her health and spirits, and had now returned to her uncle's home,
lightening her mourning, going out a little, taking up her old interests
again one by one--a fitting and dignified prelude for a new establishment
of her own. She could not help being pleased and gratified at the warmth
of her reception; and she found, as Austin had predicted, that "New York
looked pretty good to her." It is doubtful whether the taste for luxury,
once acquired, is ever wholly lost, even though it may be temporarily
cast aside; and Sylvia was too young and too human, as well as too
healthy and happy again, not to enjoy herself very much, indeed.

For nearly a month she found each day so full and so delightful as it
came, that she had no time to be lonely, and no thought of going away;
but gradually she came to a realization of the fact that the days were
_too_ full; that there were no opportunities for resting and reading and
"thinking things over"; that the quiet little dinners and luncheons of
four and six, given in her honor, were gradually but surely becoming
larger, more formal and more elaborate; that her circle of callers was no
longer confined to her most intimate friends; that her telephone rang in
and out of season; that the city was growing hot and dusty and tawdry,
and that she herself was getting tired and nervous again. And when she
waked one morning at eleven o'clock, after being up most of the night
before, her head aching, her whole being weary and confused, it needed
neither the insistent and disagreeable memory of a little incident of the
previous evening, nor the letter from Austin that her maid brought in on
her breakfast-tray, to make her realize that the tinsel of her gayety was
getting tarnished.

* * * * *

DEAREST (the letter ran):