Dazed by the sight and touch and clamor of the throng, they moved and spoke as in a vision.
The presence of their own kind in such numbers confused them; overwhelmed, they found no voices to answer the call of happiness.

Their capacity to respond was too limited.
As in a dream they were removed earlier than anybody else--taken away by a footman and a maid with decorous pomp and circumstance, carefully muffled in motor robes, and embedded in a limousine.
The daily papers, with that lofty purpose which always characterises them, recorded next morning the important fact that the famous Seagrave twins had appeared at their first party.
* * * * * Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen the twins might have entered Harvard, for the entrance examinations were tried on both children, and both passed brilliantly.
For a year or two they found a substitute for happiness in pretending that they were really at college; they simulated, day by day, the life that they supposed was led there; they became devoted to their new game.
Excited through tales told by tutor and friend, they developed a passionate loyalty for their college and class; they were solemnly elected to coveted societies, they witnessed Harvard victories, they strove fiercely for honours; their ideals were lofty, their courage clean and high.
So completely absorbed in the pretence did they become that their own tutors ventured to suggest to Mr.Tappan that such fiercely realistic mimicry deserved to be rewarded.

Unfortunately, the children heard of this; but the Trust Officer's short answer killed their interest in playing at happiness, and their junior year began listlessly and continued without ambition.

There was no heart in the pretence.

Their interest had died.