"The very man. And, O Miss Olive, if you could but have seen him in his wedding-clothes your heart would have broken to think that you had lost the opportunity of standing by them at the altar."
"But who was the bride?" asked Mrs. Easterfield impatiently.
"Miss Eliza Grogworthy."
"Now, Tom, I know you are joking! Why can't you be serious?"
"I am as serious as were that couple. I have known her for some time, and she was very visible."
"Why, she is old enough to be his mother!"
"Not quite, my dear. In such a case as this, one must be particular about ages. She is a few years older than he is probably, but she is not bad looking, and a good woman with a nice big house and lots of money. He has walked out of my office into a fine position, and I unselfishly congratulated him with all my heart."
"Poor Mr. Hemphill!" sighed Olive. She was thinking of the very young man she had sighed for when a very young girl.
"He needs no pity," said Mr. Easterfield seriously. "I should not be surprised if he feels glad that he was not—well, we won't say what," he added, looking mischievously at Olive. "This is really a great deal better thing for him. He is not a favorite of my wife, but he is a thoroughly good fellow in his way, and I have always liked him. There were certain things necessary to him in this life, and he has got them. That can not be said about everybody by a long shot! No, he is to be congratulated."
Olive was silent. She was trying to make up her mind that he was really to be congratulated, and to get rid of a lingering doubt.