Christine’s eyes shone with earnestness and steadfast purpose, and her face seemed to be fairly transfigured. Hers was no idle boasting. It was clear to be seen she spoke from a positive knowledge of herself, and indeed she only corroborated what Mr. Hepworth had said of her.
“Put it that way if you like,” said Mr. Fairfield, kindly; “we need not talk now about repayment. Just go ahead and find a cosy, pleasant abiding-place, and then, ho, for brushes and mahl-stick! And hurrah for our artist!”
So genial were his words and manner that Christine caught his spirit of vivacity, and responded:
So it was all settled, and Mr. Hepworth was more than delighted when he learned all about it.
Patty gave a little afternoon tea for Christine the last day of her stay, and though Christine would have greatly preferred not to be present, she yielded to Patty’s entreaties and did her best to overcome her shyness and be a satisfactory “guest of honour.”
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” said Roger to Patty, as they stood looking at Christine while the tea was in progress.
“Yes,” said Patty, “when she is talking to her own sort of people. See, those are really big artists, and she isn’t a bit afraid or embarrassed. But put some society girls near her and she crumples all up.”
“She’ll get over it,” said Roger; “and I say, Patty, you did a big thing getting her here. For of course it’s all due to you and your plucky perseverance in that foolish scheme of earning your living.”
“Huh! it wasn’t foolish since it succeeded,” said Patty, airily.