“Don’t be nervous, darling,” he said gayly.  “You will find Pauline bubbling over with joy at our coming, and everything arranged as though we were expected to live there all our lives.”

Selma looked at him blankly and then remembered.  She was not feeling nervous, and Pauline was not in her thoughts.  She had been lost in her own reflections—­lost in the happy consciousness of the contrast between her new and her old husband, and in the increasing satisfaction that she was actually in New York.  How bright and busy the streets looked!  The throng of eager passers and jostling vehicles against the background of brilliant shop-windows bewildered and stimulated her.  She was saying to herself that here was the place where she was suited to live, and mutely acknowledging its superiority to Benham as a centre of life.  This was a rash, swift conclusion, but Selma prided herself on her capacity to arrive at wise judgments by rapid mental processes.  So absorbed was she in the glittering, stirring panorama that Wilbur’s efforts at enlightenment were practically wasted.  She was in no humor for details; she was glorying in the exalted impression which the whole vivid scene produced upon her.

His remark caused her to realize that they must be near their destination.  She had no misgivings on the score of her own reception, but she was interested and curious to see Pauline, this wonderful sister of whom Wilbur was so fond and so proud.  Then her husband cried, “Here we are!” and in another moment she found herself in the hearty embrace of a large, comely woman who met her at the door.  This of course must be Pauline.  Selma was just a little shocked by the fervor of the greeting; for though she delighted in rapid intimacies, unexpected liberties with her person were contrary to her conceptions of propriety.  Still it was delightful to be welcomed so heartily.  She returned the embrace warmly but with dignity, and allowed herself to be convoyed into the house arm in arm with her new relation who seemed, indeed, to be bubbling over with joy.  It was not until they were in the same room that Selma could get a good look at her.

Pauline Littleton was fine looking rather than pretty.  She was tall and substantial, with an agreeable face, an intelligent brow, a firm yet sweet mouth, and steady, honest eyes which now sparkled with pleasure.  Her physique was very different from her brother’s.  Selma noticed that she was taller than herself and only a little shorter than Wilbur.  She had Wilbur’s smile too, suggesting a disposition to take things humorously; but her expression lacked the poetic cast which made him so attractive and congenial to herself and excused the existence of the lighter vein.  Selma did not admire women who were inclined to be stout.  She associated spareness of person with high thinking, and an abundance of flesh as an indication of material or commonplace aims.  She reflected that Pauline was presumably business-like and a good