"It is looking back so far," she said, waving her hand towards them with
an odd gesture. "To think that it was once all like--like that."
She got up and went to the things, turning them over, and touching them
with a softness, almost expressing a caress. The names of the makers
stamped on bands and collars, the names of the streets in which their
shops stood, moved her. She heard again the once familiar rattle of
wheels, and the rush and roar of New York traffic.
Betty carried on the whole matter with lightness. She talked easily
and casually, giving local colour to what she said. She described the
abnormally rapid growth of the places her sister had known in her teens,
the new buildings, new theatres, new shops, new people, the later
mode of living, much of it learned from England, through the unceasing
weaving of the Shuttle.
"Changing--changing--changing. That is what it is always doing--America.
We have not reached repose yet. One wonders how long it will be before
we shall. Now we are always hurrying breathlessly after the next
thing--the new one--which we always think will be the better one. Other
countries built themselves slowly. In the days of their building, the
pace of life was a march.
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