"And I didn't mean to doubt your word, but I thought you might think that your mother--or stepmother, didn't count."

"No, I haven't shown them to any one. But I wish you weren't so sensitive about your beautiful work."

"I wish so, too," and Blaney sighed. "But it's the penalty of----"

"Of genius, why not say it?"

"Yes, why not say it? I'm glad you recognise the beauty of truth spoken in defiance of conventional modesty."

"Oh, yes, I do think if one is talented, it is silly to deny it."

"It is. That is why our people are so frankly sane and honest about their own achievements----"

"And yet, you're so modest,--I mayn't show your verses!"

"That's a different matter. You know those were for your eyes alone."

"I know. I will keep them for myself."

The Studio of the Blaneys in the city was much like the one Patty had seen at Lakewood, only a little more elaborately bizarre. The Moorish lamps were bigger and dustier: the thick brocade draperies a little more faded and tattered; the furniture a little more gilded and wobbly.

Alla came gliding to greet Patty, and gave her an enthusiastic welcome.

"You darling!" she cried, "you _very_ darling! Look at her, everybody!

Look! Gloat over this bit of perfect perfection! Did you ever _see_ anything so wonderful?"

Alla had led Patty to the middle of the room, and she now turned her round and round, like a dressmaker exhibiting a model.

Patty felt no embarra.s.sment, for the people all about accepted the exhibition as a matter of course, and gazed at her in smiling approbation. Moreover, all the guests were dressed as unconventionally as Patty, and even more so. There were more queer costumes than she had seen at the Lakewood party, more weird effects of hairdressing and more eccentric posing and posturing. The New York branch of these Bohemians were evidently farther advanced in their cult than the others she had seen.

A little bewildered, Patty allowed herself to be ensconced on a crimson and gold Davenport, and listened to a rattle of conversation that was partly intelligible, and partly, it seemed to her, absolute nonsense.

"I am exploiting this gem," Alla announced, indicating Patty herself as the "gem." "She hasn't quite found herself yet,--but she will soon command the range of the whole emotional spectrum! She is a wonder!

Her soul is stuffed to bursting with dynamic force! We must train her, educate her, show her, gently guide her dancing feet in the paths of beauty,--in the star-strewn paths of cosmic beauty."

"We will!" shouted a dozen voices. "What can she do?"

"Dance," replied Alla. "But such dancing! She is a will-o'-the-wisp, a pixie, a thistledown, a b.u.t.terfly!"

"All those and more," said Sam Blaney. "She is a velvet angel, a rose-coloured leaf in the wind, a fluttering scarf end."

"What imagery!" murmured somebody, and some one else said, "Inspiration!" in an awed tone.

"And now to work," urged Alla. "We must plan for our holiday party.

Shall we have it here?"

"Here, of course," she was answered.

"But others of you have larger homes, more pretentious dwellings----"

"But not the atmosphere. This Studio,--" it was a large-eyed young musician talking, "this hallowed room has more elevating tendency,--more inspiring atmosphere than any other. Let us meet here by all means, and let us have such a program--such a feast of glories as never before."

Then another man spoke. He was a tall young chap, with a good-natured smile, and Patty liked his face.

"I am an artist," he announced, "and a rattling good artist. I haven't yet achieved my ultimate recognition, but it will come,--it must come.

I, therefore, I will undertake the task,--the ineffably joyous task of designing,--of inventing a dance for Miss Fairfield."

"Do, Grantham," cried Blaney. "No one could do it better. Dream out a scheme, a picture plan that will be worthy of our little Terpsich.o.r.e.

A dance that shall be a whirlwind of violets,--a tornado of lilting veils."

"Veils!" cried Grantham, "that's the keynote! A Dance of the Year,--a mad gyration of Time,--of Time, himself, translated into thistledown,--into scented thistledown."

"Bravo!" "Glorious!"

Other praises were shouted, and the place was like a pandemonium.

Patty began to realise the Bohemians were a boisterous lot. She clapped her hands over her ears in smiling dismay.

"Quiet!" said Blaney, in his low, exquisite tones, and in an instant the room was almost silent.

Committees were appointed to take charge of the Christmas celebration, and then the program began.

It was long, and, to Patty, a bit uninteresting. She tried hard to understand the queer things they read or recited, but it seemed to her a continuous repet.i.tion of sound without sense. She was willing to admit her own stupidity, and noting the rapt expressions on the faces round her, she concluded the lack was in herself. The music, too, though strange and eccentric, didn't seem to her as worth while as it had done before, though it was decidedly similar. Blaney read some of his poems, to a zithern accompaniment, but they weren't very impressive, and not nearly so poetic as the lines he had written for her. She wondered if she had really inspired him to greater heights of song than he could attain without her influence.

He had a.s.sured her of this, and she began to think it might be so.

The supper followed the program. This was not enjoyed by Patty.

Usually, after a dance or concert, she was hungry for some light refreshment, but in this incense-laden, smoke-heavy atmosphere, she felt no desire to eat, and had she done so, she could not have relished the viands. For they were of highly-spiced and foreign-flavoured sorts, and their princ.i.p.al ingredients were smoked fish, pungent sauces, and strong cheese, all of which Patty detested. Moreover, the service was far from dainty. The heavy china, thick gla.s.s, and battered, unreal silver detracted still further from the appetising effects of the feast.

But everybody was so genuinely distressed at Patty's lack of appet.i.te and made such to-do about it, that she forced herself to eat, and even essayed a cup of their muddy, syrupy coffee.

And she enjoyed herself. She absorbed much of their jargon and stored it up in her brain for future use. She unconsciously adapted herself to their mannerisms and whimsical enthusiasm, and when she went home everybody praised her and declared her one of them and the best of them.

"By far the best," said Blaney, as he tucked her into the Fairfield limousine which, with an accompanying maid, had been sent for her.

"And may I call soon, and reiterate this,--in better and longer lines?"

"Yes, do," said Patty. "I'd love to have you."

Nan was waiting up for her.

"Well, I've seen your new friend?" she said, as Patty flung off her wrap and stood for a moment by the library table.

"Yep," said Patty, smiling, "and sumpum tells me, Nan, that you're going to be disagreeable or disapproving or disappointed or dis--something or other about him. And I beg of you to don't,--at least until I get a bite of supper. I couldn't eat their old delicatessen shop stuff, and I want a decent sandwich and a gla.s.s of milk,--so I do."

"Why, you poor child! I'll get it for you. Cook has gone to bed, but I'll forage in the pantry."

"Do, that's a fairy stepmother. Bring some fruit, too, please."