Before five o’clock, she had to turn on the electric lights, and then, to her dismay, the tints of the silks changed, and she couldn’t tell yellow from pink; or green from gray.
“Well,” she thought, “I’ll work the bow-knots. They’re of one solid colour, and it’s straight sailing.”
Straight sailing it was,—but very tedious. An untrue stitch spoiled the smooth continuance of the embroidery that was to represent tied ribbon bows. An untrue stitch—and she made several—had to be picked out and done over, and this often meant frayed silk, or an unsightly needle hole in the linen.
Long before Patty thought it was time, the dressing-gong for dinner sounded.
She jumped, greatly surprised at the flight of time, but also relieved, that now she must lay aside her work. She longed to throw herself down on her couch and rest, but there was no time for that.
However, after she bathed and dressed, she felt refreshed, and it was a bright, merry-faced Patty who danced downstairs to greet her father.
If he thought her cheeks unusually pink, or her eyes nervously bright, he made no allusion to it.
“Well, Puss, how goes the ‘occupation’?” he said, patting her shoulder.
“It’s progressing, father,” she replied, “but if you’d just as leave, we won’t talk about it to-night. I’ll tell you all about it, after I finish it.”
“All right, Pattykins; we business people never like to ‘talk shop.’”