With her usual tact and cleverness, Nan managed the whole matter successfully. She wrote to the friends of Mr. Hepworth in the South who were interested in Miss Farley, and they persuaded the girl to go North for a week and see if she could see her way clear to staying there.

As it turned out, Miss Farley had some acquaintances in New York, and when their invitation was added to that of Mrs. Fairfield, she decided to make the trip.

Patty and Nan made ready for her with great care and kindness. A guest room was specially prepared for her use, and Patty adorned it with some of her own pet pictures, a few good casts, and certain bits of bric-à-brac that she thought would appeal to an “art student.”

“If Mr. Hepworth hadn’t said the girl had real talent I’d be hopeless of the whole thing,” said Nan, “for I do think the most futile sort of young woman is the one who dabbles in Art, with a big A.”

“Oh, Christine Farley isn’t that sort,” declared Patty. “I don’t believe she wears her hair tumbling down and a Byron collar with a big, black ribbon bow at her throat. I used to see that sort copying in the art galleries in Paris, and they are hopeless. But I imagine Miss Farley is a tidy little thing and her genius is too real for those near-art effects.”

“Well, then, I’ll put this photograph of the Hermes in here in place of this fiddle-de-dee Art Calendar. She’ll like it better.”

“Of course she will. And I’m going to put a pretty kimono and slippers in the wardrobe. Probably she won’t have pretty ones, and I know she’ll love ’em.”

“If you owned a white elephant, Patty, you’d get a kimono for it, wouldn’t you?”

“’Course I would. I love kimonos—pretty ones. And besides, it would fit an elephant better than a Directoire gown would.”

“Patty! What a goose you are! There, now the room looks lovely! The flowers are just right—not too many and just in the right places.”

“Yes,” agreed Patty; “if she doesn’t like this room I wash my hands of her. But she will.”

And she did. When the small, shy Southern girl arrived that afternoon, and Patty herself showed her up to her room, she seemed to respond at once to the warm cosiness of the place.

“It’s just such a room as I’ve often imagined, but I’ve never seen,” she said, smiling round upon the dainty, attractive appointments.

“You dear!” cried Patty, throwing her arms round her guest and kissing her.

When she had first met Christine downstairs she was embarrassed herself at the Southern girl’s painful shyness.

When Miss Farley had tried to speak words of greeting a lump came into her throat and she couldn’t speak at all.

To put her more at her ease Patty had led her at once upstairs, and now the presence of only warm-hearted Patty and the view of the welcoming room made her forget her embarrassment and seem more like her natural self.

“I cannot thank you,” she began. “I am a bit bewildered by it all.”

“Of course you are,” said Patty, cheerily. “Don’t bother about thanks. And don’t feel shy. Let’s pretend we’ve known each other for years—long enough to use first names. May I take your hat off, Christine?”

Tears sprang to Christine Farley’s eyes at this whole-souled welcome, and she said:

“You make me ashamed of my stupid shyness. Really I’ll try to overcome it—Patty.”

And soon the two girls were chatting cosily and veritably as if they had been acquainted a long time.

Presently Nan came in. “If you prefer, Miss Farley,” she said, “you needn’t come down to dinner to-night. I’ll have a tray sent up here. I know you’re tired with your journey.”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Fairfield; I’m not tired—and I think I’ll go down.”

The girl would have greatly preferred to accept the offer of dining in her own room, but she felt it her duty to conquer the absurd timidity which made her dread facing strangers at dinner.

“I’ll be glad if you will,” said Nan, simply. “Mr. Fairfield will like to welcome you, and Mr. Hepworth will be the only other guest. You are not afraid of him?”

“Oh, no,” said Christine, her face lighting up at thought of her kind friend. “He has been so good to me. His criticisms of my work helped me more than any of my teachers’.”

“Yes, he is an able artist and a man of true kindness and worth,” agreed Nan. “Very well, Miss Farley, we dine at seven.”

“Now, Nan,” began Patty, smiling, “that’s the wrong tone. We’re going to make this girlie feel homelike and comfortable and omit all formality. We’re going to call her by her first name, and we’re going to treat her as one of ourselves. Now you just revise that little speech of ‘We dine at seven, Miss Farley.’”

“All right,” said Nan, quickly catching Patty’s idea. “I’m glad to revise it. How’s this? Dinner’s at seven, Christine, but you hop into your clothes and come on down earlier.”

“That’s a lot better,” said Patty, approvingly patting her stepmother’s shoulder, while Christine Farley, who was all unaccustomed to this sort of raillery, looked on in admiration.

“You see,” she said, “I’ve only very plain clothes. I’m not at all familiar with the ways of society, or even of well-to-do people.”

“Oh, pooh!” said Patty, emphatically, if not very elegantly. “Don’t you bother about that in this house. Trot out your frocks and I’ll tell you what to put on.”

After some consideration she selected a frock of that peculiar shade known as “ashes of roses.” It was of soft merino and made very simply, with long, straight lines.

“Do you like that?” said Christine, looking pleased. “That’s my newest one, and I designed it myself. See, I wear this with it.”

She took from her box a dull silver girdle and chatelaine of antique, carved silver, and a comb for her hair of similar style.

“Lovely!” cried Patty. “Oh, you’re an artist, all right! Dress your hair low—in a soft coil; but of course you know how to do that. I’ll send Louise to hook you up, and I’ll come back for you when I’m dressed. Good-by for now.”

Waving her hand gaily, laughing Patty ran away to her own room, and Christine sank down in a big chair to collect her senses.

It was all so new and strange to her. Brought up in the plainest circumstances, the warmth and light and fragrance of this home seemed to her like fairyland.

And Nan and Patty, in their gay moods and their happy self-assuredness, seemed as if of a different race of beings from herself.

“But I’ll learn it,” she thought, with a determination which she had rarely felt and scarce knew she possessed. Her nature was one that needed a spur or help from another, and then she was ready to do her part, too.

But she could not take the initiative. And now, realising the disinterested kindness of these good people, her sense of gratitude made her resolve to meet their kindness with appreciation.

“Yes,” she said to herself, as she deftly dressed her hair in front of the mirror, “I’ll conquer this silly timidity if it kills me! I’ll take Patty Fairfield for a model, and I’ll acquire that very same ease and grace that she has.”

Christine was imitative by nature, and it seemed to her now that she could never feel stupidly embarrassed again.

But after Patty came to take her downstairs, and as they neared the drawing-room door, the foolish shyness all returned, and she was white and trembling as she crossed the hall.

“Brace up,” whispered Patty, understanding, “you’re looking lovely, Christine. Now be gay and chattery.”

“Chattery,” indeed! Her tongue seemed paralysed, her very neck felt strained and stiff, and she stumbled over the rug in her effort to stop trembling. In her own room, alone with Patty and Nan, she had overcome this, but now, in the brilliantly lighted drawing-room and the presence of other people, the terrible timidity returned, and Christine made a most unsuccessful entrance.

But Mr. Fairfield ignored the girl’s embarrassment, and said, cordially but quietly: “How do you do, Miss Farley? I am very glad to welcome you here.”

His kind handclasp reassured her even more than his pleasant words, and then Mr. Hepworth greeted her.

“You did well to come,” he said. “I am glad to see you in New York at last.”

But Christine couldn’t recover herself, and so, as the kindest thing to do, the rest rather let her alone and chatted on other subjects.

Gradually she grew less agitated, and as their merry chit-chat waxed gay and frivolous, her determination returned, that she, too, would acquire this accomplishment.

Then dinner was announced, and, though outwardly calm, the Southern girl was inwardly in great trepidation lest she commit some ignorant error in etiquette.

But she was of gentle birth and breeding, and innately refined, so she knew intuitively regarding all points, save perhaps some modern trifles of conventional usage.

Nan, who was watching her, though unobserved, led the conversation around to subjects in which Christine might be likely to be interested, and was rewarded at last by seeing the girl’s face light up with an enjoyment unmarred by self-consciousness.

Gradually she was induced to take some part in their talk, and once she told an anecdote of her own experience without seeming aware of her unusual surroundings.

“She’ll do,” thought Patty. “It isn’t ignorance or inexperience that’s the greatest trouble; it’s just ingrowing shyness, and she’s got to get over it; I’ll see that she does, too!”

Mr. Hepworth read Patty’s unspoken thoughts in her eyes and nodded approval.

Patty nodded back with a dimpling smile, and Christine, seeing it, vowed afresh to gain the ability to do that sort of thing herself.

For all Southern girls have a touch of the coquette in their natures, but poor Christine’s was nearly choked out by the weeds of timidity and self-consciousness.

After dinner it was easier. They went to the cosy library, and the atmosphere seemed more informal.

Mr. Hepworth brought up the subject of Miss Farley’s work, and she was persuaded to fetch some sketches to show them.

Though not able to appreciate the fine points of promise as Mr. Hepworth did, they were all greatly pleased with them, and Mr. Fairfield declared them wonderful.

In her own field Christine was fearless and quite sure of herself.

She talked intelligently about pictures, and many pleasant plans were made for taking her to see several collections then on exhibition, as well as to the Metropolitan and other art galleries.

Nan and Patty exchanged pleased glances as Christine talked eagerly, and with shining eyes and pink cheeks, about her own aims and ambitions.

Mr. Hepworth was responsive, and advised her on some minor points, but the great question of her art education in New York was not touched upon that first evening.

Christine had grown almost gay in her chatter, when Kenneth was announced. Like a sensitive plant at a human touch, she lost all her poise, her face turned white, and her lips quivered as she braced herself for the ordeal of meeting a stranger.

“Oh!” thought Patty, almost disgusted at this foolishness, “she is the limit!”

But Nan appreciated more truly the real state of the case, and knew that Christine had borne just about all she could, and that owing to physical fatigue and mental strain her nerves were just about ready to give way.

“How do you do, Kenneth?” said Nan, airily. “Too bad you didn’t come earlier. I am just taking our little guest away from this admiring crowd, who are tiring her all out with their admiration. She may just say ‘howdy’ to you, and then I’m going to carry her off. Miss Farley, this is our Kenneth—Mr. Harper.”

Stimulated by Nan’s support and by the sudden chance for release, Christine managed to acknowledge the introduction prettily enough, and then gladly let Nan take her upstairs to bed.

“I’m sorry I’m so horrid,” said the girl, as Nan helped her take off her gown.

“Nonsense!” replied Nan, cheerily. “You weren’t horrid a bit. You looked lovely and behaved like a little lady. Your nerves are overwrought, and I don’t wonder. Just tumble into bed, dearie, and forget everything in all the world, except that you’re among warm friends.”

Nan had most comforting ways, and soon Christine forgot her troubles in a happy sleep.

Meantime, Kenneth was admiring her sketches. “Whew!” he said, “she’s a genius all right. But such a shy little mouse never can succeed as an artist.”

“Yes, she will!” declared Patty. “Her shyness will wear off in New York. I’m going to eradicate it from her make-up somehow, and then we’re going to make a famous artist of her.”

“You can be a great help to her, Patty,” said Mr. Hepworth. “If any one makes Christine think she can do things, she can do them.”

“Yes, I see that already,” agreed Patty, “and I’m going to be the one to make her think she can do them.”

“Huh!” teased Kenneth. “You think you can make anybody think they think anything!”

“Sure!” said Patty, complacently.

“Well, don’t teach Miss Farley to talk slang,” said Mr. Fairfield, laughing, “for it would be too incongruous with that Madonna face of hers.”

“She is like a Madonna, isn’t she?” said Patty, thoughtfully. “I’ve been trying to think what her face reminded me of.”

“Yes, she is,” said Mr. Hepworth, “and as I feel pretty sure you can’t teach her to use slang, why don’t you take this occasion to discontinue the use of it yourself?”

“Can’t do it,” returned Patty. “There are times in my mad career when nothing expresses what I want to say so well as a mild bit of slang. I never say anything very dreadful.”

“Of course you don’t,” declared Kenneth, who loved to take Patty’s part against Mr. Hepworth. “Why, you wouldn’t be ‘Our Patty’ if you used only dictionary English. All the slang Miss Farley gets from you will do her good rather than harm. She needs it in her make-up.”

“I agree with the spirit of that, if not the letter,” said Mr. Hepworth, kindly; and Patty said:

“Yes, she needs to be jollied; and, you take it from me, she’s going to get jollied!”

CHAPTER XX
A SATISFACTORY CONCLUSION

As Nan had surmised, Christine was worn out by her day of fatigue and excitement, and the next morning found her possessed of better mental poise and a more placid manner.

And as more days went by the girl improved greatly in demeanour and bearing, and lost, to a great degree, her look of startled fear and painful self-consciousness. Of course this was not accomplished completely, or all at once, but helped by the kind gentleness of Nan and affectionate chaffing of Patty, Christine grew more accustomed to the pleasant social atmosphere into which she had been so suddenly thrown.

They visited picture galleries and went to the shops, and went driving and motoring, and though Christine could not be persuaded to go to afternoon teas, or to formal luncheons, yet she enjoyed the pleasures she had and grew every day more at her ease in society.

Her own determination helped her greatly. She purposed to yet become as unaffected and un-self-conscious as Patty, and, though she knew she could never acquire Patty’s inborn gaiety of spirit, she resolved to come as near to it as she could with her naturally quiet disposition.

The two girls became fast friends, and, after a few days, Patty ventured to broach the subject of Christine’s career.

To her surprise, Christine was quite ready to talk about it, and asked Patty’s advice as to ways and means.

“I’ve already learned,” she said, “that I have some talent and that I need the instruction and experience that I can get here and cannot get at home. When I once make up my mind to a thing I spare no effort to achieve it, and now I’m determined to get an art education by some manner or means!”

“Hooray for you!” cried Patty, for Christine’s cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled with the force of her speech. “That’s the way to talk! Christine, you do me proud! Now, go on; what have you in mind? Tell your Aunt Patty all about it.”

Christine smiled at Patty’s funny little ways, but she went on bravely:

“I want to stay in New York for a year, at least. I’m afraid of it—desperately so. The very sound of the traffic scares me out of my wits. But I’m going to conquer that, and I’m going to conquer my shyness and timidity and all the foolish things that stand in my way.”

“That’s the ticket!” cried Patty, clapping her hands. “Good old Christine! Go in and win!”

“Wait a bit, Patty. That’s all very well so far as determination and will are concerned. And I can do it. My will is strong, and I know I’m started now on the right track. But—there are many hard facts to face. There’s a sordid side to the question that can’t be solved by will-power and determination. Mr. Hepworth thinks I can get a scholarship practically without cost; but, in addition to that, I have to pay my board, you know, and I have very little money. My dear old father can send me a small allowance, but we are a large family, and he is not rich. So I want to know if you think I could earn enough by some work outside my classes to pay my board—say, about fifteen dollars a week. Do you?”

Patty couldn’t help it. This question from Christine was too much!

She was sitting on a couch, and she put her head down into a big, soft pillow, and shook with laughter. Did she think a girl could earn fifteen dollars a week? Did she, indeed? With a strange sound between a gurgle and a choke, she ran out of the room.

Not for worlds would she have Christine think she was laughing at her, so in a moment she had straightened her grinning face, smothered her giggles, and returned, saying:

“Excuse me, please; I had a sudden choking spell. What were you saying?”

“You poor dear! Mayn’t I get you a glass of water?”

“No, thanks; I’m all right now. As to your question—no, Christine, I do not think you could earn fifteen dollars a week! No, nor fifteen cents a week, while you’re occupied with your lessons.”

Christine looked aghast. “Oh, Patty!” she said. “Then what am I to do? I thought you’d say, yes, I could earn that sum easily.”

Again Patty wanted to laugh. A month ago she would have said that very thing.

“Christine,” she said, gently, “listen to me. We Fairfields and Mr. Hepworth all take an interest in you and in your career. We all feel sure you will yet be a great artist. Of course, our belief is founded on Mr. Hepworth’s assertions, but we know he is capable of judging. Now you must have that year of study, and by that time Mr. Hepworth feels sure you can earn quite a lot of money by illustrating, and whatever he thinks goes!”

“Well,” said Christine, as Patty paused, uncertain how to proceed.

“Well, you see,” went on Patty, suddenly deciding that the plain, outspoken facts were best, “father has offered to pay your board for a year at some nice, pleasant boarding-house, and–Mercy! What’s the matter?”

For Christine had turned first a blazing, fiery red, and then as white as chalk, and seemed about to tumble off her chair.

“Brace up there!” cried Patty, shaking her by the shoulder. “Don’t you faint or do anything silly! I take it all back. Father wouldn’t do such a thing!”

“You misunderstand!” said Christine, smiling faintly through now rapidly falling tears. “I almost fainted from sheer gladness.”

“Oh! I thought you were angry and offended and insulted and mad as hops, and everything like that!”

“Oh, no!” cried the other. “Why, Patty, it isn’t charity; it’s great, big, splendid kindness, and it’s just a loan, you understand. I can pay it back in a couple of years after I once begin to earn money. Patty, you don’t know how sure I am of my own ability now that I understand my limitations. I can’t explain it, but I see success ahead as surely as I see the blue sky out of that window!”

Christine gazed out of the window with rapt eyes, as if she saw visions of the fame and glory that were yet to be her portion.

“You duck!” cried Patty, embracing her. “You’re just splendiferous! That’s the loveliest way you could have taken father’s offer. He is great, big, splendid kindness personified, and I’m so glad you see it.”

That evening Mr. Fairfield ratified Patty’s statements and definitely offered to pay Christine’s board bills for a year.

To Patty’s surprise, Christine showed no shyness or agitation as she answered him.

Only Nan understood that the girl’s gratitude was too real and too deep for any troublesome self-consciousness to disturb it.

“Mr. Fairfield,” she said, “I accept your offer with unspeakable thankfulness. It means my whole career, and I assure you I shall reach my goal. Of course, it is a financial loan, but after a year I shall be in a position to begin to pay it back, and it shall be promptly paid. Do not think I have unfounded faith in my success. I know what I already possess, and what more I need, and though my progress to fame may be slow, and take many long years, yet after a year’s tuition I shall be able to command a comfortable income in return for my work.”

Christine’s eyes shone with earnestness and steadfast purpose, and her face seemed to be fairly transfigured. Hers was no idle boasting. It was clear to be seen she spoke from a positive knowledge of herself, and indeed she only corroborated what Mr. Hepworth had said of her.

“Put it that way if you like,” said Mr. Fairfield, kindly; “we need not talk now about repayment. Just go ahead and find a cosy, pleasant abiding-place, and then, ho, for brushes and mahl-stick! And hurrah for our artist!”

So genial were his words and manner that Christine caught his spirit of vivacity, and responded:

“Hurrah for the Fairfields!”

So it was all settled, and Mr. Hepworth was more than delighted when he learned all about it.

Patty gave a little afternoon tea for Christine the last day of her stay, and though Christine would have greatly preferred not to be present, she yielded to Patty’s entreaties and did her best to overcome her shyness and be a satisfactory “guest of honour.”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” said Roger to Patty, as they stood looking at Christine while the tea was in progress.

“Yes,” said Patty, “when she is talking to her own sort of people. See, those are really big artists, and she isn’t a bit afraid or embarrassed. But put some society girls near her and she crumples all up.”

“She’ll get over it,” said Roger; “and I say, Patty, you did a big thing getting her here. For of course it’s all due to you and your plucky perseverance in that foolish scheme of earning your living.”

“Huh! it wasn’t foolish since it succeeded,” said Patty, airily.

“Well, the success isn’t foolish, but your first attempts were.”

“I don’t care; it was good experience. I learned a lot, and I’m not sorry for my part of it.”

“Not even the part that made you acquainted with me?” said a merry voice, and Patty turned to see Philip Van Reypen holding out a hand in greeting.

“No!” cried Patty, as she cordially shook hands with the young man. “No, especially not sorry for that part—for that was the Success!”

“I don’t want to be over-confident,” returned Philip, gaily, “but that sounds as if meeting me were the success!”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” said Patty, smiling and dimpling, “but it remains to be seen. Perhaps we can make that a success also.”

“Do let us try!” said Philip.