The Van Buskirks were wealthy, enjoying the usual luxuries that money can buy. To a certain extent and among their special friends they entertained, but were not given to display. In the midst of the activities that modern life almost thrusts upon men and women of means, they kept as far as possible to the family traditions and domestic realities. Sylvia was one of several sisters noted for their grace and charm; and when Philip Van Buskirk, young, handsome, somewhat timid in these days, first saw Sylvia Van Ness and met a glance from her grave, sympathetic eyes, his choice was made. A wholesome family life, consideration for others, great interest in their children, soft-voiced women and quiet, efficient men were characteristic of these people and their friends. After finishing her own letters, Cathalina sat quietly and watched her mother as she rapidly read one after another. Mrs. Van Buskirk’s dark hair, perfectly arranged, made a frame for her sweet, thoughtful face. Little rings of hair, curling from the moist heat, strayed about her brow and ears. “Such a pretty mother,” said Cathalina, reaching over to pat the slender hand resting on the table. Her mother drew Cathalina’s fingers within her own and read on down the last page of the last letter. Cathalina had always wanted to look like her mother. Often as a little child she had stood before the mirror, anxiously looking to see if her hair were not a trifle darker, her nose a trifle longer! Some one had mentioned pug noses with scorn. Could it be that hers was one? For several months she worried over the matter, until one day one of her aunts had said, “I think Cathalina is going to have the Van Buskirk nose.” That was anything but a pug, she knew, and then she feared that she might have a nose as long as Uncle Martin Van Buskirk’s,—which would never do on a girl! Alas the secret fears of childhood, so real, yet so easily forgotten. “Well, Cathalina, have you any news?” Cathalina handed her mother an open letter, asking in her turn, “Anything important in your mail?” “Three requests for money, a funny letter of thanks from your old Irish admirer, Mrs. Sullivan,—look at it;—a letter from our secretary of foreign missions and a note from Aunt Katherine, saying that she will be over some time after lunch. It must have been left by the chauffeur, as there is no sign of its having been through the mails. It should have been brought directly to me.” “Why didn’t she telephone?” “She is sending this catalogue for us to look over. Part of her note is about you. How would you like to go to a school like this?” and Mrs. Van Buskirk pushed across the table the neat catalogue of a girls’ school. Cathalina picked it up without much interest, turning the pages carelessly to look at pictures of fine buildings, beautiful grounds, and girls playing tennis, rowing, or winding in pretty May Day pageant.