But Miss O’Flynn sent Patty a cup of hot bouillon, and some biscuit, which she ate right there at her work-table.

And it was a kindly act, for, though Patty didn’t realise it, she was really faint for want of food and also for fresh air.

The room, though large, had many occupants, and now the girls began to come back from their luncheon, and their chatter made Patty’s head ache.

But she was doing some deep thinking. Her theories about unskilled labour had received a hard blow; and she was beginning to think her millinery efforts were not going to be successful.

“But I’ve a chance yet,” she thought, as Miss O’Flynn came, bringing two hats, and a large box of handsome trimmings.

The other girls stared at this, for they knew that Patty’s morning efforts had been far from successful.

But Patty only smiled at them in a pleasant, but impersonal manner, as she took up her new work.

Her confidence returned. She knew she could do what she was now about to attempt, for, added to her natural taste and love of colour, she had been critically interested in hats while in Paris, and while visiting her friend, Lady Kitty, who was especially extravagant in her millinery purchases.

After a period of thought, Patty decided on her scheme of trimming for the two hats before her, and then set blithely to work.

One was to be a simple style of decoration, the other, much more complicated. Taking up the elaborate one first, Patty went at it with energy, and with an assured touch, for she had the effect definitely pictured in her imagination and was sure she could materialise it.

And she did. After about two hours’ hard work, Patty achieved a triumph. She held up the finished hat, and every girl at the table uttered an “ah!” of admiration at the beautiful sight.

Without response, other than a quiet smile, Patty took up the second hat. This was simple, but daring in its very simplicity. A black velvet Gainsborough, with broad, rolling brim. Patty turned it smartly up, at one side, and fastened it with a rosette of dull blue velvet and a silver buckle. Just then, Miss O’Flynn came in.

“Where did that hat come from?” she said, pointing to Patty’s finished confection.

“I trimmed it,” said Patty, nonchalantly. “Have you some silver hatpins, Miss O’Flynn?”

“You trimmed it!” exclaimed the forewoman, ignoring Patty’s question, and taking up the trimmed hat.

“Yes; do you like it?”

“It’s a marvel! It looks like a French hat. How did you know enough to trim it like this?”

“I thought it would look well that way.”

“But these twists of velvet; they have a touch!”

“Yes?” said Patty, inwardly exultant, but outwardly calm.

“And now,” she went on, “this hat is of another type.”

“It’s not finished?” asked Miss O’Flynn, eyeing the hat in uncertainty, “and yet,—any other trimming would spoil its lines.”

“Just so,” said Patty, placidly. “You see, all it needs now, is two large silver hatpins, like this,—see.”

Patty pulled two hatpins from her own hat, which she still had on, and placed them carefully in the hat she held in her hand.

“These pins are too small,—but you see what I mean.”

Miss O’Flynn did see. She saw that two larger pins would finish the hat with just the right touch, while any other decoration would spoil it.

She looked at Patty curiously.

“You’re a genius, Miss Fairfield,” she said. “Will you trim another hat?”

“Yes,” said Patty, looking at her watch. “It’s only four o’clock. May I have an evening hat, please?”

“You may have whatever you like. Come and select for yourself.”

Patty went to the cases, and chose a large white beaver, with soft, broad brim.

“I will make you a picture hat, to put in your window,” she said, smiling.

She selected some trimmings and returned to her seat at the table.

It was rather more than half an hour later when she showed Miss O’Flynn her work.

“There’s not much work on it,” Patty said, slowly. “I spent the time thinking it out.”

There was not much work on it, to be sure; and yet it was a hat of great distinction.

The white brim rolled slightly back, and where it touched the low crown it met two immense roses, one black and one of palest pink. Two slight sprays of foliage, made of black velvet leaves, nestled between the roses, and completed the trimming.

The roses were of abnormal size and great beauty, but it was the mode of their adjustment that secured the extremely chic effect.

Miss O’Flynn’s eyes sparkled.

“It’s a masterpiece,” she said, clasping her hands in admiration. “You have trimmed hats before, Miss Fairfield?”

“No,” said Patty, “but I always knew I could do it.”

“Yes, you can,” said Miss O’Flynn. “Will you come now, and talk to Madame?”

Ushered into the presence of Madame Villard, Patty suddenly experienced a revulsion of feeling.

Her triumph over Miss O’Flynn seemed small and petty. She was conscious of a revolt against the whole atmosphere of the place. The suavity of Miss O’Flynn’s manner, the artificial grandeur of Madame Villard, filled her with aversion, and she wanted only to get away, and get back to her own home.

Not for any amount per week would she come again to this dreadful place.

She knew it was unreasonable; she knew that if she were to earn her living it could not be in a sheltered, luxurious home, but must, perforce, be in some unattractive workroom.

“But rather a department store,” thought poor Patty, “than in this place, with these overdressed, overmannered women, who ape fine ladies’ manners.”

Patty was overwrought and nervous. Her long, hard day had worn her out, and it was no wonder she felt a distaste for the whole thing.

“You are certainly clever,” said Madame Villard, patronisingly, as she looked at the hats Miss O’Flynn held up for her inspection. “I am glad to offer you a permanent position here. You will have to learn the rudiments of the work, as the most gifted genius should always be familiar with the foundations of his own art. Will you agree to come to me every day?”

Patty hesitated. She hated the thought of coming every day, even if but for a week. And yet, here was the opportunity she was in search of. Trimming hats was easy enough work; probably they wouldn’t make her learn lining and covering at once.

Then the thought occurred to her that it wouldn’t be honest to pretend she was coming regularly, when she meant to do so only for a week.

“Suppose I try it for a week,” she suggested. “Then if either of us wishes to do so, we can terminate the contract.”

“Very well,” said Madame, who thought to herself she could make this young genius trim a great many hats in a week. “Do you agree to that?”

“At what salary?” asked Patty, faintly, for she felt as if she were condemning herself to a week of torture.

“Well,” said Madame Villard, “as you are so ignorant of the work, I ought not to give you any recompense at all; but as you evince such an aptitude for trimming I am willing to say, five dollars a week.”

“Five dollars a week,” repeated Patty, slowly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Patty did not mean to be rude or impertinent. Indeed, for the moment she was not even thinking of herself. She was thinking how a poor girl, who had her living to earn, would feel at an offer of five dollars for six long days of work in that dreadful atmosphere.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, mechanically, and she said it more because of Madame Villard’s look of amazement, than because of any regret at her own blunt speech. “I shouldn’t have spoken so frankly. But the compensation you offer is utterly inadequate.”

Patty glanced at her watch, and then began drawing on her gloves with an air of finality.

“But wait,—wait, Miss Fairfield,” exclaimed the Madame, who had no wish to let her new-found genius thus slip away from her. “I like your work. I may say I think it shows touches of real talent. Also, you have unusually good taste. In view of these things, I will overlook still further your ignorance of the details of the work, and I will give you seven dollars a week.”

“Madame,” said Patty, “I am inexperienced in the matter of wages, but I feel sure that you either employ inferior workwomen or that you underpay them. I don’t know which, but I assure you that I could not think of accepting your offer of seven dollars a week.”

“Would you come for ten?” asked Madame Villard, eagerly.

“No,” said Patty, shortly.

“For twelve, then? This is my ultimate offer, and you would do well to consider it carefully. I have never paid so much to any workwoman, and I offer it to you only because I chance to like your style of work.”

“And that is your ultimate offer?” said Patty, looking at her squarely.

“Yes, and I am foolish to offer that; but, as we agreed, it is only for one week, and so——”

“Spare your arguments, madame; I do not accept your proposal. Twelve dollars a week is not enough. And now, I will bid you good-afternoon. Am I entitled to pay for my day’s work?”

With Patty’s final refusal, the manner of Madame Villard had changed. No longer placating and bland, she frowned angrily as she said:

“Pay, indeed! You should be charged for the materials you spoiled in your morning’s work.”

“But in the afternoon,” said Patty, “I trimmed three hats that will bring you big profits.”

“Nothing of the sort,” snapped Madame. “The hats you trimmed are nothing of any moment. Any of my girls could have done as well.”

“Then why don’t you pay them twelve dollars a week?” cried Patty, whose harassed nerves were making her irritable. “I will call our financial account even, but if any of your workwomen can trim hats that you like as well as those that I trimmed, I trust you will give them the salary you offered me. Good-afternoon.”

Patty bowed politely, and then, with a more kindly bow and smile to Miss O’Flynn, she went through the draperies, through the front salesroom, and out at the front door. The milliner and her forewoman followed her with a dignified slowness, but reached the window in time to see Patty get into an elaborately-appointed motor-car which rolled rapidly away.

“She’s one of those society women who spy out what wages we pay,” said Madame Villard, with conviction.

“She’s not old enough for that,” returned Miss O’Flynn, “but she’s not looking for real work, either. I can’t make her out.”

“Well, we have three stunning hats, anyway. Put them in the window to-morrow. And you may as well put Paris labels inside; they have an air of the real thing.”

That evening Patty regaled her parents with a truthful account of her day.

“I’m ‘foiled again’!” she said, laughing. “But the whole performance was so funny I must tell you about it.”

“Couldn’t you have coaxed fifteen dollars a week out of her?” asked Mr. Fairfield, after Patty had told how Madame Villard’s price had gradually increased.

“Oh, father, I was so afraid she would say fifteen! Then I should have felt that I ought to go to her for a week; for I may not get another such chance. But I couldn’t live in that place a week, I know I couldn’t!”

“Why?” asked Nan, curiously.

“I don’t know exactly why,” returned Patty, thoughtfully. “But it’s mostly because it’s all so artificial and untrue. Miss O’Flynn talks as if she were a superior being; Madame Villard talks as if she were a Royal personage. They talk about their customers and each other in a sort of make-believe grandiose way, that is as sickening as it is absurd. I don’t know how to express it, but I’d rather work in a place where everybody is real, and claims only such honour and glory as absolutely belong to them. I hate pretence!”

“Good little Patty!” said her father, heartily; “I’m glad you do. Oh, I tell you, my girl, you’ll learn some valuable lessons, even if you don’t achieve your fifteen dollars.”

“But I shall do that, too, father. You needn’t think I’m conquered yet. Pooh! What’s three failures to a determined nature like mine?”

“What, indeed!” laughed Mr. Fairfield. “Go ahead, my plucky little heroine; you’ll strike it right yet.”

“I’m sure I shall,” declared Patty, with such a self-satisfied air of complacency that both her hearers laughed.