The room
was well filled by this time, and Patty took a seat near the front,
where sat a group of her intimate friends. They greeted her gaily,
and Kit, on the other side of the room, paid no attention to them.
The programme began with a duet by Kit on his violin, and his Cousin
Marie at the piano.
The man was really a virtuoso, and his beautiful playing held the
audience spellbound. Patty watched him, enthralled with his music,
and admiring, too, his generally worth-while appearance.
"He does look awfully jolly," she thought, to herself, "and it's
plain to be seen he has brains. I wonder if he will be terribly
disappointed in me, after all. I've a notion to run away."
For the first time in her life Patty felt shy about singing. Usually
she had no trace of self-consciousness, but to-night she experienced
a feeling of embarrassment she had never known before. She realized
this, and scolded herself roundly for it. "You idiot!" she observed,
mentally, to her own soul; "if you want to make a good impression,
you'd better stop feeling like a simpleton. Now brace up, and do the
best you can, and behave yourself!"
Miss Curtiss sang before Patty did. She was a sweet-faced young
woman, with a beautiful and well-trained contralto voice.
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