Carley had wired her aunt and two of her intimate friends to meet her at the Grand Central Station.  This reunion soon to come affected Carley in recurrent emotions of relief, gladness, and shame.  She did not sleep well, and arose early, and when the train reached Albany she felt that she could hardly endure the tedious hours.  The majestic Hudson and the palatial mansions on the wooded bluffs proclaimed to Carley that she was back in the East.  How long a time seemed to have passed!  Either she was not the same or the aspect of everything had changed.  But she believed that as soon as she got over the ordeal of meeting her friends, and was home again, she would soon see things rationally.

At last the train sheered away from the broad Hudson and entered the environs of New York.  Carley sat perfectly still, to all outward appearances a calm, superbly-poised New York woman returning home, but inwardly raging with contending tides.  In her own sight she was a disgraceful failure, a prodigal sneaking back to the ease and protection of loyal friends who did not know her truly.  Every familiar landmark in the approach to the city gave her a thrill, yet a vague unsatisfied something lingered after each sensation.

Then the train with rush and roar crossed the Harlem River to enter New York City.  As one waking from a dream Carley saw the blocks and squares of gray apartment houses and red buildings, the miles of roofs and chimneys, the long hot glaring streets full of playing children and cars.  Then above the roar of the train sounded the high notes of a hurdy-gurdy.  Indeed she was home.  Next to startle her was the dark tunnel, and then the slowing of the train to a stop.  As she walked behind a porter up the long incline toward the station gate her legs seemed to be dead.

In the circle of expectant faces beyond the gate she saw her aunt’s, eager and agitated, then the handsome pale face of Eleanor Harmon, and beside her the sweet thin one of Beatrice Lovell.  As they saw her how quick the change from expectancy to joy!  It seemed they all rushed upon her, and embraced her, and exclaimed over her together.  Carley never recalled what she said.  But her heart was full.

“Oh, how perfectly stunning you look!” cried Eleanor, backing away from Carley and gazing with glad, surprised eyes.

“Carley!” gasped Beatrice.  “You wonderful golden-skinned goddess! . . .  You’re young again, like you were in our school days.”

It was before Aunt Mary’s shrewd, penetrating, loving gaze that Carley quailed.

“Yes, Carley, you look well—­better than I ever saw you, but—­but—­”

“But I don’t look happy,” interrupted Carley.  “I am happy to get home—­to see you all . . .  But—­my—­my heart is broken!”