n't believe in
that; she was good-humouredly arguing her young sister out of it. And
Ethel, smiling back at her, saw how sensible it was. She felt death and
sadness slipping away, and the life in the city opening.

Since Amy's marriage five years ago, Ethel had only seen her twice--once
when Amy had come home, appearing resplendent with Joe her husband in a
large new touring car, and had sent a wave of excitement through the
quiet little town; and again when she had asked Ethel to visit her for a
week in New York. That had been a glamourous week, but it had not been
repeated. For nearly three years they had not met. In that time had
come the change in Ethel's own appearance. And glancing now at Amy, she
read in those clear, smiling eyes that Amy was relieved and pleased and
surprised at the striking beauty which had come to her young sister.
There was even a tone of expectancy in Amy's talk of their life in New
York.

"She thinks I'll get on finely!" This exciting thought kept rising
repeatedly in Ethel's mind. And with it came the sturdy resolve, "I
mustn't be too humble now, or too dependent on her. I must show her I'm
somebody all by myself--that I won't be a burden on her hands. I've got
to make a life of my own--find work perhaps--or marry!"

Then all such resolutions would merge in the images vivid and new, which
kept rising in her mind, of the life she would have in the city.

She had a good voice. Old Mr. Riggs, the organist in the yellow church
at home, had planted that idea deep in her mind. If only her voice
could be brought out! She hadn't much money for teachers, but how she
would work if she got a chance! In her heart she knew she had no great
voice, but gaily she let her fancy go and pictured herself on the stage.
. . . This image passed and was replaced by a platform in an immense
auditorium crowded with cheering women and girls. Suffrage banners were
all about, and she was speaking to the crowd. Her voice rang clear and
resolute. . . . There were other dreams and pictures--of dances in
New York cafes, of theatre parties, trips to Paris, hosts of friends.
And the vague thought flashed into her mind:

"What possibilities for life--in me--me--Ethel Knight!"

She went on listening, building. She took in fragments of what Amy said
and mingled them with things she had read and pictures she'd seen in
books, magazines and Sunday papers; or with things that she had heard in
the long discussions in her club