_Wherein Sacharissa Remains In and a Young Man Can't Get Out_

The snowstorm had ceased; across Fifth Avenue the Park resembled the
mica-incrusted view on an expensive Christmas card. Every limb, branch,
and twig was outlined in clinging snow; crystals of it glittered under
the morning sun; brilliantly dressed children, with sleds, romped and
played over the dazzling expanse. Overhead the characteristic deep blue
arch of a New York sky spread untroubled by a cloud. Her family--that is,
her father, brother-in-law, married sister, three unmarried sisters and
herself--were expecting to leave for Tuxedo about noon. Why? Nobody knows
why the wealthy are always going somewhere. However, they do, fortunately
for story writers.

"It's quite as beautiful here," thought Sacharissa to herself, "as it is
in the country. I'm sorry I'm going."

Idling there by the sunny window and gazing out into the white expanse,
she had already dismissed all uneasiness in her mind concerning the
psychical experiment upon herself. That is to say, she had not exactly
dismissed it, she used no conscious effort, it had gone of itself--or,
rather, it had been crowded out, dominated by a sudden and strong
disinclination to go to Tuxedo.

As she stood there the feeling grew and persisted, and, presently, she
found herself repeating aloud: "I don't want to go, I _don't_ want to go.
It's stupid to go. Why should I go when it's stupid to go and I'd rather
stay here?"

Meanwhile, Ethelinda and Destyn were having a classical reconciliation in
a distant section of the house, and the young wife had got as far as: