“Of course she will. And I’m going to put a pretty kimono and slippers in the wardrobe. Probably she won’t have pretty ones, and I know she’ll love ’em.”
“If you owned a white elephant, Patty, you’d get a kimono for it, wouldn’t you?”
“’Course I would. I love kimonos—pretty ones. And besides, it would fit an elephant better than a Directoire gown would.”
“Patty! What a goose you are! There, now the room looks lovely! The flowers are just right—not too many and just in the right places.”
“Yes,” agreed Patty; “if she doesn’t like this room I wash my hands of her. But she will.”
And she did. When the small, shy Southern girl arrived that afternoon, and Patty herself showed her up to her room, she seemed to respond at once to the warm cosiness of the place.
“It’s just such a room as I’ve often imagined, but I’ve never seen,” she said, smiling round upon the dainty, attractive appointments.
“You dear!” cried Patty, throwing her arms round her guest and kissing her.
When she had first met Christine downstairs she was embarrassed herself at the Southern girl’s painful shyness.
When Miss Farley had tried to speak words of greeting a lump came into her throat and she couldn’t speak at all.