Spring had passed and summer was at hand before Eliza had her letter from Baltimore. It would be impossible to trace baggage from checks ten years old. All goods were sold after lying unclaimed for a certain length of time. That was all. Eliza was rather glad than otherwise. She had done her duty, satisfied her conscience, and Beth was still hers.
The same mail bore another letter. Miss Good, the president of the school, had written her, asking her to be one in the receiving line at the Club reception which would be held in the parlors of the Point Breeze. The hotel was filled with summer guests, many of whom were club members elsewhere, and the affair was planned that they might meet each other.
Eliza’s writings were appearing in different periodicals. She knew not how they got in print. She wrote them merely. The man at the Oliver place managed the business and brought the checks to her. She had won quite a little fame and her name had become known over the country. This was the reason that she had been asked to receive in line. Some of the younger girls were to act as aids. Beth was popular in school. She was always sunshiny, and took things as they were without looking for trouble. She had never felt a distinction of class or clothes and treated every one with fairness and justice. She and Sally Monroe had kept up their intimacy. With Helen these made a trio as unlike as could be and as companionable and full of life as any one could wish.
Carrie Laire and Tilly were friends also, but never within the inner circle. Carrie was yet the interrogation point and Tilly the animated price list.
When the letter asking Eliza to assist in receiving and Beth to be one of the younger set was received, the latter executed a war-dance immediately and cavorted about like a young lamb.
“Don’t be so frolicsome,” cried Eliza. “Really, Beth, you make me think of the young goats which we used to watch up on Goat Hill. They always jumped about in just such fashion as you are doing now.”
She stood as transfixed, her eyes upon Beth’s hands.
“I’m capricious, Adee. Capra is really Latin for goat. Then if one gambols around like a goat, one is capricious.”
They were both excited and could scarcely eat their evening meal. There was so much to talk about.