The joy had gone out of the morning when Elizabeth went home. She went up
to her Grandmother Bailey at once, and after she had read her letters for
her, and performed the little services that were her habit, she said: "Grandmother, I'm expecting a man to call upon me to-day. I thought I had
better tell you."
"A man!" said Madam Bailey, alarmed at once. She wanted to look over and
portion out the right man when the time came. "What man?"
"Why, a man I met in Montana," said Elizabeth, wondering how much she
ought to tell.
"A man you met in Montana! Horrors!" exclaimed the now thoroughly aroused
grandmother. "Not that dreadful creature you ran away from?"
"O no!" said Elizabeth, smiling. "Not that man. A man who was very kind to
me, and whom I like very much."
So much the worse. Immediate action was necessary.
"Well, Elizabeth," said Madam Bailey in her stiffest tones, "I really do
not care to have any of your Montana friends visit you. You will have to
excuse yourself. It will lead to embarrassing entanglements. You do not in
the least realize your position in society. It is all well enough to
please your relatives, although I think you often overdo that. You could
just as well send them a present now and then, and please them more than
to go yourself. But as for any outsiders, it is impossible. I draw the
line there."
"But grandmother----"
"Don't interrupt me, Elizabeth; I have something more to say. I had word
this morning from the steamship company. They can give us our staterooms
on the Deutschland on Saturday, and I have decided to take them. I have
telegraphed, and we shall leave here to-day for New York. I have one or
two matters of business I wish to attend to in New York. We shall go to
the Waldorf for a few days, and you will have more opportunity to see New
York than you have had yet. It will not be too warm to enjoy going about a
little, I fancy; and a number of our friends are going to be at the
Waldorf, too. The Craigs sail on Saturday with us. You will have young
company on the voyage."
Elizabeth's heart sank lower than she had known it could go, and she grew
white to the lips. The observant grandmother decided that she had done
well to be so prompt. The man from Montana was by no means to be admitted.
She gave orders to that effect, unknown to Elizabeth.
The girl went slowly to her room. All at once it had dawned upon her that
she had not given her address to the man the night before, nor told him by
so much as a word what were her circumstances. An hour's meditation
brought her to the unpleasant decision that perhaps even now in this hard
spot God was only hiding her from worse trouble. Mr. George Benedict
belonged to Geraldine Loring. He had declared as much when he was in
Montana. It would not be well for her to renew the acquaintance. Her heart
told her by its great ache that she would be crushed under a friendship
that could not be lasting.