"I won't listen, and I won't spend my life waiting in that way.

You may if you want to." Running back to her sitting-room, she banged the door behind her to shut out the sound of Eliot's voice.

The next hour she spent by the window, looking down on the shifting scenes of the streets below,--the noisy New York streets, spread out like a giant picture-book before her.

Then it began to grow dark, and lights twinkled here and there, and great letters of flame appeared as by magic across the fronts of buildings, and on the electric arches spanning the streets.
Eliot came and drew the curtains, and a glance at the little cupids told her it was time to dress for dinner.
"I'll wear my buttercup dress to-night, Eliot," said Eugenia, when her black hair had been carefully brushed and plaited in two long braids.
"It always makes my eyes look so big and dark, somehow, and brings out the colour in my lips and cheeks." "You are a young one to be noticing such things as that," said Eliot, under her breath.

She wanted to say it aloud, but she only pursed her lips together as she got out the dress Eugenia had asked for.