he 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