"Weak nerves! How funny! I'm strong as strong can be!" she said, laughing joyously.
Hastings shook his head.
"Moods show overstrain. Come, get your hat. We'll take a brisk walk and drop in at a show tonight."
Venna jumped up delighted. She would rather go out with Daddy than do anything else in the world.
In a few minutes they were in the brisk November air, John Hastings adjusting his usual quick pace to the shorter, slower step of his daughter.
With all her bright energy, Venna's walking seemed a contradiction. It was rather slow, very deliberate, and with a dignified bearing that was very attractive.
In the street, nothing ever escaped her notice. She would always prefer to walk rather than ride. She hated her limousine. Cosmopolitan New York was a constant delight, and a walk down Broadway a pleasurable habit.
The brilliant lights, the gay theatre throng, the queer, oddly contrasted styles of dress affected by the girls with the powdered noses—all these were never-failing amusements. But deeper than this light attraction was the real human throb of the great city's throng, hurrying to and fro, some laughing, some anxious, some with a self-important strut of achieved success, others with the dogged defiance of failure and chagrin.
"The Great White Way! Was there ever anything so interesting?" thought Venna, appreciating with her bright mind the appealing contrasts. As yet she was too young to be saddened by the undercurrent of human longing and unrest.
Suddenly Venna exclaimed, "Listen, Daddy! There's a bunch singing hymns on the next comer. How great that sounds!"