"You shouldn't ridicule this life, Hope. Don't you know we are the very pulse of the world! I had an idea you were taking to it pretty well. You are certainly making a tremendous hit. Even mamma smiles upon you in the most affectionate manner, and is proud for once of her offspring. You are simply gorgeous, Hope--a perfect _queen_!" The girl's eyes darkened, her face flushed. "A _queen_," she retorted. "A queen! Clarice, did you ever sit upon a throne and feel the world slipping out from under you? A woman is never a queen, except to the _one_ man. But you are mistaken, Clarice. I simply cannot adapt myself to this life. If it wasn't for the continual monotony of it all--the never changing display of good points and fine clothes--where even one's own prayers are gilded and framed in consciousness and vanity--and these streets--the reflection of it all--these blocks and blocks always the same, like the people they cover--presenting always the same money-stamped faces--oh, it is this sameness that stifles me! It is all grand and wonderful, but it isn't _life_." She paused, then smiled at Clarice's perplexed face. "Leave me at mamma's when you return, for I've got stacks of things to do, and I want the evening all to myself--Louisa and I, you know. And we'll say, Clarice, that I perfectly love dear old New York." "Oh, I don't mind, dear, not at all! I know you are no more fitted in your heart for this life than I am for the life out there with those _dreadful_ Indians. But you've certainly been acting superb these last two months!" "You are such a _dear_, Clarice," said Hope impulsively, stroking her gloved hand. "I have you and Louisa, and, of course, I am perfectly happy! I tell myself so a thousand times a day. My poor little Louisa! _She's_ about the happiest girl I ever saw in all my life, but she doesn't know it. Here she is worrying her head off because Sydney is pressing his suit too strongly and won't take 'no' for an answer, and she thinks she ought to be faithful to poor Fritz, her cousin, who is really only a sweet, sad memory to her now, while all the time she is crazy in love with Syd. Isn't it a fright? But Sydney is way out in Montana, and his letters serve only as little pricks to her poor conscience. Her replies are left mostly to me, so that is what I must do to-night." "But your mother entertains this evening. Had you forgotten?" reminded Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "So how are you going to get away?" "I suppose I will have to come down for awhile, but I simply will not remain long." "Well, I will see you then. Larry and I are going to drop in for a little while in the early evening." When they drove away from the Grandons' a half hour later Clarice searched the girl's quiet face for some expression of her thoughts, but found none. "So you have seen the Lady Livingston at last, Hope! What do you think of her?" The girl shrugged her shoulders and looked into the street. "Your description tallied very well," she replied.