“I’ll tell you to-morrow. How is an old hoppety-go-quick like me to take that long journey on crutches? When do you expect to go, Miss Wickham?”
“It’s perfectly lovely up there in June. Could you go as early as the middle of that month?”
“We’ll see.”
“You’ll be giving up your crutches and be walking with a cane by that time,” Ellen broke in; “the doctor said so.”
“You could go all the way by water if you liked, or we could motor up. At all events it would be made as easy a journey for you as possible,” Mabel promised.
Miss Rindy only nodded reflectively. “We’ll let the matter rest for the present,” she decided, and nothing further would she say.
Mr. Todd had taken his departure before Mabel had started her explanations, and now Ellen bore her friend up to her own room, where they chattered like magpies while Ellen made ready to go out with Mabel to show her the town.
It is superfluous to say that for the rest of the day the two were in a wild state of excitement. While Ellen despised snobbishness, she nevertheless could not but feel an inward pride in her new friend, not so much because of her wealth, but because of her little high-bred air, her gracious, unaffected manner, free from any gaucherie. Mabel could not lay claims to great beauty, but her small, well-set head, her fine carriage, her wide-open, frank, blue eyes set rather widely apart, the unmistakable elegance of her dress, all distinguished her.
Caro at first was disposed to be jealous, but was soon won over by Mabel’s sweetness, and was the first to sound her praises to an eager circle, Florence Ives among them, and it must be confessed that Caro was overweeningly boastful in the presence of this young person. “I always told you that Ellen had lovely friends in the city,” she said triumphantly.
“I believe I’ll give a little tea to-morrow and ask Ellen to bring Miss Wickham,” said Florence, much impressed, and always on the lookout for desirable acquaintances.