Mr. Hepworth was responsive, and advised her on some minor points, but the great question of her art education in New York was not touched upon that first evening.
Christine had grown almost gay in her chatter, when Kenneth was announced. Like a sensitive plant at a human touch, she lost all her poise, her face turned white, and her lips quivered as she braced herself for the ordeal of meeting a stranger.
“Oh!” thought Patty, almost disgusted at this foolishness, “she is the limit!”
But Nan appreciated more truly the real state of the case, and knew that Christine had borne just about all she could, and that owing to physical fatigue and mental strain her nerves were just about ready to give way.
“How do you do, Kenneth?” said Nan, airily. “Too bad you didn’t come earlier. I am just taking our little guest away from this admiring crowd, who are tiring her all out with their admiration. She may just say ‘howdy’ to you, and then I’m going to carry her off. Miss Farley, this is our Kenneth—Mr. Harper.”
Stimulated by Nan’s support and by the sudden chance for release, Christine managed to acknowledge the introduction prettily enough, and then gladly let Nan take her upstairs to bed.
“I’m sorry I’m so horrid,” said the girl, as Nan helped her take off her gown.
“Nonsense!” replied Nan, cheerily. “You weren’t horrid a bit. You looked lovely and behaved like a little lady. Your nerves are overwrought, and I don’t wonder. Just tumble into bed, dearie, and forget everything in all the world, except that you’re among warm friends.”
Nan had most comforting ways, and soon Christine forgot her troubles in a happy sleep.
Meantime, Kenneth was admiring her sketches. “Whew!” he said, “she’s a genius all right. But such a shy little mouse never can succeed as an artist.”