"Maybe we shall," said Lily. "Don't forget the fortune teller!"
"But New York's pretty big, isn't it?" Having lived all of her life in a small town, Marjorie had only a vague idea of the size of the great city.
Lily laughed good-naturedly. "Wait till you see it," she said. "It's simply tremendous—and so crowded and confusing."
"Poor Frieda!" sighed Marjorie.
Mrs. Andrews's chauffeur met the train, bringing the former's regrets at not being present in person.
"Mama's out so much," explained Lily. "Teas and charity work, you know."
As Marjorie entered the big limousine, she realized that she had never ridden in so luxurious a car before. She glanced at the soft upholstery, the bouquet of real flowers, and felt the warmth of the artificial heat. Lily's parents were obviously rich, although the girl evidently gave it little thought now. But Marjorie remembered how impressed her room-mate had been with the fact when she entered Miss Allen's, and suddenly she decided that, had she known all this, she would not have blamed her so severely.
Then the streets claimed her attention. They were filled with traffic of all kinds, which she watched silently. Her thoughts flew to Frieda Hammer; she wondered what were her impressions as she entered this great, noisy confusion, that is called New York. How would she feel herself, if she had come all alone—with no Lily to direct her, no car to meet her, no friends to entertain her? Alone, with little or no money in her purse, and no qualifications to fit her for work! She shuddered at the very idea; a sort of despair seized her, so that for the instant she suffered vicariously as acutely as if she were the other girl in the situation.
But Lily's voice brought her back to reality.
"That was the Grand Central Station, where we came in," explained the New York girl. "And this is Sixth Avenue."