Patty glanced at her watch, and then began drawing on her gloves with an air of finality.
“But wait,—wait, Miss Fairfield,” exclaimed the Madame, who had no wish to let her new-found genius thus slip away from her. “I like your work. I may say I think it shows touches of real talent. Also, you have unusually good taste. In view of these things, I will overlook still further your ignorance of the details of the work, and I will give you seven dollars a week.”
“Madame,” said Patty, “I am inexperienced in the matter of wages, but I feel sure that you either employ inferior workwomen or that you underpay them. I don’t know which, but I assure you that I could not think of accepting your offer of seven dollars a week.”
“Would you come for ten?” asked Madame Villard, eagerly.
“No,” said Patty, shortly.
“For twelve, then? This is my ultimate offer, and you would do well to consider it carefully. I have never paid so much to any workwoman, and I offer it to you only because I chance to like your style of work.”
“And that is your ultimate offer?” said Patty, looking at her squarely.
“Yes, and I am foolish to offer that; but, as we agreed, it is only for one week, and so——”
“Spare your arguments, madame; I do not accept your proposal. Twelve dollars a week is not enough. And now, I will bid you good-afternoon. Am I entitled to pay for my day’s work?”
With Patty’s final refusal, the manner of Madame Villard had changed. No longer placating and bland, she frowned angrily as she said: