Elizabeth smiled, and her grandmother read down, the column: 

“Mr. George Trescott Benedict and his mother, Mrs. Vincent Benedict, have arrived home after an extended tower of Europe,” read Mrs. Brady.  “Mrs. Benedict is much improved in health.  It is rumored they will spend the summer at their country seat on Wissahickon Heights.”

“My!” interrupted Lizzie with her mouth full of fried potatoes.  “That’s that fellow that was engaged to that Miss What’s-her-Name Loring.  Don’t you ’member?  They had his picture in the papers, and her; and then all at once she threw him over for some dook or something, and this feller went off.  I heard about it from Mame.  Her sister works in a department-store, and she knows Miss Loring.  She says she’s an awfully handsome girl, and George Benedict was just gone on her.  He had a fearful case.  Mame says Miss Loring—­what is her name?—­O, Geraldine—­Geraldine Loring bought some lace of her.  She heard her say it was for the gown she was going to wear at the horse-show.  They had her picture in the paper just after the horse-show, and it was all over lace, I saw it.  It cost a whole lot.  I forget how many dollars a yard.  But there was something the matter with the dook.  She didn’t marry him, after all.  In her picture she was driving four horses.  Don’t you remember it, grandma?  She sat up tall and high on a seat, holding a whole lot of ribbons and whips and things.  She has an elegant figger.  I guess mebbe the dook wasn’t rich enough.  She hasn’t been engaged to anybody else, and I shouldn’t wonder now but she’d take George Benedict back.  He was so awful stuck on her!”

Lizzie rattled on, and the grandmother read more society notes, but Elizabeth heard no more.  Her hear had suddenly frozen, and dropped down like lead into her being.  She felt as if she never would be able to raise it again.  The lady!  Surely she had forgotten the lady.  But Geraldine Loring!  Of all women!  Could it be possible?  Geraldine Loring was almost—­well, fast, at least, as nearly so as one who was really of a fine old family, and still held her own in society, could be.  She was beautiful as a picture; but her face, to Elizabeth’s mind, was lacking in fine feeling and intellect.  A great pity went out from her heart to the man whose fate was in that doll-girl’s hands.  True, she had heard that Miss Loring’s family were unquestionable, and she knew her mother was a most charming woman.  Perhaps she had misjudged her.  She must have done so if he cared for her, for it could not be otherwise.

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?”