torily.

"Your godmother has come back," said Mary Alice's mother, her voice
trembling with excitement; "she's in New York. And she wants you to
come and see her."

For a moment, visions swam before Mary Alice's eyes. Then, "How kind
of her!" she said, bitterly; and turned away.

Her mother understood. "She's sent a check!" she cried, waving it.

After that, until Mary Alice went, it was nothing but talk of clothes
and other ways and means. Just what the present circumstances of
Godmother were, they could not even conjecture; but they were probably
not very different than before, or she would have said something about
them. And the check she sent covered travelling expenses only. Nor
did she write: Never mind about clothes; we will take care of those
when she gets here.

"I haven't the least idea what kind of a time you'll have," Mary
Alice's mother said, "but you mustn't expect many parties or much young
society. Your godmother has been abroad so long, she can't have many
acquaintances in this country now. But you'll see New York--the crowds
and the shops and the great hotels and the places of historic interest.
And even if you don't meet many people, you'll probably have a very
interesting time."

"I don't care about people, anyway," returned Mary Alice.

Her mother looked distressed. "I wouldn't say that, if I were you,"
she advised. "Because you _want_ to care about people--you _must_!
Sights are beguiling, but they're never satisfying. We all have to
depend on people for our happiness--for love."

"Then I'll never be happy, I guess," said Mary Alice.

"I'm afraid, sometimes, that you've started out not to be," her mother
answered, gravely, "but we'll hope for the best."

II

YOUR OWN IS WAITING

Mary Alice dreaded to meet her godmother. The excitement of getting
away was all very well. But once she was alone in the Pullman, and the
friendly faces on the station platform were left behind, she began to
think apprehensively of what she was going to. She was sure to feel
"strange" with her godmother, and there was at least a pretty good
chance that she might actually dislike her. Also, there was every
reason to doubt if her godmother would like Mary Alice. Mary Alice had
several times met persons who had "been to Europe," and she had never
liked them; their conversation was all about things she did not know,
and larded with phrases she could not understand. Those years in
Europe