ur, the qualities of
the two sisters. Marietta's smile, her humor, her unconscious courage,
contrasted so markedly with Angela's quietness.

The luxuries of the modern hotel have become the commonplaces of
ordinary existence, but to the girls they were still strange enough to
be impressive. To Angela they were a foretaste of what was to be an
enduring higher life. These carpets, hangings, elevators, waiters,
seemed in their shabby materialism to speak of superior things.

One day in Buffalo, with a view of the magnificent falls at Niagara, and
then came West Point with a dress parade accidentally provided for a
visiting general and a ball for the cadets. Marietta, because of her
charm and her brother's popularity, found herself so much in demand at
West Point that she extended her stay to a week, leaving Eugene and
Angela free to come to New York together and have a little time to
themselves. They only stayed long enough to see Marietta safely housed
and then came to the city and the apartment in Washington Square.

It was dark when they arrived and Angela was impressed with the
glittering galaxy of lights the city presented across the North River
from Forty-second Street. She had no idea of the nature of the city, but
as the cab at Eugene's request turned into Broadway at Forty-second
Street and clattered with interrupted progress south to Fifth Avenue she
had her first glimpse of that tawdry world which subsequently became
known as the "Great White Way." Already its make-believe and inherent
cheapness had come to seem to Eugene largely characteristic of the city
and of life, but it still retained enough of the lure of the flesh and
of clothes and of rush-light reputations to hold his attention. Here
were dramatic critics and noted actors and actresses and chorus girls,
the gods and toys of avid, inexperienced, unsatisfied wealth. He showed
Angela the different theatres, called her attention to distinguished
names; made much of restaurants and hotels and shops and stores that
sell trifles and trash, and finally turned into lower Fifth Avenue,
where the dignity of great houses and great conservative wealth still
lingered. At Fourteenth Street Angela could already see Washington Arch
glowing cream white in the glare of electric lights.

"What is that?" she asked interestedly.

"It's Washington Arch," he replied. "We live in sight of that on the
south side of the Square."

"Oh! but it is beautiful!" she exclaimed.