“‘The most satisfactory thing,’” Thurley kept repeating as the car wheels turned her nearer New York and the coveted trip abroad. “‘The most satisfactory thing’—and I’m an ‘amusing thing’ to Ernestine, almost as amusing as Silverheels, only she loves Silverheels. And I’m an ‘interesting young thing’ to Bliss Hobart, some one who came to earth knowing how to sing and so he is spared the trouble of teaching me. And I’m a ‘lucky young thing,’ as Polly says, because I’ve the chance she has not, and I’m a ‘dangerous young thing’ to Lissa because Mark Wirth likes me—oh, if she knew how often he sends flowers—and I suppose Caleb thinks me a ‘worth while young thing’ because he gains hints for a new heroine.... I want just to be some one’s Thurley!” She looked at the hills without but she could not see them distinctly for tear-blurred eyes. When she reached New York she telephoned Ernestine, only to be told she could not sail for at least another week, nor did Ernestine wish to be disturbed,—Silverheels had been accidentally killed and Ernestine had suffered a nervous collapse. Thurley heard the news rather carelessly. “Too bad,” she had said, “I would rather he went out quickly than to be one of those blind little creatures that are a burden to themselves.” “You don’t understand,” Ernestine answered sharply. “You don’t know anything about it. I am taking him west to an animal cemetery and I shall pick out a handsome headstone.” Thurley wondered if this was a strained sort of joke. “Really?” she asked. At which came a volley of reproaches over the wire to the effect that most assuredly would there be a memorial for Silverheels as well as a headstone; no other animal could ever take his place nor would she ever allow any other animal to make inroads into her heart. She wished his name never to be mentioned; perhaps Thurley would develop sufficiently within the next few years to comprehend that animal tragedies were the hardest to bear! Which left Thurley feeling like a smacked infant not at all knowing the reason for the smacking. The hotel suite seemed musty and in bad taste as she wandered about restlessly. She must wait now until Ernestine chose to sail; she must keep away from her and amuse herself. She did not want to worry Miss Clergy with writing of the delay and she had closed her lesson books with an eager hand. Polly was busy doing some sort of hack work, and she supposed Collin would go off to Europe on the steamer they had planned to take. Anyway, she felt a shy reserve in calling him up to find out.