"ELIZABETH."

I wrote it out on a form and handed it to Mrs. Porter. "Will that
do?" I asked.

She read it at a glance. "Yes," she said, "it will do. Here, boy,
see that this is rushed."

"I'm glad it was satisfactory," I said. "Good afternoon, Mrs.
Porter."

"My dear girl . . ."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter."

Still she did not go. I realized her predicament, and was childish
enough to enjoy it, for Blakely's mother could not bear to accept a
favor from a social inferior. Had I been a child, she would have
patted me on the head and presented me with a sugar plum. As matters
stood she was quite at sea; she wished to do something gracious--she
didn't know how.

To make her position more impossible, who should come stalking into
the room but Dad,--dear, unsuspecting Dad. When he saw Mrs. Porter
he immediately jumped at a whole row of conclusions.

"Well, well well!" he said. "This is a sight that does me good. I'm
very glad indeed to see you, Mrs. Porter. Your son has had an idea
that you were opposed to meeting Elizabeth; but I knew he couldn't
be right. And here you are; calling on her? Well, well, well!