She knew her world would have ridiculed her ridiculous conscience, deeming it more essential that she reopen the flirtation with the chewing-gum king or find out a more distinctive method of advertising. But to Thurley the contented handshake of Dan Birge and his wife’s smile was more to the point. So she drove quietly into the Corners one warm, early fall day when every color in Dame Nature’s paint box had been employed in the bordering trees of the Fincherie lawn. She said to Ali Baba who met them eagerly, “I’ve come home again.” Nor did she waver from that manner. She went into the bedrooms and proceeded to settle Miss Clergy and herself with as businesslike an air as her own maid had done, stopping to ask Betsey and Hopeful questions which she knew would please, telling them again and again that it seemed good to “be home.” “I guess you’ll find a lot of changes,” Betsey said, lingering in the room. “I guess you’re changed some yourself,” her kind old eyes looking at the girl shrewdly. “Come, Betsey, you’re going to accuse me of growing old! Now what is it—let me hear the worst?” “No,” Betsey pushed her glasses on to the top of her head so as to see the better, “it’s a change of heart—like I’ve heard tell about,” unconscious of Thurley’s desire both to laugh and cry, “a real change of heart, I guess.” “Was I that bad?” Thurley asked penitently. “I thought only the town drunkards had changes of heart—” she paused, realizing it was not fair to tax Betsey’s sense of humor. “It is this, Betsey, I’ve grown up and with all the wonderful things life has given me, I have no one of my own, so,” she finished bravely, “I’m determined to belong to a town ... now, Betsey, tell me, what are my chances for having Birge’s Corners fall dead in love with me?” amused at Betsey’s struggles to be honest yet not offend. “I guess you give ’em an earful the last time,” Betsey began. “You know, Thurley, they ain’t up to the new ways—and you—you—” “You’re afraid I don’t understand,” Thurley hugged her—because she wanted to hug some one and Betsey happened to be handy. “I do understand—but remember the old railway crossing advice, ‘stop—look—listen’—” here she handed out a dress pattern for a present and took a deep interest in the debate as to whether there should be box pleats or a circular skirt!