As the train sped through the open country, passing stretches of yellowing fields, clusters of woodland and busy little villages, Alma chattered joyously:
"Aren't you awfully glad about the party, Nancy? Don't you think we can go to a matinée—it's such a deliciously idle, luxurious sort of thing to do! I'm going to have chicken patties for luncheon, and lots of that scrumptious chocolate icecream that's almost black. Don't you love restaurant food, Nancy? It's such fun to sit and watch the people, and wonder what they are going to do after luncheon, and what they are saying to each other, and where they live. When I'm married I shall certainly live in town, and I'll have a box at the opera, and I'll carry a pair of those eye-glasses on jewelled sticks—what-do-you-call-'ems—and every morning I'll go down-town in my car and shop, and then I'll meet my husband for luncheon at Sherry's or the Plaza."
"Of course you'll have a country-place on Long Island," suggested Nancy, with good-natured irony, which Alma took quite seriously.
"Oh, yes. With terraces and Italian gardens. I would love to be seen standing in a beautiful garden, with broad marble steps, and rows of poplar trees, and a sun-dial——"
"For whose benefit?"
"Oh, my own."
"We're feeling rich to-day, aren't we?"
"Well, I don't know anything that feels better than to be going to buy a new dress. Shall we get the hat too, Nancy?"
"What do you think?"
Alma hesitated.