New York is at its very brightest and best in October. This month of the year may be safely trusted not to disappoint. The skies are blue, the air balmy, and there is generally a delightful absence of wind. The summer exiles are home again from Jersey boarding houses, and mountain camps, and seaside hotels, and thankful to the point of hilarity that this episode of the year is over, that they can once more dwell under their own roofs without breaking any of the manifest laws of the great goddess Custom or Fashion.
Judge Rawdon's house had an especially charming "at home" appearance. During the absence of the family it had been made beautiful inside and outside, and the white stone, the plate glass, and falling lace evident to the street, had an almost conscious look of luxurious propriety.
The Judge frankly admitted his pleasure in his home surroundings. He said, as they ate their first meal in the familiar room, that "a visit to foreign countries was a grand, patriotic tonic." He vowed that the "first sight of the Stars and Stripes at Sandy Hook had given him the finest emotion he had ever felt in his life," and was altogether in his proudest American mood. Ruth sympathized with him. Ethel listened smiling. She knew well that the English strain had only temporarily exhausted itself; it would have its period of revival at the proper time.
"I am going to see grandmother," she said gayly. "I shall stay with her all day."
"But I have a letter from her," interrupted the Judge, "and she will not return home until next week."
"I am sorry. I was anticipating so eagerly the joy of seeing her. Well, as I cannot do so, I will go and call on Dora Stanhope."
"I would not if I were you, Ethel," said Ruth. "Let her come and call on you."
"I had a little note from her this morning, welcoming me home, and entreating me to call."
The Judge rose as Ethel was speaking, and no more was said about the visit at that time but a few hours later Ethel came down from her room ready for the street and frankly told Ruth she had made up her mind to call on Dora.
"Then I will only remind you, Ethel, that Dora is not a fortunate woman to know. As far as I can see, she is one of those who sow pain of heart and vexation of spirit about every house they enter, even their own. But I cannot gather experience for you, it will have to grow in your own garden."