Had Patty looked more meek, had she seemed to await Miss O’Flynn’s opinion of her work, the result might have been different.
But Patty’s expression was so plainly that of a conquering hero, she showed so palpably her pride in her own achievement, that Miss O’Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and her face hardened. Without a word to Patty, she handed the hat to a sad-eyed young woman at another table, and said:
“Line this hat, Miss Harrigan.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl; and even as Patty watched her, she began to snip deftly at Patty’s small, careful stitches, and in a few moments the lining was out, and the girl was shaping and cutting a new one, with a quick, sure touch, and with not so much as a glance in Patty’s direction.
The other girls,—the ones at Patty’s table,—looked horrified, but they did not look openly at Patty. Furtively, they darted glances at her from beneath half-closed lids, and then as furtively glanced at each other.
It all struck Patty humorously. To have her careful work discarded and snipped out, to be replaced by “skilled labour,” seemed so funny that she wanted to laugh aloud.
But she was also deeply chagrined at her failure, and so it was an uncertain attitude of mind that showed upon her face as Miss O’Flynn again approached her.
Without making any reference to the work she had already done, Miss O’Flynn gave Patty a hat frame and some thick, soft satin.
“Cover the frame neatly, Miss Fairfield,” was all she said, and walked away.
Patty understood.