s loved beautiful things, and here I was in the midst of their
creating! Heaven had been kind. The joy of waking in the morning to a
day of congenial work, setting forth to labor that was constructing for
me a trade of my own, was like a daily tonic. I was very happy, full of
ambition. I used to lie awake nights planning how I could make myself
able and efficient. I discovered a course I could take evenings in
Design and Interior Architecture, and I took advantage of it. I read
volumes at the library on period furniture and decorating. I haunted
antique shops. I perused articles on good salesmanship. Mornings I was
up with the birds (the pigeons, that is) and half-way to my place of
business by eight o'clock. It agreed with me. I grew fat on it. I
regained the pounds of flesh that I had lost at the hospital with
prodigious speed. Color came back to my cheeks, song to my lips.

Esther's book actually towered. It wasn't necessary for her to keep her
position in the publishing house any longer. It wasn't necessary for her
to conceal from me the price of our room. My salary was generous, and
with Esther's little income we were rich indeed. We could drink all the
egg-nogs we wanted to. We could even fare on chicken and green
vegetables occasionally. We could buy one of Rosa's paintings for
twenty-five dollars, and lend fifteen, now and then, if one of the girls
was in a tight place. We could afford to canvass for suffrage for
nothing. We could engage a bungalow for two or three weeks at the sea
next year.

As soon as I felt that my success at Van de Vere's was assured, I wrote
to my family and asked them to drop in and see me. The first of the
family to arrive was Edith, one day in February. Isabel, the maid,
announced Mrs. Alexander Vars to me. I sent down for her to come up.

The second floor of Van de Vere's looks almost like a private house--a
dining-room with a fine old sideboard, bedroom hung with English chintz,
a living-room with books and low lamps--sample rooms, of course, all of
them, but with very little of the atmosphere of shop or warehouse.

I met Edith in the living-room.

"Hello, Edith," I said. She looked just the same, very modish, in some
brand-new New York clothes, I suppose.

"Toots!" she exclaimed, and put both arms about me and kissed me. Then
to cover up a little sign of mistiness in her eyes that would show, she
exclaimed, "You're just as good-looking as ever. I declare you are!"

"So are you