"I'd like white ones," she said, apologetically, "but I could only have
two pairs so I got black and the ones I wore here."
"Quite right," said Patty, appreciatively; "I'll be glad to get you some
white ones. They'd be pretty with this frock."
"Oh, thank you. I'd love to have 'em. Where we going now?"
"Suppose you come to my room, while I dress," Patty suggested, thinking
an object lesson in the arts of the toilette might not be amiss.
"O.K.," and the visitor strode along by the side of her hostess.
They _were_ a contrast! Patty, dainty, graceful and sweet, was the very
antithesis of tall, gawky Azalea, with her countrified dress and badly
made black shoes. Her careless air, too, was unattractive,--for it was
not the nonchalance of experience, but the unselfconsciousness of sheer
ignorance of urban ways and manners.
"My land! what a room," the country girl ejaculated, as they entered
Patty's boudoir. "How ever can you live in this fancy place! It's like
a picture!"
"It is," agreed Patty, pleased at the comment. "But I love it. I'm afraid
I'm too fond of soft lights and pretty appointments, and delicate
fragrance."
"Well, you've got it! My land! I'm afraid to move around! I don't want to
break anything."
"You won't," laughed Patty. "Sit there, and we can talk while I get into
my gown. I do my own hair, too," and she shook down her mop of golden
curls, to Azalea's hearty admiration.
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