"Thank you, Uncle Silas. No one of your fellow members could have said a nicer thing than that." She fingered her coffee cup. "But I had a reason for inviting myself--practically--to lunch with you. I want to ask your advice." "I'm afraid I should be inclined in advance to let you do exactly as you liked, my child," said the other, with a smile. "But what is it? I hope it's not trouble of any sort." "No--it's not trouble, exactly," his niece responded. "It's more like--well, like dissatisfaction. I am awfully tired of being a perfectly useless person, with no definite end and aim. You don't suppose it's because I see every day the girls coming down to work, on the Massachusetts Avenue cars, do you? I went a little while ago to my doctor's because I thought perhaps there was something the matter with me, and he suggested a change of air, but I think he mixed up the cause with the effect. Perhaps I do need a change, but it's a change of interests and a change of what I see and hear and talk about." "Commonly termed a vacation," said Mr. Osgood. "Yes, a vacation--that's it. Not a vacation from _doing_ anything, because I've done nothing, but a vacation from the atmosphere I've been living in." "You mean the artistic atmosphere?" her uncle asked. "You are a little tired of--" "I'm more than a little--I'm horribly tired of imitations and poses and make-believes. I want to see things and people who really live, who don't exist by the light of crimson-shaded globes and spend their days dreaming about impressions and arrangements and tones and shadows." Helen wound up this diminutive tirade with quite a little flourish, and Mr. Osgood looked thoughtfully across the table at her. "Why don't you run down to New York?" he suggested. "I'm sure your Aunt Mary Wardrop would be delighted to have you come for a visit." "Yes. I thought of that. I should like to go there, and I had almost decided to. But can't you suggest something for me to _do_? Aunt Mary's principal occupation is abusing the _nouveaux riches_, and one merely has to agree with her, which is not at all difficult. If I had anything to _do_ here, I'd rather stay than go. Of course New York is quite a change from Boston--there can be no doubt about that. But--don't you see what I mean, Uncle Silas?" "I think I do--somewhat, my dear. You are a little restless, and you think that because the things you do are small they are less real. That is not so--small things can be made very interesting if one does them with enthusiasm. Take my own business, for example. It is possibly just a 'business' to you, like any other, but that is because you have not seen it from the inside. To me it is absolutely vital. I don't know of another business so interesting."