"Here, mother," cried Miss Whitman, as she opened the drawing-room door; "here is an old friend to see you!"
Miss Crane advanced into the room. A tall, fashionably-dressed woman came to meet her with outstretched hand.
"What!" she exclaimed. "Letitia Crane! Well! I am glad to see you. What a time it is since we've met. But you've hardly changed at all. I should have known you anywhere. Sit down here and let us have a good long chat about the old days. Ida! go and tell your father that Miss Crane is here; I'm sure she'd like to see him."
Miss Crane sat down, grateful for being received with such cordiality. It was difficult to talk, her whole being seemed concentrated in listening. She heard Ida go downstairs, open the study door, and then came the sound of a voice she had not heard for twenty years.
"How silly I am!" she thought, as she tried to concentrate her attention on what Mrs. Whitman was saying.
Presently footsteps came up the stairs. The door opened, and Ida, followed by her father, came into the room. The blood rushed to Miss Crane's face, and for a second she could not see.
"So glad to see you again," said Doctor Whitman, in tones of bland cordiality.
Miss Crane could scarcely reply, her astonishment was so complete. Where was the man she remembered? The young fellow with the merry laughing eyes, the thick curling hair, the careless dress, the active step! The man who now stood before her was a portly, middle-aged figure, all immaculate linen and broadcloth; bald-headed, red-faced, with bland affability smilingly displaying an excellent set of false teeth. The ideal which Miss Crane had worshipped so long faded away for ever like some phantasm that had never had any being, save in her own mind. Only in Ida's eyes and Ida's smile lingered a mocking image of the past.
Miss Crane's time passed very pleasantly at Stockton. Most of the day she sat on the beach watching the children bathe and play about the sands.