“Lovely!” cried Patty. “Oh, you’re an artist, all right! Dress your hair low—in a soft coil; but of course you know how to do that. I’ll send Louise to hook you up, and I’ll come back for you when I’m dressed. Good-by for now.”
Waving her hand gaily, laughing Patty ran away to her own room, and Christine sank down in a big chair to collect her senses.
It was all so new and strange to her. Brought up in the plainest circumstances, the warmth and light and fragrance of this home seemed to her like fairyland.
And Nan and Patty, in their gay moods and their happy self-assuredness, seemed as if of a different race of beings from herself.
“But I’ll learn it,” she thought, with a determination which she had rarely felt and scarce knew she possessed. Her nature was one that needed a spur or help from another, and then she was ready to do her part, too.
But she could not take the initiative. And now, realising the disinterested kindness of these good people, her sense of gratitude made her resolve to meet their kindness with appreciation.
“Yes,” she said to herself, as she deftly dressed her hair in front of the mirror, “I’ll conquer this silly timidity if it kills me! I’ll take Patty Fairfield for a model, and I’ll acquire that very same ease and grace that she has.”
Christine was imitative by nature, and it seemed to her now that she could never feel stupidly embarrassed again.
But after Patty came to take her downstairs, and as they neared the drawing-room door, the foolish shyness all returned, and she was white and trembling as she crossed the hall.
“Brace up,” whispered Patty, understanding, “you’re looking lovely, Christine. Now be gay and chattery.”