"Why, this is wonderful. You are a real, out-and-out artist, and I never realized it before!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "I dabble a little in that sort of thing myself once in a while, but I'm not a great success. I do wish I had inherited some of father's artistic ability. He can do beautiful work, but I only just love it and admire it."
"Ah, your father is also an artist?" demanded Virginie, interested afresh.
"Well, I don't know that I'd call him exactly an artist," qualified Patricia. "He can draw and paint 'most everything fairly well, but he does excel in one thing. He's crazy about it,—it's a regular hobby with him,—entomology, you know, the study of bugs and moths and caterpillars and butterflies, and all that sort of thing. And he can make the most beautiful sketches of them. Many's the day I've gone on a long butterfly hunt with him, and then have come home and watched him make sketches of the specimens we've caught. Just let me show you some of the things he's done. I think he has a number of his pet sketches in his trunk. He never travels without them." Patricia brought her father's sketches and placed them in Virginie's hands.
And now it was Virginie's turn to exclaim over the really beautiful work of Captain Meade. There were caterpillars and moths and butterflies, executed with consummate skill and exquisitely colored; each labeled with its own name and species. Virginie marveled over their curious titles.
"Ah, but see here, what singular names—'The Silver Spot,' 'The Red Admiral,' 'The Painted Lady'! Why are they so called?"
"I think it's mainly because of the different marking on the wings," answered Patricia. "You see, each one—but what's that? Some one knocking?" She ran to the door and opened it. Madame Vanderpoel stood outside.
"Do pardon me," she began hesitatingly. "I am making this little blouse for Virginie and have just come to a place where I can go no farther till I try it on. May I come in?"
"Why, surely!" returned Patricia, courteously, and Madame Vanderpoel entered. As Patricia had feared, however, there was an immediate chilling of the atmosphere as far as Virginie was concerned. The girl said not a word, but obediently, if ungraciously, slipped the pretty blouse over her head and stood in silence while Madame Vanderpoel made some necessary alterations. The lady herself strove to appear quite unobservant of the change and chatted on brightly while she completed her work. Patricia, bewildered and uncomfortable, also tried to appear as though nothing unusual was the matter. But she found the task difficult. At length, Madame Vanderpoel, declaring herself satisfied with the result, rose to go. While passing the table, however, she noticed Captain Meade's sketches, and, laying down her sewing, stopped to examine them.
"Ah, what beautiful, what unusual work!" she murmured, taking them up, one by one, and asking Patricia some questions about them. But at last she took her departure.
"Oh, by the way, may Virginie stay and have dinner with me here in our rooms?" questioned Patricia, before she left. Madame Vanderpoel gave her consent and was gone.