“I really don’t see how I’m to meet the child, Kate,” Honora said anxiously to her friend.  “Do you think you could manage to get down to the station?”

Kate could and did go.  This girl, like herself, was very much on her own resources, she imagined.  She was coming, as Kate had come only the other day, to a new and forbidding city, and Kate’s heart warmed to her.  It seemed rather a tragedy, at best, to leave the bland Californian skies and to readjust life amid the iron compulsion of Chicago.  Kate pictured her as a little thing, depressed, weary with her long journey, and already homesick.

The reality was therefore somewhat of a surprise.  As Kate stood waiting by the iron gate watching the outflowing stream of people with anxious eyes, she saw a little furore centered about the person of an opulent young woman who had, it appeared, many elaborate farewells to make to her fellow-passengers.  Two porters accompanied her, carrying her smart bags, and, even with so much assistance, she was draped with extra garments, which hung from her arms in varying and seductive shades of green.  She herself was in green of a subtle olive shade, and her plumes and boa, her chains and chatelaine, her hand-bags and camera, marked her as the traveler triumphant and expectant.  Like an Arabian princess, borne across the desert to the home of her future lord, she came panoplied with splendor.  The consciousness of being a personage, by the mere right conferred by regal womanhood-in-flower, emanated from her.  And the world accepted her smilingly at her own estimate.  She wished to play at being queen.  What more simple?  Let her have her game.  On every hand she found those who were—­or who delightedly pretended to be—­her subjects.

Once beyond the gateway, this exuberant creature paused.  “And now,” she said to a gentleman more assiduous than the rest, who waited upon her and who was laden with her paraphernalia, “you must help me to identify my cousin.  That will be easy enough, too, for they say we resemble each other.”

That gave Kate her cue.  She went forward with outstretched hand.

“I am your cousin’s emissary, Miss Morrison,” she said.  “I am Kate Barrington, and I came to greet you because your cousin was unable to get here, and is very, very sorry about it.”

Miss Morrison revealed two deep dimples when she smiled, and held out so much of a hand as she could disengage from her draperies.  She presented her fellow-traveler; she sent a porter for a taxi.  All was exhilaratingly in commotion about her; and Kate found herself apportioning the camera and some of the other things to herself.

They had quite a royal setting-forth.  Every one helped who could find any excuse for doing so; others looked on.  Miss Morrison nodded and smiled; the chauffeur wheeled his machine splendidly, making dramatic gestures which had the effect of causing commerce to pause till the princess was under way.