She had come in from her visit to the Academy, where she had interviewed the model with a thoroughness that left little of her past unexplored, and her face was sad and thoughtful as she stood pulling off her gloves, finger by finger, by the big side window in the studio.
Mrs. Shelly went on with her knitting, but Patricia, who was mending a long rent in her best blouse, looked up with eager interest.
"Did you have a chance to talk to her much?" she asked, snapping off her thread in her absorption. "What is she really like? Does she remember Rockham? And does she know we have the old place?"
Miss Jinny chuckled and then grew grave and thoughtful.
"I guess she wouldn't last much longer at this business," she said, smoothing the creases out of the glove fingers. "She's got a pinched look and her cheeks are mighty pink. No, it ain't paint; I asked right out, and she answered just as nice as could be. She seems tired, poor girl, and mortally glad to have some one take an interest. She says the class rooms are so hot, and the change from living in eighty degrees to sixty-five, like it is in her room, has made her downright sick part of the time."
"It must be hard on her," acquiesced Patricia. "Why didn't she get something else to do?"
"Couldn't," said Miss Jinny, briefly. "A girl without friends or money hasn't much show in a big town. I'm going to take charge of that girl, Patricia."
Patricia felt a thrill of alarm.
"You aren't going to bring her here?" she queried, a faint flush of shame at the selfishness of her speech creeping into her cheeks.
"Certainly not," said Miss Jinny crisply. "I'm merely a guest here. I'm going to do something more practical, and I want you to help me, if you can stop being jealous of the poor girl, for——"