Susannah spent three days--almost carefree--of of what she described to the miniature as "touristing." She had very little time to converse with Glorious Lutie; for the little room saw her only at morning and night. But she gave her confidante a detailed account of the day's adventures. "It was the Bronx Zoo this morning, Glorious Lutie," she would say. "Have you ever noticed how satisfactory little beasties are? They don't lay traps for you and try to put you in a tortured position that you can't wriggle out of?" Though her question was humorous in spirit, Susannah's eyes grew black, as with a sudden terror. "No, _we_ lay traps for _them_. I guess I've never before even tried to guess what it means to be trapped?" Or, "It was the Art Museum this afternoon, Glorious Lutie. I've looked at everything from a pretty nearly life-size replica of the Parthenon to a needle used by a little Egyptian girl ten million years ago. I'm so full of information and dope and facts that, if an autopsy were to be held over me at this moment, it would be found that my brain had turned into an Encyclopædia Britannica. In fact, I will modestly admit that I know everything." Or, "It was the Aquarium this morning, Glorious Lutie. Why didn't you tell me that fish were interesting? I've always hated a fish. They won't roll over or jump through for you and practically none of them bark or sing--or anything. I have always thought of them only as something you eat unwillingly on Fridays. But some of them are really beautiful; and interesting. I stayed there three hours; and I suppose if it hadn't been for the horrid stenchy smell I'd be there yet." But in spite of these vivacious, wordless monologues, her spirits were a long time rising to their normal height. The frightened look had not completely left her eyes; and often on her long, lonely walks, she would stop short suddenly, trembling like a spirited horse, as though some inner consideration harassed her. Then she would take up her walk at a frantic pace. Ultimately, however, she succeeded in leaving those terrifying considerations behind. And inevitably in the end, the resilience of youth conquered. The day came when Susannah leaped out of bed as lightly as though it were her first morning in New York. "Glorious Lutie," began her ante-breakfast address, "we are not a millionairess; ergo, today we buy all the morning papers and read them at breakfast in order to hunt for a job via the ads. And perhaps the next time your Glorious Susie begins to earn money, you might advise her to save a little against an unexpected situation. Of course I shouldn't have squandered my money the way I did. But I never had had so much before in my life--and oh, the joy of having cut-steel buckles and a perfectly beautiful raincoat--and my first set of furs--and perfumery and everything."