“New York just fairly shimmering in everything she wears!” thought Ethel.

Amy’s sable cloak was long.  She had worn it at the funeral, with a black skirt and a heavy veil.  But the veil she had put into her bag as soon as they had left the town, and the cloak thrown back revealed rich colours, the glitter and glint of a diamond brooch; and she wore a small blue feathered hat which threw out changing colours in the play of light in the car.  There was to be no more mourning.  Amy didn’t believe in that; she was good-humouredly arguing her young sister out of it.  And Ethel, smiling back at her, saw how sensible it was.  She felt death and sadness slipping away, and the life in the city opening.

Since Amy’s marriage five years ago, Ethel had only seen her twice—­once when Amy had come home, appearing resplendent with Joe her husband in a large new touring car, and had sent a wave of excitement through the quiet little town; and again when she had asked Ethel to visit her for a week in New York.  That had been a glamourous week, but it had not been repeated.  For nearly three years they had not met.  In that time had come the change in Ethel’s own appearance.  And glancing now at Amy, she read in those clear, smiling eyes that Amy was relieved and pleased and surprised at the striking beauty which had come to her young sister.  There was even a tone of expectancy in Amy’s talk of their life in New York.

“She thinks I’ll get on finely!” This exciting thought kept rising repeatedly in Ethel’s mind.  And with it came the sturdy resolve, “I mustn’t be too humble now, or too dependent on her.  I must show her I’m somebody all by myself—­that I won’t be a burden on her hands.  I’ve got to make a life of my own—­find work perhaps—­or marry!”

Then all such resolutions would merge in the images vivid and new, which kept rising in her mind, of the life she would have in the city.

She had a good voice.  Old Mr. Riggs, the organist in the yellow church at home, had planted that idea deep in her mind.  If only her voice could be brought out!  She hadn’t much money for teachers, but how she would work if she got a chance!  In her heart she knew she had no great voice, but gaily she let her fancy go and pictured herself on the stage. . . .  This image passed and was replaced by a platform in an immense auditorium crowded with cheering women and girls.  Suffrage banners were all about, and she was speaking to the crowd.  Her voice rang clear and resolute. . . .  There were other dreams and pictures—­of dances in New York cafes, of theatre parties, trips to Paris, hosts of friends.  And the vague thought flashed into her mind: 

“What possibilities for life—­in me—­me—­Ethel Knight!”