“Yes—e—s,” said my old Colonel. “I was best man at the wedding——”
“And what was she like, my mamma?”
“She was the loveliest creature I ever saw,” he said; “as lovely as you, only you are the image of your father, all but the hair, his was fair.”
“No one has ever said I was lovely before. Oh! I am so glad if you think so,” I said. It did please me. I have often been told I am attractive and extraordinary, and wonderful, and divine—but never just lovely. He would not say any more about my parents, except they hadn’t a sou to live on, and were not very happy; Mrs. Carruthers took care of that.
Then, as every one was going, he said: “I am awfully glad to have met you—we must be pals, for the sake of old times,” and he gave me his card for me to keep his address, and told me if ever I wanted a friend to send him a line, Colonel Tom Carden, The Albany.
I promised I would.
“You might give me away at my wedding,” I said, gaily. “I am thinking of getting married, some day!”
“That I will,” he promised, “and, by Jove, the man will be a fortunate fellow.”