“Oh, no,” said Christine, her face lighting up at thought of her kind friend. “He has been so good to me. His criticisms of my work helped me more than any of my teachers’.”
“Yes, he is an able artist and a man of true kindness and worth,” agreed Nan. “Very well, Miss Farley, we dine at seven.”
“Now, Nan,” began Patty, smiling, “that’s the wrong tone. We’re going to make this girlie feel homelike and comfortable and omit all formality. We’re going to call her by her first name, and we’re going to treat her as one of ourselves. Now you just revise that little speech of ‘We dine at seven, Miss Farley.’”
“All right,” said Nan, quickly catching Patty’s idea. “I’m glad to revise it. How’s this? Dinner’s at seven, Christine, but you hop into your clothes and come on down earlier.”
“That’s a lot better,” said Patty, approvingly patting her stepmother’s shoulder, while Christine Farley, who was all unaccustomed to this sort of raillery, looked on in admiration.
“You see,” she said, “I’ve only very plain clothes. I’m not at all familiar with the ways of society, or even of well-to-do people.”
“Oh, pooh!” said Patty, emphatically, if not very elegantly. “Don’t you bother about that in this house. Trot out your frocks and I’ll tell you what to put on.”
After some consideration she selected a frock of that peculiar shade known as “ashes of roses.” It was of soft merino and made very simply, with long, straight lines.
“Do you like that?” said Christine, looking pleased. “That’s my newest one, and I designed it myself. See, I wear this with it.”
She took from her box a dull silver girdle and chatelaine of antique, carved silver, and a comb for her hair of similar style.