The next few weeks sped pleasantly for Patricia.

Rosamond Merton was an ideal room-mate. She never intruded on Patricia's privacy, nor withdrew unsociably when Patricia felt inclined for chat. She allowed Patricia to make her own hours for use of the fine piano in her sitting-room and was patient under the many changes which the despotic Tancredi inflicted on the submissive Patricia, shifting her own practicing with such delicate tact that her fellow student scarcely realized her sacrifices.

"She's perfectly wonderful, Norn," declared Patricia, standing at the studio window one Sunday night about the middle of February. "She never gets cross or fussed like I do, and she is always so beautifully dressed. I am sometimes quite ashamed of my plain self when we are going about together. I do look awfully little-girly and prim in most of my clothes. I wish I were more ornamental," she ended with a tiny apologetic frown.

Judith looked at Elinor and nodded. "I knew it," she said. "I knew Miss Pat would be getting spoiled by spending all her time with such a showy person."

Patricia laughed a short, annoyed laugh. "Nonsense, Judy. I'm not a bit different. I only wish I didn't have to put all my patrimony into Madame Tancredi's pocket. I hate to go about with Rosamond, looking like her maid. I've worn that same suit to every place we've gone and I believe people think I sleep in it now."

Elinor looked slightly troubled. "If you'd only let us get you a new frock——" she began.

Patricia cut her short. "Hardly," she said emphatically. "I've told you all along that I wouldn't sponge on any of you. It's bad enough to take so much from dear old Ted. No, I'll go on exactly as I planned, and I won't get a single new thing until spring."

This virtuous declaration did not seem to stimulate her as it should have done, for she added, rather dolefully for her, "I wish I were like Constance Fellows or Ethel Walters. They never seem to mind being shabby."

"You can scarcely call yourself shabby—and I'm sure Constance loves beautiful things," said Elinor with gentle firmness. "You couldn't look at her work and not realize how she gloried in color and form."

Judith wagged her head wisely. "Perhaps she can stand doing without pretty things for herself," she suggested, "because she can put so much of it into her work."

This thoughtful sifting for motives was so like Judith that Patricia forgot her grievances in an amused laugh. "Good for you, Judy-pudy," she cried, flinging an arm about her small sister. "There's a hint for me, is it? I'll try to take it, Miss Minerva, and if you hear that my exercises are growing too frilly for Tancredi's taste you'll know the reason why."

Judith was not at all discomposed by her light-minded raillery. "I should think it would be a very good thing for you to try, Miss Pat," she said sedately. "Clothes go out of fashion so dreadfully soon nowadays and the singing exercises will last most of your life."

Patricia watched her leave the room to arrange the materials for the salad dressing—Bruce always made the dressing on Sunday nights—and she smiled at Elinor in a very tender fashion.

"Judy is a wonder," she confessed. "She has a mind of her own. I wonder why she's taken such an aversion to Rosamond lately? She never misses a chance to undermine her. Not openly, you know, but in a quiet way. I've noticed it ever since Doris Leighton came back and we had the spread that evening in her room."

"Judith couldn't have gotten it from Doris," said Elinor positively. "I heard all that Doris said about Miss Merton, and it was rather nice. I think you must be over-sensitive, Miss Pat. Judith has been at the Lodge several times since then and she may have been talking with someone who is envious of your Rosamond. She isn't as popular as she might be, you know."

"Of course, she isn't," exclaimed Patricia, on the defensive at once. "She doesn't choose to hobnob with everyone, and so they say she's stuck up, and ultra, and exclusive. If she were as much of a snob as they say, she certainly wouldn't have chosen to take me in."

Judith had returned, carrying the salad in its green bowl. She held it precisely between her slender, pale hands as she stood still to confute this heresy.

"You know perfectly well, Miss Pat, that there isn't a prettier girl in the musical set in Artemis Lodge," she declared with a touch of wrath in her calm tones. "You are related to a famous artist, and you have Madame Milano for a friend. Miss Merton wouldn't look at you, either, if you didn't have nice clothes and good manners, besides being very well-born indeed, as she certainly knows."

With this blast delivered, Judith set the salad-bowl carefully down on the table and left the room, her head high and her mane tossing.

Patricia, instead of being amused this time, looked annoyed. "Judy's getting spoiled, Elinor," she said, turning away to ramble idly about the room. "She's as conceited a young imp as I know. These stories of hers have about turned her head. I wish you'd tell her for me that she must behave properly to Rosamond, or she'll have to stay away from the Lodge. I won't have her putting on her superior airs and looking mysterious over nothing with me."

Elinor sighed over this change in the sunny Patricia, but only said with a regretful glance at the discontented droop of her sister's golden head:

"Judith's fancies are sometimes short-lived, my dear. I shouldn't notice this one if I were you." And then to make a diversion she asked how the lessons were coming on.

Patricia brightened at once. "I believe I'm doing pretty well," she said hopefully. "Madame hardly says a word to me now, but she nods her head a good deal. And she's letting me take some new exercises already."

"That looks promising," began Elinor, pleased to have turned the current toward happier channels. "That is the best news——"

Here the door opened and Bruce, who had been out, came in. "Hullo, all alone?" he said, with some surprise. "I thought Constance Fellows was coming tonight. What's up? She's not ill, is she? There's a lot of grippe going about just now, I hear."

Elinor explained that so far as they knew Constance was not affected by the impending epidemic. "Miss Pat forgot to ask her in time," she said. "And so she made an engagement with one of the girls, that is all, Bruce. Are you going to make the salad in here? Judith has it all ready for you."

"Just as soon as I shed my skin," returned Bruce gayly, throwing his great-coat on the divan, with his hat and gloves. "I tell you, it's fine weather—this. The stars are snapping and the moon-crescent is like silver. It makes one glad to be alive."

Patricia, with her disquiet mood still hovering about her, came over to the table to watch him begin operations. She always liked to see Bruce mix the dressing and make the salad, and tonight his strong cheerfulness seemed particularly good to her.

"I'm sorry I forgot about Constance, Bruce," she said, as he uncorked the oil bottle. "I had two concerts with Rosamond and the music was so perfectly heavenly that I didn't get back to earth until it was too late to get her for tonight. I'll bring her over next week."

"Right-o," said Bruce genially. "We're all strong for Constance, you know. Besides being a paint slinger of promise, she's the straight goods. See as much of her as you can, little sister, for she's the sort that true friends are made of."

Patricia really liked Constance immensely and had it not been for the overshadowing Rosamond, would have chosen her for the close intimacy for which Constance had shown she was quite ready and willing. But she had a feeling that in so praising Constance, Bruce was neglecting Rosamond, and she said rather petulantly:

"I can't be always looking her up, Bruce. You know she's busy and out of the house most of the time. It would be different if she were studying with Tancredi like Rosamond."

Bruce opened his eyes at this unusual peevishness on Patricia's part, but he went on mixing his ingredients without comment, while Elinor, who had been bringing in the rest of the picnic supper, flitted about, straightening the room preparatory to lighting the candles for the feast.

As she picked up Bruce's overcoat from the divan, some letters fell out of the pockets, scattering over the floor. She stooped to collect them, and gave an exclamation of surprise.

"Bruce Hayden, when did these come?" she asked, sorting the letters rapidly into little piles on the table at his elbow.

Bruce regarded the envelopes with undisguised astonishment, and then he broke into a guilty grin.

"Oh, thunder, I must have forgotten them!" he cried. "How in creation did you unearth them?"

Elinor explained, while Patricia eagerly seized on one addressed to her in Bruce's care and began to tear it open.

"It's from Madame Milano!" she cried excitedly. "Oh, Elinor, she's inviting me to her afternoon reception today, and it's hours and hours too late."

Bruce looked crestfallen. "But is Milano in town?" he argued. "She isn't singing till Tuesday night, you know——"

Patricia thrust the sheet before him. "See for yourself," she said. "It says the seventeenth, doesn't it? Look, Elinor, what a big sprawling hand she writes."

Bruce shook his head dolefully over the clearly written date. "It's today, all right," he admitted ruefully. "You've lost a jolly fine chance of seeing opera folk at home, thanks to my block-headedness."

Judith joined the group, and when she heard of Patricia's misfortune she put a consoling arm about her sister. "Never mind, Miss Pat dear," she said. "Perhaps when Madame Milano knows how bad you feel about missing her reception she'll do something that's a lot nicer for you."

Bruce chuckled and his face cleared. "Wait a minute," he said hastily, and disappeared into the other room.

"What in the world—" began Elinor and then she, too, smiled. "He's telephoning to Madame Milano. Listen, Patricia."

Patricia heard with rising hopes the deep regret of Bruce's rich tones as he explained to the prima donna the reason Patricia had not availed herself of the gracious invitation. The pauses in which Bruce listened must have been filled to his satisfaction, for after he had hung up the receiver he came back into the studio rubbing his hands gleefully.

"Did you hear me put it to her?" he asked, grinning. "I got her hotel and then her apartment and then her maid, and finally the Madame herself. She is sorrier than she was ten minutes ago and she is going to ask you to her Monday 'Hour,' as she calls it, a much more intimate affair, I can assure you."

Patricia clasped her hands rapturously. "Oh, you duck!" she cried ardently. "You're the cleverest thing in the world to get me another invitation. Am I to go alone? And what time am I to come?"

"You're to have your elder sister for a chaperon and your distinguished brother-in-law as attendant," replied Bruce gravely. "I wanted to put in a word for you, Judy, but I was afraid to push her too hard this time."

"I couldn't go, thank you," returned Judith composedly. "I have an extra in French tomorrow after school and I've made an engagement to go to the French church with Mademoiselle afterward."

Patricia was in the seventh heaven of delight at the prospect of actually taking tea with the noted singer and her intimate friends. She plied Bruce with innumerable questions and grew so Patricia-like and merry over the absurd answers he manufactured to meet her demands that the picnic supper was the gayest family affair they had had since Patricia left them.

"I'll be over at three tomorrow, Elinor," she promised as they left her at the green entrance door of Artemis Lodge after having walked home with her through the sparkling night. "Don't let Bruce be late, or she'll never forgive us."

Elinor promised to keep an eye on her erring husband and see that everything went smoothly this time.

Patricia watched the three figures walking briskly down the street, and she closed the door with a little bang.

"Won't Rosamond be surprised?" she smiled to herself, seeing the light in the windows which told that their rooms were occupied.

She found Rosamond wrapped in a sumptuous down quilt, sitting over the fire in a drowsy state, and she had to repeat the glorious news twice before her friend responded. Even then she was not as interested as Patricia had hoped.

"Yes, it's lovely," she said, slowly, "and I'm sure you'll have a good time. Do you mind getting out my night things? I'm awfully sleepy and I'm going straight to bed."

Patricia did as she was asked and then helped the heavy-lidded Rosamond to her rose-and-gold room, saying good-night a little coolly.

"She might have tried to wake up for such splendid news," she thought, a little dampened by this casual reception of her glad tidings.

The next morning Rosamond was still too sleepy and tired to rise and Patricia was afraid that she might be really ill. But she denied more than a slight cold—a "sleepy headache," as she called it—and asked to be left alone to sleep it out.

Patricia left her still in bed when she started to the studio in the afternoon, though she seemed almost herself again.

"Come in and tell me all about it the moment you get back," she called as Patricia left her.

And Patricia promised blithely.