan. But to-day I want to put in the solid afternoon working, so I’ll know how much I can accomplish.”
“Have you really a dozen of those things to do, Patty?”
“Yes, I have.” Patty didn’t dare say she had three dozen. “And if I do well this afternoon, I can calculate how long the work will take. Oh, Nan, I do want to succeed. It isn’t only the work, you know, it’s the principle. I hate to be baffled; and I won’t be!”
A stubborn look came into Patty’s pretty eyes,—a look which Nan knew well. A look which meant that the indomitable will might be broken but not bent, and that Patty would persevere in her chosen course until she conquered or was herself defeated.
So, after luncheon, she returned to her task, a little less certain of success than she had been, but no less persevering.
The work was agreeable to her. She loved to embroider, and the dainty design and exquisite colouring appealed to her æsthetic sense.
Had it been only one centrepiece, and had she not felt hurried, it would have been a happy outlook.
But as she carefully matched the shades of silk to the sample piece, she found that it took a great deal of time to get the tints exactly right.
“But that’s only for the first one,” she thought hopefully; “for all the others, I shall know just which silks to use. I’ll lay them in order, so there’ll be no doubt about it.”
Her habits of method and system stood her in good stead now, and her skeins, carefully marked, were laid in order on her little work-table.
But though her fingers fairly flew, the pattern progressed slowly. She even allowed herself to leave long stitches on the wrong side,—a thing she never did in her own embroidery. She tried to do all the petals of one tint at once, to avoid delay of changing the silks. She used every effort to make “her head save her hands,” but the result was that both head and hands became heated and nervous.
“This won’t do,” she said to herself, as the silk frazzled between her trembling fingers. “If I get nervous, I’ll never accomplish anything!”
She forced herself to be calm, and to move more slowly, but the mental strain of hurry, and the physical strain of eyes and muscles, made her jerky, and the stitches began to be less true and correct.
“I’ll be sensible,” she thought; “I’ll take ten minutes off and relax.”
She went downstairs, singing, and trying to assume a careless demeanour.
Going into Nan’s sitting-room, she said:
“Work’s going on finely. I came down for a glass of water, and to rest a minute. Any one been here?”
“No,” said Nan, pleasantly, pretending not to notice Patty’s flushed cheeks and tired eyes. Really, she had several times stolen on tiptoe to Patty’s door, and anxiously looked at her bending over her work. But Patty didn’t know this, and wise Nan concluded the time to speak was not yet.
“No, no one came in to disturb you, which is fortunate. You’re sensible, dear, to rest a bit. Jane will bring you some water. Polly want a cracker?”
“No, thank you; I’m not hungry. Nan, that’s awfully fine work.”
“Yes, I know it, Patsy. But remember, you don’t have to do it. Give the thing a fair trial, and if it doesn’t go easily, give it up and try something else.”
“It goes easily enough; it isn’t that. But you know yourself, you can’t do really good embroidery if you do it too rapidly.”
“‘Deed you can’t! But you do such wonderfully perfect work, that I should think you could afford to slight it a little, and still have it better than other people’s.”
“Nan, you’re such a comfort!” cried Patty, jumping up to embrace her stepmother. “You always say just the very right thing. Now, I’m going back to work. I feel all rested now, and I’m sure I can finish a lot to-day. Why, Nan Fairfield! for goodness’ sake! Is it really four o’clock?”
Patty had just noticed the time, and was aghast! Two solid hours she had worked, and only a small portion of one piece was done! She hadn’t dreamed the time had flown so, and thought it about three o’clock.
Slightly disheartened at this discovery, she went back to work. At first, the silks went smoothly enough, then hurry and close application brought on the fidgets again.
Before five o’clock, she had to turn on the electric lights, and then, to her dismay, the tints of the silks changed, and she couldn’t tell yellow from pink; or green from gray.
“Well,” she thought, “I’ll work the bow-knots. They’re of one solid colour, and it’s straight sailing.”
Straight sailing it was,—but very tedious. An untrue stitch spoiled the smooth continuance of the embroidery that was to represent tied ribbon bows. An untrue stitch—and she made several—had to be picked out and done over, and this often meant frayed silk, or an unsightly needle hole in the linen.
Long before Patty thought it was time, the dressing-gong for dinner sounded.
She jumped, greatly surprised at the flight of time, but also relieved, that now she must lay aside her work. She longed to throw herself down on her couch and rest, but there was no time for that.
However, after she bathed and dressed, she felt refreshed, and it was a bright, merry-faced Patty who danced downstairs to greet her father.
If he thought her cheeks unusually pink, or her eyes nervously bright, he made no allusion to it.
“Well, Puss, how goes the ‘occupation’?” he said, patting her shoulder.
“It’s progressing, father,” she replied, “but if you’d just as leave, we won’t talk about it to-night. I’ll tell you all about it, after I finish it.”
“All right, Pattykins; we business people never like to ‘talk shop.’”
And then Mr. Fairfield, who had been somewhat enlightened by Nan as to how matters stood, chatted gaily of other things, and Patty forgot her troublesome work, and was quite her own gay, saucy self again.
Kenneth dropped in in the evening, to bring a song which he had promised Patty. They tried it over together, and then Patty said:
“Would you mind, Ken, if I ask you not to stay any longer, to-night? I’ve something I want to do, and——”
“Mind? Of course not. I rather fancy we’re good enough friends not to misunderstand each other. If you’ll let me come and make up