Morrison leaped up, almost knocking the table over, and he glared at Carley as he gathered up his hat and cane. She turned her back upon him. From that moment he ceased to exist for Carley. She never spoke to him again.
Next day Carley called upon her dearest friend, whom she had not seen for some time.
“Carley dear, you don’t look so very well,” said Eleanor, after greetings had been exchanged.
“Oh, what does it matter how I look?” queried Carley, impatiently.
“You were so wonderful when you got home from Arizona.”
“If I was wonderful and am now commonplace you can thank your old New York for it.”
“Carley, don’t you care for New York any more?” asked Eleanor.
“Oh, New York is all right, I suppose. It’s I who am wrong.”
“My dear, you puzzle me these days. You’ve changed. I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’re unhappy.”
“Me? Oh, impossible! I’m in a seventh heaven,” replied Carley, with a hard little laugh. “What ’re you doing this afternoon? Let’s go out—riding—or somewhere.”