"It is just what I used to feel in April when we drove down Fifth Avenue." Among the crowds of freshly-dressed passers-by, women with flowery hats and light frocks and parasols, men with touches of flower-colour on the lapels of their coats, and the holiday look in their faces, she noted so many of a familiar type that she began to look for and try to pick them out with quite excited interest.
"I believe that woman is an American," she would say.

"That girl looks as if she were a New Yorker," again.

"That man's face looks as if it belonged to Broadway.

Oh, Betty! do you think I am right?
I should say those girls getting out of the hansom to go into Burnham & Staples' came from out West and are going to buy thousands of things.

Don't they look like it ?" She began to lean forward and look on at things with an interest so unlike her Stornham listlessness that Betty's heart was moved.
Her face looked alive, and little waves of colour rose under her skin.
Several times she laughed the natural little laugh of her girlhood which it had seemed almost too much to expect to hear again.