Therefore, the ride into the city was not sufficiently long to cover the emotions it held for both girls. They were to spend four or five days in the city, that Mr. Fenton declared the most beautiful and stimulating in the world.
Tory did not agree with Mr. Fenton’s estimate of New York, but she was willing to be convinced.
He was interested to watch the effect the great city might have upon Tory’s impressionable nature, believing that Dorothy’s quieter outlook would prove a comfortable balance.
The day was clear; there was no trace of the snowstorms that had left patches of snow upon the fields and gardens of Westhaven.
Driving up Fifth Avenue to their hotel, a little beyond the center of Manhattan Island, the atmosphere appeared more glistening than the white face of the snow. The sun struck golden rays across the high buildings, their towers seemed to swim in a clear light with a deep blue sky above.
The people came and went so rapidly on the sidewalks that Tory and Dorothy were aghast. Neither said anything, yet they were grateful when a policeman halted the traffic and they were able to get a more steadfast view of their surroundings.
Tory’s face shone, her dark eyes widened, her lips parted with that eager expression of desire that her uncle loved and a little feared. No one who had not known him as a boy would have believed that he too once possessed her ardent interest in life. He had let so much slip by him—a home, a family, a career. Were it possible, he did not intend that Tory should sacrifice so much!
“It is a wonder city, a city of towers, Uncle Richard,” Tory whispered. “I am not sure I like it so well as London and Paris. Somehow it reminds me a little of both, and yet is like neither.”
Dorothy laughed.
“You know, Mr. Fenton, that sounds as Tory’s speeches so often do. So many ideas come to her at once that she pours them out in a single breath and makes her audience gather up the lost threads.