"The Ellertons were there on their way home, and I could travel with them. I didn't care to cross half the continent alone, even if I am an American girl." "No; I don't mean that. What made you come home now?" "A declaration of independence," Phebe responded enigmatically. Theodora looked anxious. "But I hope you didn't hurt Mrs. Farrington's feelings, leaving her so suddenly after all she had done for you." "I am not a child, Teddy, and I think you might trust me," Phebe answered, with an access of dignity. "I do, dear; only I couldn't understand your coming home so abruptly, and I was afraid there might have been some trouble between you and Mrs. Farrington." Phebe shook her head. "No; Mrs. Farrington is an angel. You can't imagine how good to me she has been. She has always managed to make me feel that it was only for her own pleasure that she asked me to go with her. If I had been her own daughter, she couldn't have been more kind to me, and I know she was sorry to have me come away." "Then why didn't you stay? Were you homesick, Babe?" "Not for an hour; I'm not that kind. I missed you all; but I was very happy, and I knew you didn't need me here." "What made you come home, then?" Phebe pushed the gowns aside and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Has it ever occurred to you, Teddy," she asked slowly; "that two years is a great while?" "Yes; but what then? You were happy." "I know; but it was a child's happiness, and I am a woman, twenty-two years old. It was lovely to wander over Europe, to wear pretty gowns and to meet charming people, and let Mrs. Farrington pay all the bills." "But if she loved to do it, Babe? She did." "Yes, she was fond of me," Phebe admitted; "and she wanted me to stay for one more year." "I wish you had." Phebe shook her head. "I couldn't. At first, I thought it would be delightful, and all our plans were made. Then, one night, I couldn't sleep at all, for thinking about it. By morning, my mind was made up; and then,--" "And then?" Theodora asked. Phebe rose and bent over the trunk once more. "And then I came home," she said quietly. There was a long pause. Theodora was aimlessly turning over the photographs in her lap, while Phebe methodically packed away the contents of her trunk. The room was quite orderly again before either of the sisters spoke. Then Theodora asked,-- "What are you going to do now, Babe?" "Study." "Study what?" "Medicine." "Phebe McAlister!" A sudden flash of merriment came into the shrewd eyes. "That is my name," she observed. "Do you remember how you worked at Huntington's to get money for college? It is my turn now." "I remember how you scolded me for it," Theodora responded tartly. "What has turned you to this whim, Babe?" "It is no whim. It is a good profession, and other women no smarter than I, have succeeded in it." "You are smart enough, Babe; it's not that. But why do you want to do anything of the kind?"