A group of ladies and gentlemen sat in one corner,
another group surrounded a punch bowl, and many wise and learned-looking
people were discussing the pictures and drawings.
Patty was enchanted. She had never been in a scene like this before, and
the whole atmosphere appealed to her very strongly.
The guests, though kind and polite to her, treated her as a child, and
Patty was glad of this, for she felt sure she never could talk or
understand the artistic jargon in which they were conversing. But she
enjoyed the pictures in her own way, and was standing in delighted
admiration before a large marine, which was nothing but the varying
blues of the sea and sky, when she heard a pleasant, frank young voice
beside her say:
"You seem to like that picture."
"Oh, I do!" she exclaimed, and turning, saw a pleasant-faced boy of about
nineteen smiling at her.
"It is so real," she said. "I never saw a realer scene, not even down at
Sandy Hook; why, you can fairly feel the dampness from it."
"Yes, I know just what you mean," said the boy; "it's a jolly picture,
isn't it? They say it's one of Hepworth's best."
"I don't know anything about pictures," said Patty frankly, "and so I
don't like to express definite opinions."
"It's always wiser not to," said the boy, still smiling.
"That's true," said Patty, "I only did express an opinion once this
afternoon, and then that lady over there, in a greenish-blue gown, looked
at me through her lorgnette and said:
"Oh, I thought you were temperamental, but you're only an
imaginative realist.
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