but
Constance merely laughed and nodded back over her shoulder at the
indifferent Rosamond.

"That's the difference between us, Lady Rosamond," she smiled. "You are
so sure of getting what you want, while I am always trying to make up my
mind what it is I want. Sometimes I simply ache for prunes and ice cream
cones, and other times I hanker after caviar."

Rosamond smiled indulgently, but after Patricia had returned from her
dinner and her own dainty tray had been sent down, she said in a slow
thoughtful way, "Constance Fellows is an absurd creature at times. I
wonder what she meant by caviar?"

Patricia was often surprised by the lack of penetration on the part of
her admired friend, and she said without hesitation, "Why, I supposed
she meant living with her aunt. Shabby frocks and peanuts mean the other
side of it."

"Do you think so?" insisted Rosamond. "I fancied she was joking about
the prunes and cones, but of course there's no accounting for Constance.
I'm glad she has my panels finished, for I have a feeling that she isn't
too dependable, after all. I wonder what she is phoning to Mrs. Blakely
for? I thought they were not on good terms."

"Oh, they're quite good friends," said Patricia, as she lighted her
gold-shaded lamp. "Constance told me that her aunt often came to see her
at the school, though she won't step foot in Artemis Lodge, because she
vowed never to countenance Constance in her desire to live like a
savage," Patricia giggled with enjoyment. "She seems to think we're a
bit too primitive for her here."

"Indeed! I'd like Miss Ardsley to hear that," frowned Rosamond. "Mrs.
Blakely should remember that though there are some poor art students
here, there are quite enough of a better class to give tone to the
place."

Patricia adjusted the shade and then smiled over it at her perturbed
room-mate. "But you can't deny that, according to her estimate, we are
Bohemian," she said gayly. "She declares that any place is Bohemian
where they give parties in their sitting rooms and wash the dishes in
the bathrooms."

Rosamond shrugged her shoulders quite impatiently. "Bother Mrs.
Blakely," she said in the most downright way she had ever spoken before
Patricia. "I'm going to bed."

Patricia came into her bedroom to turn out the light for her after she
was in bed, and as she had her hand on the button, she gave a little
start of remembrance.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Bruce has tickets for Tosc