“And I’m glad of this opportunity of getting acquainted with you if you don’t mind. I love young people.”

Cornelia wished her seatmate would keep quiet or go away, but she tried to smile gratefully.

“I was so interested in all those young people who came down to see you off. It reminded me of younger days. Was that a college up on the hill above the station?”

Now indeed was Cornelia’s tongue loosened. Her beloved college! Ah, she could talk about that even to ladies clad in furs and jewels, and she was presently launched in a detailed description of the junior play, her face glowing vividly under the opened admiration of the white-haired, beautiful woman, who knew just how to ask the right questions to bring out the girl’s eager tale and who responded so readily to every point she brought out.

“And how is it that you are going away?” she asked at last. “I should think you could not be spared. You seem to have been the moving spirit in it all. But I suppose you are returning in time to do your part.”

Cornelia’s face clouded over suddenly, and she drew a deep sigh. For the moment she had forgotten. It was almost as if the pretty lady had struck her in the face with her soft, jeweled hand. She seemed to shrink into herself.

“No,” she said at last sadly, “I’m not going—back ever, I’m afraid.” The words came out with a sound almost like a sob and were wholly unintentional with Cornelia. She was not one to air her sorrows before strangers, or even friends, but somehow the whole tragedy had come over her like a great wave that threatened to engulf her. She was immediately sorry that she had spoken, however, and tried to explain in a tone less tragic. “You see, my mother is not well and had to go away, and—they needed me at home.”

She lifted her clouded eyes to meet a wealth of admiration in the older woman’s gaze.

“How beautiful! To be needed, I mean,” the lady said with a smile. “I can think just what a tower of strength you will be to your father. Your father is living?”

“Yes,” gasped Cornelia with a sudden thought of how terrible it would be if he were gone. “Oh, yes; and it’s strange—he used those very words when he wrote me to come home.” Then she grew rosy with the realization of how she was thinking out loud to this elegant stranger.

“Of course he would,” asserted the lady. “I can see that you are! I was thinking that as I watched you all the afternoon. You seem so capable and so—sweet !”

“Oh, but I’m not !” burst out the girl honestly. “I’ve been real cross about it ever since the letter came. You see,”—and she drew her brows, earnestly trying to justify herself—“you see, I can’t help thinking it’s all a mistake. I’m glad to go home and help, but someone else could have done that, and I think I could have helped to better purpose if I had been allowed to stay and finish my course and then been able to help out financially. Father has lost some money lately, which has made things hard, and I was planning to be an interior decorator. I should soon have been able to do a good deal for them.”

“Oh, but my dear! No one can take a daughter’s place in a home when there is trouble, not such a daughter’s place as you occupy, I’m sure. And as for the other thing, if you have it in you it will come out, you may be sure. You’ll begin by decorating the home interior, and you won’t lose anything in the end. Such things are never lost nor time wasted. God sees to that, if you are doing your best right where He put you. I can just see what an exquisite spot you’ll make of that home, and how it will rest your mother to know you are taking her place.”

Cornelia sadly shook her head.

“There won’t be any chance for decorating,” she said slowly. “They’ve had to move away from the home we owned, and father said it wasn’t very pleasant there.”

“All the more chance for your talents!” said the lady with determined cheerfulness.