iii

She had barely concluded this soliloquy when Patricia, who had run up the stairs, arrived breathless, and closed the door with a rush. She was completely changed.

"It's lovely of you to come," she cried. "I'm ever so glad. And you came opportunely. I don't know what would have happened. I'd been lecturing Amy, and she was excessively cross. She can't bear the truth—or any criticism. She's very silly!"

"She seemed gloomy," commented Claudia, with some forbearance.

"Oh, she's worse. I couldn't tell you.... You see—" Patricia seated herself, all fire to communicate wisdom—"the poor thing is absolutely mad about herself. She was told some time ago that she wasn't any good as an artist. I admit it was heartless, and I don't know who broke the news. I didn't tell her myself, because I didn't know. I may as well admit—I did the same to your brother, as anybody would have to do—that I tried to like her pictures. They're very strange pictures, and apparently everybody laughs at them. They think she's ... well, no good at all. Well, somebody told her. She was heart-broken. She saw it. She really did see it. She was passionate, and crushed; but she somehow realised that she wasn't any good. That was a week ago. But now she's all changed. She thinks it's a conspiracy. Belief in her own genius has come back—twice it's strength!"

"Recoil!" suggested Claudia, elated.

"Something like that. And she's been behaving atrociously—to a poor man who loves her. I admit that he's an idiot; but still—even idiots have their rights, you'd think! He isn't a lunatic. I don't mean that he's really mad—only in relation to Amy. And it's bad for her. It makes her feel a sort of horrible empty power—that he's always there if she needs him. He's just a dog-like creature, filled with devotion. I like him. He's too good for her. But he's perfectly idiotic about Amy."

"I couldn't fall in love with that girl," said Claudia distinctly. "I could try to like her; because she's your friend. No more. I think she's probably an egoist; and egoism's a bother."

Patricia was pulled up at this comment.

"There's a lot of good in her," she apologetically explained. "I oughtn't to talk unkindly about her. And I'm afraid I'm rather an egoist myself."

"The first thing you've got to do—if you'll try hard to forgive me for saying such an awful impertinence—is to move out of these rooms," said Claudia, with superficial irrelevance.

Again Patricia received a shock. But she recovered and smiled.

"I can't," she answered. "They're cheap." Then her tone became more sober. "I've got no money at all. In fact...." Her lips quivered.

"You couldn't have any money in these rooms," said that distinct voice. "Move out of them. We'll get you some money." Claudia spoke with assurance. Patricia was dazzled.

"But how?" she asked. "I'm desperate for it."

"We'll ask Edgar."

"I couldn't. I think ... I think ... It seems absurd; but I think perhaps I'm just a little afraid of him."

Claudia surveyed her newest friend with astonishment and approval. Her emotion seemed to be almost one of hopeful relief, which surprised Patricia a good deal. Claudia proceeded.

"Oh, that's awfully good!" she cried. "I'm not afraid of him; but I think it's nice of you to be. I'm pleased at that. However, you needn't be afraid of him; because.... Well, what I really came for is to beg you to come home with me for dinner. Could you? Mother and father are having their annual wayzgoose, or beano. It's the anniversary of their wedding. So Edgar and I are dining alone. You needn't change your dress. I shan't. Will you come? Do!"