her grandmother choose things for her. Another girl might have gone half
wild over the delightful experience of being able to have anything in the
shops. Not so Elizabeth. She watched it all apathetically, as if the goods
displayed about had been the leaves upon the trees set forth for her
admiration. She could wear but one dress at once, and one hat. Why were so
many necessary? Her main hope lay in the words her grandmother had spoken
about sending her to school.

The third day of her stay in Rittenhouse Square, Elizabeth had reminded
her of it, and the grandmother had said half impatiently: "Yes, yes,
child; you shall go of course to a finishing school. That will be
necessary. But first I must get you fixed up. You have scarcely anything
to put on." So Elizabeth subsided.

At last there dawned a beautiful Sabbath when, the wardrobe seemingly
complete, Elizabeth was told to array herself for church, as they were
going that morning. With great delight and thanksgiving she put on what
she was told; and, when she looked into the great French plate mirror
after Marie had put on the finishing touches, she was astonished at
herself. It was all true, after all. She was a pretty girl.

She looked down at the beautiful gown of finest broadcloth, with the
exquisite finish that only the best tailors can put on a garment, and
wondered at herself. The very folds of dark-green cloth seemed to bring a
grace into her movements. The green velvet hat with its long curling
plumes of green and cream-color seemed to be resting lovingly above the
beautiful hair that was arranged so naturally and becomingly.

Elizabeth wore her lovely ermine collar and muff without ever knowing they
were costly. They all seemed so fitting and quiet and simple, so much less