The graduation of Beth and her classmates was really a very pretty occasion; Miss Hammersly declared (as usual) that no finer class of girls had ever left her rooftree.
Rivercliff was crowded on that day, and the great central room of the gymnasium was used for the dance and reception at night. Of course, everybody was present—including the perfect number in aunts. Likewise, Mrs. Baldwin came as the guest of Mrs. Haven.
Really, to see and hear Mrs. Haven one might have thought that “our Beth” was her daughter instead of Priscilla Baldwin’s oldest child.
“And do you remember, Priscilla,” said Larry’s mother, wiping her eyes when the blue-ribboned diplomas were given out, “how we planned, years and years ago, that my Larry and your eldest girl should marry?”
“That was a long time ago,” said Mrs. Baldwin, rather primly.
“But they do make a wonderfully good looking couple together,” whispered Mrs. Haven a little later, when Larry stood with a group of the girls, which included another of the graduation day guests—Miss Freylinghausen. Cynthia had one arm around Beth and another around Molly, and looked to be enjoying herself.
Before the dancing began that evening, Larry sent up word to Number Eighty where Beth had served tea, to ask that the occupant of that room would give him a few moments of her time. And Beth tripped down in her new evening frock in answer to the summons. Evidently, Larry had laid his plans with wit and judgment. He led her into the madam’s room—and it was empty.
“See what I have for you to-night, Beth,” he said, eyeing her laughingly, yet admiringly. He opened the box he carried and displayed its contents.
“With the compliments and love,” he said, his voice shaking a little, “of Mrs. Euphemia Haven—God bless her! Your Great-grandmother’s corals, Beth. They are to be yours again. She never intended to keep them for herself, but wants you to have them back now to wear—and for your very own.”
Beth looked at him—looked away—tried to say something, and Larry added, softly: