I only wish my mind were as sound as my health." "You ought to wear heavier flannels, though; it's a perfect scandal what girls run around in nowadays." She rested her hands on Sylvia's shoulders lightly, smiled into her face, and then bent forward and kissed her.
"I don't understand why you won't wear rubbers, but be sure you don't sit around all evening in wet stockings." A gray mist was hastening nightfall, though the street lamps were not yet lighted.

The glow of Mrs.Owen's kindness lingered with Sylvia as she walked toward Elizabeth House.

She was constantly surprised by her friend's intensely modern spirit--her social curiosity, and the breadth and sanity of her views.

This suggestion of a vocational school for young women had kindled Sylvia's imagination, and her thoughts were upon it as she tramped homeward through the slush.

To establish an institution such as Mrs.Owen had indicated would require a large sum of money, and there were always the Bassetts, the heirs apparent of their aunt's fortune.