t!"

"But Monty is coming at one to take us to his father's--"

Grace felt like saying that Monty could take himself to Hades or to
Atlantic City. But she merely shook her head. She dared not trust
herself to speak. Ruth appealed to her mother. But Mrs. Fiddle shrugged
her shoulders and said: "No use! New York!" She herself was a Van Duzen.

And so Grace Goodchild returned home, five days before she was expected.

"I couldn't stand it, mother," she explained, almost tearfully.

"Very well," said Mrs. Goodchild.

What else can a mother say in New York? And isn't it right to stand by
your own flesh and blood?

Grace hesitated, full of perplexities and unformulated doubts and an
exasperating sense of indecision. She felt like opening the book of her
soul to other eyes. To hear advice or, at least, opinions.

"I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, mother," said Grace,
hesitatingly. Then she apologized, self-defensively. "It concerns my
future, dear."

"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Goodchild, absently. "I don't think. I'd like
it quite like Celestine's-- Grace, love, will you run over to Raquin's
spring exhibition at the Fitz-Marlton and look at it? It is next to the
black that Mrs. Vandergilt liked. I have an appointment with
Celestine--"

Grace knew that the selection of a husband could wait, for fashions in
that line do not change so quickly as in skirts. She dutifully said, "I
will!" She also had her eye on one.

Before going to Raquin's display she stopped at Oldman's.

The store flunky opened the door of her motor and smiled happily when he
saw who it was. She was made subtly conscious that he was dying to
announce her name to the world at the top of his enthusiastic voice.
Life in New York had its compensations, after all.

She entered. The shop-girls whispered to the customers on whom they were
waiting. The customers turned quickly and stared at Grace Goodchild.

"She often comes here!" she heard the pretty little thing in charge of
seventy-two glove-boxes say proudly to a client.

The girl who waited on Grace was a stranger. Nevertheless, when Grace
told her "I'll take these!" the girl said, "Very well, Miss Goodchild."

"Oh!" gasped Grace. "You know me?"

"What d'ye t'ink I am?" said the girl, indignantly. "Say, it was great,
Miss Goodchild!"

The worship in the girl's eyes kept the language from being offensive.

"Thank you!"

"I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Goodchild," said the gir