on her fortunes.

In this respect she made the discovery that Mrs. Eveleth was not to be
taken as an authority. She had given Diane to understand that the return
of Naomi de Ruyter to New York would be a matter of civic interest,
"especially among the old families," and that they would scarcely have
landed before finding themselves amid people whom she knew. But forty
years had made a difference, and Mrs. Eveleth recognized no familiar
faces in the crowd congregated on the dock. When it became further
evident that not only was Naomi de Ruyter forgotten in the city of her
birth, but that the very landmarks she remembered had been swept away,
there was a moment of disillusion, not free from tears.

To Diane the discovery meant only that, more than she had supposed, she
would have to depend upon herself. This, to her, was the appalling fact
that dwarfed all other considerations. To be alone, while the crowds
surged hurriedly by her, was one thing; to be obliged to press in among
them and make room for herself was another. As she walked aimlessly
about the streets during the few days following her arrival she had the
forlorn conviction that in these serried ranks there could be no place
for one so insignificant as she. The knowledge that she must make such a
place, or go without food and shelter, only served to paralyze her
energies and reduce her to a state of nerveless inefficiency.

She had gone forth one day with the letters of introduction she hoped
would help her, only to find that none of the persons to whom they were
addressed had returned to town for the winter. Tired and discouraged,
she was endeavoring on her return to cheer Mrs. Eveleth with such bits
of forced humor as she could squeeze out of the commonplace happenings
of the day, when cards were brought in, bearing the unknown name of Mrs.
Wappinger.

That in this huge, overwhelming town any one could desire to make their
acquaintance was in itself a surprise; but in the interview that
followed Diane felt as though she had been caught up in a whirlwind and
carried away. Mrs. Wappinger's autocratic breeziness was so novel in
character that she had no more thought of resisting it than of resisting
a summer storm. She could only let it blow over her and bear her whither
it listed. In the end she felt like some wayfarer in the _Arabian
Nights_, who has been wafted by kindly _jinn_ across unknown miles of
space, and set down again many leagues farther on in hi