How delightful it was to be buying beautiful fabrics instead of selling them; to have a purse full of money to spend on whatever she liked!
How different from the days of the shabby black serge gown and the waiting on customers from morning till night, with weary feet and oft-times aching back. She looked at the pretty salesgirls of Chicago with kind, pitying eyes, and was careful to give as little trouble as possible when making her purchases. They looked at the rich young beauty in her sealskin cloak enviously, little dreaming that but a short while ago she had been a simple working-girl like themselves, with no prospect of the good fortune that had come to her so suddenly and strangely.
They re-entered the carriage, and Mrs. Fitzgerald gave the address of an artist.
"I must have some picture of you in your carriage suit, and this is such a bright, sunny day, just suited to a sitting," she said.
It pleased her to have her beautiful daughter photographed in several graceful styles, then they left Stevens' and proceeded home.
"You have had fatigue enough for one day, but we will come out again to-morrow and see more of the city," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, kindly.
The carriage drove away, and neither of them noticed three men who had been walking slowly toward them as they entered the carriage, and who had paused to gaze admiringly at Geraldine as she crossed the pavement.
They were Ralph Washburn, Leroy Hill, and Harry Hawthorne. The two former had brought their patient out for the first time for a short walk.
He had convalesced very fast, the wound not being as deep as at first supposed.
But the keen stroke of Standish had only missed a fatal ending because it had been blunted by passing through a cigar case in Hawthorne's breast-pocket.