"I want you to be gay, my dear," Amy told her at the start. "You've
been through such a lonely time. And what earthly good will it do poor
Dad to have you go about in black? You're here now and you've got to
make friends and a place for yourself. If he were alive I know he'd
agree. He'd want you to have every chance."

So they started in to shop. And though Ethel had her memories, her
moods of homesick longing for the old soldier who was gone, these soon
became less frequent. There was little time to be lonely or sad.

Amy herself felt new youth these days. Relieved of the first uneasiness
with which she had gone to Ohio to bring her young sister to New York,
surprised and delighted at finding how the awkward girl she had known
had developed since the last time they had met, Amy now took Ethel about
to get her "clothes fit to be seen in." And as with intent little
glances she kept studying "Ethel's type" in order to set off her charms,
the slightly bored expression, the look of disillusionment left Amy's
pretty countenance. For Ethel's freshness had given to Amy new zest and
belief in her own life, in its purpose and importance. To get Ethel
clothes, to show her about, to find her friends, to give her a gay
winter in town and later to make a good match for her--these aims loomed
large in Amy's mind. She felt her own youth returning, and she
prolonged this period. She wanted Ethel all to herself. She even shut
her husband out.

"You can rest up a bit," she told him, "for what's coming later on." And
Joe, with a good-natured groan at the prospect of late hours ahead, made
the most of the rest allowed to him.

Each morning the two sisters fared forth in a taxi. And Amy began to