This was when she was seventeen.  Her father was greatly shocked, especially as he suspected in his secret soul that the tirade was true in substance.  He had been the recipient of Thanksgiving turkeys for nearly twenty years on the plea that they had been grown on the donor’s farm in Westchester county, and he had seen fit to invite his fellow-directors annually to dine off one of them as a modest notice that he was on friendly terms with his aristocratic New York cousin.  But in all these twenty years turkeys had been the only medium of intercourse between them.  David Price, on the few occasions when he had visited New York, had not found it convenient to call.  Once he had walked by on the other side of Fifth avenue and looked at the house, but shyness and the thought that he had no evening clothes in his valise had restrained him from ringing the doorbell.

“You do your cousin Morton great injustice—­great injustice, Florence,” he answered.  “He never forgets to send the turkeys, and as to the rest of your speech, I have only to say that it is very disrespectful and very foolish.  The next time I go to New York I will take you to call on your cousins.”

“And what would I say to them?  No thank you, poppa.”  The young woman shook her head decisively, and then she added, “I’m not going to call on them, until I’m fit to.  There!”

The ambiguity of this remark gave Mr. Price the opportunity to say that, in view of her immediate shortcomings, it was a wise conclusion, but he knew what she really meant and was distressed.  His feeling toward his cousin, though mildly envious, did not extend to self-depreciation, nor had it served to undermine his faith in the innate dignity and worth of New Jersey family life.  He could not only with a straight face, but with a kindling eye inveigh against the perils of New York fashionable life, and express gratification that no son or daughter of his had wandered so far from the fold.  It distressed him to think that Florence should be casting sheep’s eyes at the flesh-pots of Gotham, and so failing to appreciate the blessings and safety of a quiet American home.

Miss Flossy continued to entertain and to express opinions of her own, and as a result became socially interesting.  At eighteen, by her beauty, her engaging frankness and lack of self-consciousness, she spread havoc among the young men of her native city, several of whom offered her marriage.  But marriage was far from her thoughts.  Life seemed too interesting and she wished to see the world.  She was erect and alert looking, with a compact figure of medium height, large brown eyes and rich red hair, and a laughing mouth; also an innocent demeanor, which served to give her, by moonlight, the effect of an angel.  She succeeded in visiting Bar Harbor, where she promptly became a bright particular star among the galaxy of young women who at that period were establishing the reputation of the summer girl.  She continued to be a summer girl for four seasons