There would be callers again during the day and evening, and she did not wish to see them.  Their society now would be like a glass of champagne from which the life had effervesced.

At last in her restlessness and perplexity she decided to spend a day or two with her father in their city home, where he was camping out, as he termed it.  She took a train to town, and sent a messenger boy to his office with a note asking him to dine with her.

Mr. Vosburgh looked at her a little inquiringly as he entered his home, which had the comfortless aspect of a city house closed for the summer.

“Am I de trop, papa?  I have come to town for a little quiet, and to do some shopping.”

“Come to New York for quiet?”

“Yes.  The country is the gayest place now, and you know a good many are coming and going.  I am tired, and thought an evening or two with you would be a pleasant change.  You are not too busy?”

“It certainly will be a change for you, Marian.”

“Now there’s a world of satire in that remark, and deserved, too, I fear.  Mayn’t I stay?”

“Yes, indeed, till you are tired of me; and that won’t be long in this dull place, for we are scarcely in a condition now to receive callers, you know.”

“What makes you think I shall be tired of you soon, papa?”

“Oh—­well—­I’m not very entertaining.  You appear to like variety.  I suppose it is the way with girls.”

“You are not consumed with admiration for girls’ ways, are you, papa?”

“I confess, my dear, that I have not given the subject much research.  As a naturalist would say, I have no doubt that you and your class have curious habits and interesting peculiarities.  There is a great deal of life, you know, which a busy man has to accept in a general way, especially when charged with duties which are a severe and constant strain upon his mind.  I try to leave you and your mother as free from care as possible.  You left her well, I trust?”

“Very well, and all going on as usual.  I’m dissatisfied with myself, papa, and you unconsciously make me far more so.  Is a woman to be only a man’s plaything, and a dangerous one at that?”

“Why, Marian, you are in a mood!  I suppose a woman, like a man, can be very much what she pleases.  You certainly have had a chance to find out what pleases most women in your circle of acquaintances, and have made it quite clear what pleases you.”

“Satire again,” she said, despondently.  “I thought perhaps you could advise and help me.”

He came and took her face between his hands, looking earnestly into her troubled blue eyes.

“Are you not content to be a conventional woman?” he asked, after a moment.

“No!” was her emphatic answer.

“Well, there are many ways of being a little outre in this age and land, especially at this stormy period.  Perhaps you want a career,—­something that will give you a larger place in the public eye?”