. The New Day was taking
subscriptions for a fund to send sick children and their mothers to the
country for a vacation from the dirt and heat of the tenements--for
Remsen City, proud though it was and boastful of its prosperity, housed
most of its inhabitants in slums--though of course that low sort of
people oughtn't really to be counted--except for purposes of swelling
census figures--and to do all the rough and dirty work necessary to
keep civilization going.

She would subscribe to this worthy charity--and would take her
subscription, herself. Settled--easily and well settled. She did not
involve herself, or commit herself in any way. Besides, those who
might find out and might think she had overstepped the bounds would
excuse her on the ground that she had not been back at home long and
did not realize what she was doing.

What should she wear?

Her instinct was for an elaborate toilet--a descent in state--or such
state as the extremely limited resources of Martin Hastings' stables
would permit. The traps he had ordered for her had not yet come; she
had been glad to accept David Hull's offer of a lift the night before.
Still, without a carriage or a motor she could make quite an impression
with a Paris walking dress and hat, properly supported by fashionable
accessories of the toilet.

Good sense and good taste forbade these promptings of nature. No, she
would dress most simply--in her very plainest things--taking care to
maintain all her advantages of face and figure. If she overwhelmed
Dorn and Miss Gordon, she would defeat her own purpose--would not
become acquainted with them.

In the end she rejected both courses and decided for the riding
costume. The reason she gave for this decision--the reason she gave
herself--was that the riding costume would invest the call with an air
of accident, of impulse. The real reason.

It may be that some feminine reader can guess why she chose the most
startling, the most gracefully becoming, the most artlessly physical
apparel in her wardrobe.

She said nothing to her father at lunch about her plans. Why should
she speak of them? He might oppose; also, she might change her mind.
After lunch she set out on her usual ride, galloping away into the
hills--but she had put twenty-five dollars in bills in her trousers
pocket. She rode until she felt that her color was at its best, and
then she made for town--a swift, direct ride, her heart beating high as
if sh