Mrs. Frowde
(Confused)
Yes, but—my dear....
Patricia
And what have you heard about me? Let’s see if it is correct. My name? It isn’t my own. My real one wouldn’t look well on the advertising. Besides, my father hadn’t given me any reason to be proud of it. My mother may have been a good soul if I had ever really known her. I’ve always thought I was an unwanted child: I hate children so myself. But mother couldn’t have been the sort who’d drink with ease out of your frail tea-cups, and I’ll warrant no amount of coaching would have kept the veneer from peeling when she spoke. I grew up somehow among “beer and skittles,” as Trilby would say; didn’t know what pictures and teas and things were till I came East. And do you know how I came? He seemed so handsome, too, in those days.
Mrs. Frowde
(Moving uneasily as she sees a grim smile come to Miss Stannard)
But, dear, you were young and——
Patricia
Oh, I knew better; but I was bored—bored out there and I wanted a chance to live. We didn’t get along very well—he and I; partly my fault. He couldn’t be happy with a woman who also had a spark of creation tucked away in her soul. Then, besides, I had made up my mind I’d do something because I had to keep alive. I turned to the stage—most of us poor fools do. But I happened to have a way with me and a pair of shoulders that were proud of my face. (Sarcastically.) The critics called it personality. (Quickly) I wonder if you also know I lived in a five-dollar-a-week boarding-house with circus acrobats on the floor above, a sad soprano in a closet next to mine and a smell of cooking all over so I wouldn’t be lonely? (Almost unconsciously her voice at times betrays an unexpected commonness.) How I hated it! How I wanted these feathers and gilt! And every time I made up my face in that two-by-four part I had, I determined to succeed somehow—anyhow. I deserve every bit of success I’ve got, for I worked hard getting the burrs out of my speech and some grammar into it. (Mrs. Frowde moves uncomfortably again.) That’s the truth. People suspected I had a brain and I had; but I wasn’t wasting it on books—I was studying the hearts and souls of the sort of people I needed to get along. (With increasing relish at the effect of her revelations.) And I saw to succeed in my life I had to grow hard inside and soft out. So I affected my husky voice and my sad smile; sadness gave me a touch of mystery and encouraged curiosity. I knew I’d have to keep my face smooth, too; so I stopped feeling for others and thought only of myself. Suffering isn’t good for the complexion. But I helped everybody in convenient ways, because I knew I could make them help me in greater. And as I began to get along I went out more to teas and the like so I could meet the people I could use.