Had it been only one centrepiece, and had she not felt hurried, it would have been a happy outlook.
But as she carefully matched the shades of silk to the sample piece, she found that it took a great deal of time to get the tints exactly right.
“But that’s only for the first one,” she thought hopefully; “for all the others, I shall know just which silks to use. I’ll lay them in order, so there’ll be no doubt about it.”
Her habits of method and system stood her in good stead now, and her skeins, carefully marked, were laid in order on her little work-table.
But though her fingers fairly flew, the pattern progressed slowly. She even allowed herself to leave long stitches on the wrong side,—a thing she never did in her own embroidery. She tried to do all the petals of one tint at once, to avoid delay of changing the silks. She used every effort to make “her head save her hands,” but the result was that both head and hands became heated and nervous.
“This won’t do,” she said to herself, as the silk frazzled between her trembling fingers. “If I get nervous, I’ll never accomplish anything!”
She forced herself to be calm, and to move more slowly, but the mental strain of hurry, and the physical strain of eyes and muscles, made her jerky, and the stitches began to be less true and correct.
“I’ll be sensible,” she thought; “I’ll take ten minutes off and relax.”
She went downstairs, singing, and trying to assume a careless demeanour.
Going into Nan’s sitting-room, she said: