This was the substance of Morris’ letter, which Katy read with streaming eyes, forgetting Saratoga as Morris’ solemn words of warning and admonition rang in her ears, and shuddering as she thought of losing the life eternal of going where Morris would never come, nor any of those she loved the best, unless it were Wilford, who might reproach her with having dragged him there when she could have saved him.
“Keep yourself unspotted from the world,” Morris had said, and she repeated it to herself, asking: “How shall I do that? How can one be good and fashionable, too?”
Then laying her hand upon the rock where she was sitting, Katy tried to pray as she had not prayed in months, asking that God would teach her what she ought to know, and keep her unspotted from the world. But at the Mountain House it is easier to pray that one be kept from temptation than it is at Saratoga, which this summer was crowded to overflowing, its streets presenting a fitting picture of Vanity Fair, so full were they of show and gala dress. At the United States, where Mrs. Cameron stopped, two rooms, for which an enormous price was paid, had been reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Wilford Cameron, and this of itself would have given them a certain eclat, even if there had not been present many who remembered the proud, fastidious bachelor, and were proportionately anxious to see his wife. She came, she saw, she conquered; and within three days after her arrival Katy Cameron was the acknowledged belle of Saratoga, from the United States to the Clarendon. And Katy, alas! was not quite the same who on the mountain ridge had sat with Morris’ letter in her hand, praying