had cheered Rita Stanford--that she was sure of.
Next, she had not shown any ill feeling towards Rosamond--her visits in
morning and afternoon proved that. And third, she had been received into
the fellowship of the musical set in a way that set her dreaming of the
hour when she, too, might take her place on the seat of the grand piano
in the twilight and sing out what was in her heart. Then, she had
conquered her reluctance to make the first overtures to Elinor, and she
had discovered that the girls in the next room were going to be worth
while.

That finished off one hand and she paused as she began on the other.
What was it the Woods girl had said about Rosamond entertaining Madame
Milano at luncheon last week? Patricia would have thought it a mistake
a week ago, but now she believed Rosamond capable of forgetting to tell
her such a momentous fact.

"She doesn't care for me at all any more," she thought, with a sort of
slow contempt rising through the sadness that the memory had brought
back to her.

"I don't believe she ever did care for me," she said, a few minutes
later. "I think she only tolerated me because she thought that I must be
going to have a wonderful voice since Milano recommended, but when she
found that I was only a stupid beginner, and not worth bothering with,
she forgot I was in existence except when I was in sight."

She had so loved and admired the sumptuous Rosamond and in spite of the
break had felt so little resentment that her feelings were now a
surprise to her.

"I'm getting dreadfully cross-grained, I suppose," she said sadly, as
she sat down again to write to Mrs. Spicer. "I quarreled with Elinor--of
all people--and I've broken off with Rosamond. I must be growing
horrid."

This dismal idea took full possession of her and she sat staring at the
papers strewn on her table, seeing a tragic picture of herself grown
desolate and lone in the long years wherein she lost, one by one, the
friends who had once loved her. Mrs. Nat's puzzled face rose vividly
before her as it had looked across the studio table, and she shook her
head dolefully.

It was not often that Patricia had given way to such a mood, and if
there had been anyone within reach to talk to, she would have shaken it
off before it took full possession of her. But she was alone for the
evening and it had free access. She actually believed that she was grown
unlovable, and the conviction that her voice was not worth considerin