nd how he has become a man.... If I were you I'd go out West.
Surely there must be a place where it would be all right for you to
stay."

"Oh, yes," replied Carley, eagerly. "Glenn wrote me there was a lodge
where people went in nice weather--right down in the canyon not far
from his place. Then, of course, the town--Flagstaff--isn't far.... Aunt
Mary, I think I'll go."

"I would. You're certainly wasting your time here."

"But I could only go for a visit," rejoined Carley, thoughtfully. "A
month, perhaps six weeks, if I could stand it."

"Seems to me if you can stand New York you could stand that place," said
Aunt Mary, dryly.

"The idea of staying away from New York any length of time--why, I
couldn't do it I... But I can stay out there long enough to bring Glenn
back with me."

"That may take you longer than you think," replied her aunt, with a
gleam in her shrewd eyes. "If you want my advice you will surprise
Glenn. Don't write him--don't give him a chance to--well to suggest
courteously that you'd better not come just yet. I don't like his words
'just yet.'"

"Auntie, you're--rather--more than blunt," said Carley, divided between
resentment and amaze. "Glenn would be simply wild to have me come."

"Maybe he would. Has he ever asked you?"

"No-o--come to think of it, he hasn't," replied Carley, reluctantly.
"Aunt Mary, you hurt my feelings."

"Well, child, I'm glad to learn your feelings are hurt," returned the
aunt. "I'm sure, Carley, that underneath all this--this blase ultra
something you've acquired, there's a real heart. Only you must hurry and
listen to it--or--"

"Or what?" queried Carley.

Aunt Mary shook her gray head sagely. "Never mind what. Carley, I'd like
your idea of the most significant thing in Glenn's letter."

"Why, his love for me, of course!" replied Carley.

"Naturally you think that. But I don't. What struck me most were his
words, 'out of the West.' Carley, you'd do well to ponder over them."

"I will," rejoined Carley, positively. "I'll do more. I'll go out to his
wonderful West and see what he meant by them."

Carley Burch possessed in full degree the prevailing modern craze for
speed. She loved a motor-car ride at sixty miles an hour along a smooth,
straight road, or, better, on the level seashore of Ormond, where on
moonlight nights the white blanched sand seemed to flash toward her.
Therefore quite to her taste was the Twentieth Century Limited which was
hurtling her