"Come on," she cried, "I do want to see this thing through. If that's the program beginning, take me in. I want to hear it."
They returned to the Studio, and Blaney found two seats which commanded a view of the platform. The seats were uncomfortable, being small wooden stools, and the air was still clouded with smoke of various sorts. But, determinedly, Patty prepared to listen to the revelations that awaited her. She had long had a curiosity to know what "Bohemia" meant, and now she expected to find out. They were nowhere near their own crowd. In fact, she couldn't see Elise or Mona, though Philip was visible between some rickety armour and a tattered curtain. Very handsome he looked, too, his dark, and just now gloomy, face thrown into relief by the "artistic" background.
"Apparently, Mr. Van Reypen is not enjoying himself," Blaney commented, with a quiet chuckle. "He's not our sort."
This remark jarred upon Patty, and she was about to make a spirited retort, when the music began.
A girl was at the piano. Her gown, of burlaps, made Patty think it had been made from an old coffee sack. But it had a marvelous sash of flaming vermilion velvet, edged with gold fringe, and in her black hair was stuck a long, bright red quill feather, that gave her an Indian effect.
"I think her gown is out of key," Patty whispered, "and I am sure her music is!"
Blaney smiled. "She is a law unto herself," he replied, "that is an arbitrary minor scale, played in sixths and with a contrary motion."
Patty stared. This was a new departure in music and was interesting.
"Note the cynicism in the discords," Blaney urged, and Patty began to wonder if she could be losing her mind or just finding it.
The performance concluded and a rapt silence followed. It seemed applause was undesired by these geniuses.