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Page 63
"Your loving grandmother,
ELIZABETH BRADY."
Elizabeth laughed and cried over this note. It pleased her to have her
grandmother show kindness to her. She felt that whatever she did for
Grandmother Brady was in a sense showing her love to her own mother; so
she brushed aside several engagements, much to the annoyance of her
Grandmother Bailey, who could not understand why she wanted to go down to
Flora Street for two days and a night just in the beginning of warm
weather. True, there was not much going on just now between seasons, and
Elizabeth could do as she pleased; but she might get a fever in such a
crowded neighborhood. It wasn't in the least wise. However, if she must,
she must. Grandmother Bailey was on the whole lenient. Elizabeth was too
much of a success, and too willing to please her in all things, for her to
care to cross her wishes. So Elizabeth wrote on her fine note-paper
bearing the Bailey crest in silver:
_"Dear Grandmother:_ I shall be delighted to go to the picnic
with you, and I'll bring a nice big box of candy, Huyler's best.
I'm sure you'll think it's the best you ever tasted. Don't get
Lizzie a parasol; I'm going to bring her one to surprise her.
I'll be at the house by eight o'clock.
"Your loving granddaughter,
ELIZABETH."
Mrs. Brady read this note with satisfaction and handed it over to her
daughter to read with a gleam of triumph in her eyes at the supper-table.
She knew the gift of the pink parasol would go far toward reconciling Aunt
Nan to the addition to their party. Elizabeth never did things by halves,
and the parasol would be all that could possibly be desired without
straining the family pocketbook any further.
So Elizabeth went to the picnic in a cool white dimity, plainly made, with
tiny frills of itself, edged with narrow lace that did not shout to the
unknowing multitude, "I am real!" but was content with being so; and with
a white Panama hat adorned with only a white silken scarf, but whose
texture was possible only at a fabulous price. The shape reminded
Elizabeth of the old felt hat belonging to her brother, which she had worn
on her long trip across the continent. She had put it on in the hat-store
one day; and her grandmother, when she found how exquisite a piece of
weaving the hat was, at once purchased it for her. It was stylish to wear
those soft hats in all sorts of odd shapes. Madam Bailey thought it would
be just the thing for the seashore.
Her hair was worn in a low coil in her neck, making the general appearance
and contour of her head much as it had been three years before. She wore
no jewelry, save the unobtrusive gold buckle at her belt and the plain
gold hatpin which fastened her hat. There was nothing about her which
marked her as one of the "four hundred." She did not even wear her gloves,
but carried them in her hand, and threw them carelessly upon the table
when she arrived in Flora Street. Long, soft white ones, they lay there in
their costly elegance beside Lizzie's post-card album that the
livery-stable man gave her on her birthday, all the long day while
Elizabeth was at Willow Grove, and Lizzie sweltered around under her pink
parasol in long white silk gloves.
Grandmother Brady surveyed Elizabeth with decided disapproval. It seemed
too bad on this her day of triumph, and after she had given a hint, as it
were, about Lizzie's fine clothes, that the girl should be so blind or
stubborn or both as to come around in that plain rig. Just a common white
dress, and an old hat that might have been worn about a livery-stable. It
was mortifying in the extreme. She expected a light silk, and kid gloves,
and a beflowered hat. Why, Lizzie looked a great deal finer. Did Mrs.
Bailey rig her out this way for spite? she wondered.
But, as it was too late to send Elizabeth back for more fitting garments,
the old lady resigned herself to her disappointment. The pink parasol was
lovely, and Lizzie was wild over it. Even Aunt Nan seemed mollified. It
gave her great satisfaction to look the two girls over. Her own outshone
the one from Rittenhouse Square by many counts, so thought the mother; but
all day long, as she walked behind them or viewed them from afar, she
could not understand why it was that the people who passed them always
looked twice at Elizabeth and only once at Lizzie. It seemed, after all,
that clothes did not make the girl. It was disappointing.
The box of candy was all that could possibly be desired. It was ample for
the needs of them all, including the two youths from the livery-stable who
had attached themselves to their party from the early morning. In fact, it
was two boxes, one of the most delectable chocolates of all imaginable
kinds, and the other of mixed candies and candied fruit. Both boxes bore
the magic name "Huyler's" on the covers. Lizzie had often passed Huyler's,
taking her noon walk on Chestnut Street, and looked enviously at the girls
who walked in and out with white square bundles tied with gold cord as if
it were an everyday affair. And now she was actually eating all she
pleased of those renowned candies. It was almost like belonging to the
great �lite.
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