"I think not, thank you," returned that young lady amiably. "I usually order by phone, you know. One is sure of getting what one wants then."
Patricia felt a bit uncomfortable at this untactful speech, but Constance merely laughed and nodded back over her shoulder at the indifferent Rosamond.
"That's the difference between us, Lady Rosamond," she smiled. "You are so sure of getting what you want, while I am always trying to make up my mind what it is I want. Sometimes I simply ache for prunes and ice cream cones, and other times I hanker after caviar."
Rosamond smiled indulgently, but after Patricia had returned from her dinner and her own dainty tray had been sent down, she said in a slow thoughtful way, "Constance Fellows is an absurd creature at times. I wonder what she meant by caviar?"
Patricia was often surprised by the lack of penetration on the part of her admired friend, and she said without hesitation, "Why, I supposed she meant living with her aunt. Shabby frocks and peanuts mean the other side of it."
"Do you think so?" insisted Rosamond. "I fancied she was joking about the prunes and cones, but of course there's no accounting for Constance. I'm glad she has my panels finished, for I have a feeling that she isn't too dependable, after all. I wonder what she is phoning to Mrs. Blakely for? I thought they were not on good terms."
"Oh, they're quite good friends," said Patricia, as she lighted her gold-shaded lamp. "Constance told me that her aunt often came to see her at the school, though she won't step foot in Artemis Lodge, because she vowed never to countenance Constance in her desire to live like a savage," Patricia giggled with enjoyment. "She seems to think we're a bit too primitive for her here."
"Indeed! I'd like Miss Ardsley to hear that," frowned Rosamond. "Mrs. Blakely should remember that though there are some poor art students here, there are quite enough of a better class to give tone to the place."
Patricia adjusted the shade and then smiled over it at her perturbed room-mate. "But you can't deny that, according to her estimate, we are Bohemian," she said gayly. "She declares that any place is Bohemian where they give parties in their sitting rooms and wash the dishes in the bathrooms."
Rosamond shrugged her shoulders quite impatiently. "Bother Mrs. Blakely," she said in the most downright way she had ever spoken before Patricia. "I'm going to bed."