Miss O’Flynn’s eyes sparkled.
“It’s a masterpiece,” she said, clasping her hands in admiration. “You have trimmed hats before, Miss Fairfield?”
“No,” said Patty, “but I always knew I could do it.”
“Yes, you can,” said Miss O’Flynn. “Will you come now, and talk to Madame?”
Ushered into the presence of Madame Villard, Patty suddenly experienced a revulsion of feeling.
Her triumph over Miss O’Flynn seemed small and petty. She was conscious of a revolt against the whole atmosphere of the place. The suavity of Miss O’Flynn’s manner, the artificial grandeur of Madame Villard, filled her with aversion, and she wanted only to get away, and get back to her own home.
Not for any amount per week would she come again to this dreadful place.
She knew it was unreasonable; she knew that if she were to earn her living it could not be in a sheltered, luxurious home, but must, perforce, be in some unattractive workroom.
“But rather a department store,” thought poor Patty, “than in this place, with these overdressed, overmannered women, who ape fine ladies’ manners.”
Patty was overwrought and nervous. Her long, hard day had worn her out, and it was no wonder she felt a distaste for the whole thing.