A new name

by Grace Livingston Hill

His coming back to his own city had been heralded in the papers, of course, and often his name was mentioned in the society columns, yet never had it happened that they had met until this morning. And Bessie was heart-whole and happy, not expecting young millionaire princes to drop down on her doorstep and continue a friendship begun in lonely babyhood. She was much too sane and sensible a girl to expect or even wish for such a thing. Her mind now was set upon success in her business world, and her ambition to put her mother into more comfortable circumstances.

She met him with a smile of real pleasure, because he had cared to stop and recognize her for old times’ sake, yet there was just the least tinge of reserve about her that set a wall between them from the start. He had recognized her with a blaze of unmistakable joy and surprise on his face, and brought his car to such an abrupt stop that a taxi behind him very nearly ran up on the top of his car and climbed over him, its driver reproaching him loudly in no uncertain terms. But Murray had sprung from his car and taken her by the hand, his eyes devouring her lovely face, taking in every detail of her expression. Clear, unspoiled eyes, with the old glad light in them, fresh, healthy skin, like velvet, flushed softly at the unexpected meeting, lips that were red enough without the help of lipstick, and hair coiled low and arranged modishly, yet without the mannish ugliness affected by so many girls of the day, trim lines of a plain tailored suit, unconscious grace, truth, and goodness in her looks. To look at her was like going into the glory of a summer day after the garishness of a night in a cabaret.

He would have stood a long time holding her hand and finding out all that had been happening to her during the interval while they had been separated, but the traffic officer appeared on the scene and demanded that he move his car at once. He was not allowed to park in that particular spot where he had chosen to stop and spring to the pavement.

“Where are you going? Can’t I take you there?” he pleaded, with one foot on the running-board and his eyes still upon her face.

She tried to say she would wait for the trolley, it was not far away now, but he waved her excuses aside, said he had nothing in the world to do that morning, and before she realized it she was seated in the beautiful car whose approach she had watched so short a time before. As she sank down upon the cushions she thought how wonderful it would be if sometime she could buy a car like this. Not with such wonderful finish, perhaps, but just as good springs and just as fine mechanism. How her mother would enjoy it!

The car moved swiftly out of the traffic into a side street, where they had comparatively a free course, and then the young man had turned to look at her again with that deep approval that had marked his first recognition.

“Where did you say you wanted to go?” he asked, watching the play of expression on her face and wondering about it. She did not seem like the girls he knew. She was so utterly like herself as he used to know her when they were children, that it seemed impossible.

“You don’t have to get somewhere right immediately, do you?” he asked eagerly. “Couldn’t we have a little spin first?”

She hesitated, her better judgment warning her against it. Already she was reproaching herself for having got into the car. She knew her mother would have felt it was not wise. They were not of the same walk of life. It would be better to let him go his way. Yet he had been so insistent, and the traffic officer so urgent to clear the way. There seemed nothing else to do.

“Why, I was going to the Library for a book I need this evening in my study,” she said pleasantly. “My employer is out of town and gave me a holiday. I’m making use of it doing some little things I never have time for.”