But Cathalina, who often took Hilary’s jokes seriously, replied, “We could have had the porter call us.” Leadership was reversed now. Hilary, who guided Cathalina with kindness and efficiency through the mysteries of school life was glad to follow Cathalina’s superior knowledge of what to do when traveling. They found that there was more time than they had supposed, for the train was late; and for some time after their berth was again converted into the ordinary Pullman seat they sat watching the wintry scenery. The obsequious attentions of the porter to Cathalina and, indeed, to herself, amused Hilary very much. She had rather opened her eyes at the tip she saw Cathalina give him the evening before. She, too, had learned something, not so valuable, perhaps, as some of Cathalina’s lessons, about the extra attention which money can secure. The porter brushed them off, took their bags, and in a moment it seemed, they were out of the train and hurrying with the crowd. “There’s Phil!” said Cathalina joyously, though Hilary noticed at once how quiet was her voice and manner. “I guess they don’t shout across the street at each other in New York,” she thought with her usual humor. “Is this Miss Lancaster?” “My brother, Hilary,” and Hilary looked up into the smiling face of Philip Van Buskirk Junior. The checks were passed over to the chauffeur, Hilary received a confused impression of the big station, and then found herself being helped into a comfortable, warm car and tucked in rugs by this same handsome host who kept up a good-humored flow of conversation with Cathalina. She was one question mark at first, according to Phil, who gave her an account of himself and the family as she inquired. Hilary was too much interested in the sights and sounds of the city to say an unnecessary word. “The streets are in pretty good shape considering the snow we’ve had,” Philip was saying. “It isn’t so cold today either,” added Cathalina. “O, dear old New York! I’m so glad to be home again!” “And how glad Mother and Father will be to have you, Cat, nobody but me—” “O, please don’t call me that, Phil! I did hope that none of the girls would ever hear that nickname!” Cathalina gave Hilary an imploring look. Hilary responded nobly. “I’ll never tell, or call you that myself,” she declared. “Kathleen, then,” said Phil, laughing. “Is that better?” “Yes; and if it _is_ sentimental I like it best when you call me Kathleen Mavourneen.” “O, that’s just because it makes me think of the song, you know,” and Phil looked at Cathalina teasingly. But Cathalina slipped her arm through his and he patted her hand.