“‘There’s the two young ladies from New York who are building the church.’ But if we settle down amongst them they’ll think we’re only ordinary villagers instead of the distinguished persons we are. Or, while our flat is being made ready we could live at one of the big hotels in the Catskills, and come down as often as we like on the inclined railway. Indeed, until the weather gets colder, the Catskills is the place. ‘And lo, the Catskills print the distant sky, And o’er their airy tops the faint clouds driven, So softly blending that the cheated eye Forgets or which is earth, or which is heaven.’” “That ought to carry the day for the Catskills, Kate. What sort of habitation shall we choose? A big hotel, or a select private boarding house?” “Oh, a big hotel, of course--the biggest there is, whatever its name may be. One of those whose rates are so high that the proprietor daren’t advertise them, but says in his announcement, ‘for terms apply to the manager.’ It must have ample grounds, support an excellent band, and advertise a renowned cuisine. Your room, at least, should have a private balcony on which you can place a telescope and watch the building of your church down below. I, being a humble person in a subordinate position, should have a balcony also to make up for those deficiencies.” “Very well, Kate, that’s settled. But although two lone women may set up housekeeping in a New York flat, they cannot very well go alone to a fashionable hotel.” “Oh, yes, we can. Best of references given and required.” “I was going to suggest,” pursued Dorothy, not noticing the interruption, “that we invite your father and mother to accompany us. They might enjoy a change from sea air to mountain air.” Katherine frowned a little, and demurred. “Are you going to be fearfully conventional, Dorothy?” “We must pay some attention to the conventions, don’t you think?” “I had hoped not. I yearn to be a bachelor girl, and own a latch-key.” “We shall each possess a latch-key when we settle down in New York. Our flat will be our castle, and, although our latch-key will let us in, our Yale lock will keep other people out. A noted summer resort calls for different treatment, because there we lead a semi-public life. Besides, I am selfish enough to wish my coming-out to be under the auspices of so well-known a man as Captain Kempt.” “All right, I’ll see what they say about it. You don’t want Sabina, I take it?” “Yes, if she will consent to come.” “I doubt if she will, but I’ll see. Besides, now that I come to think about it, it’s only fair I should allow my doting parents to know that I am about to desert them.” With that Katherine quitted the room, and went down the stairs hippety-hop. Dorothy drew the letter from its place of concealment, and read it for the third time, although one not interested might have termed it a most commonplace document. It began: