“Yes. Didn’t you know? It was really dreadful for Aunt Enid--especially with her ideas. Lilla behaved really badly; even Nollie thinks she did. But Nollie arranged it as well as she could.... Oh, but I’m boring you with all this family gossip.” The girl paused, suddenly embarrassed; then, glancing out of the window: “It’s a lovely morning, and not too cold. What do you say to my running you up to Bronx Park and back before lunch, just to give you a glimpse of what Nollie calls our _New_ York? Or would you rather take another day to rest?” * * * * * The rush through the vivid air; the spectacle of the new sumptuous city; of the long reaches above the Hudson with their showy architecture and towering “Institutions”; of the smooth Boulevards flowing out to cared-for prosperous suburbs; the vista of Fifth Avenue, as they returned, stretching southward, interminably, between monumental façades and resplendent shop-fronts--all this and the tone of Anne’s talk, her unconscious allusions, revelations of herself and her surroundings, acted like champagne on Kate Clephane’s brain, making the world reel about her in a headlong dance that challenged her to join it. The way they all took their mourning, for instance! She, Anne, being her grandmother’s heiress (she explained) would of course not wear colours till Easter, or go to the Opera (except to matinées) for at least another month. Didn’t her mother think she was right? “Nollie thinks it awfully archaic of me to mix up music and mourning; what have they got to do with each other, as she says? But I know Aunt Enid wouldn’t like it ... and she’s been so kind to me. Don’t you agree that I’d better not?” “But of course, dear; and I think your aunt’s right.”