"No; why?"
"Because you have so much common sense."
Florence smiled. "I never showed it until I began to love you," she replied; "but what time do you suppose it is? Just think of poor papa waiting all this time."
"Only to find he has lost his best possession," answered Harold.
Judge Moreland was sitting in the library when they reached the house, and although he had been waiting patiently for nearly an hour since the servant had announced luncheon, he did not seem ill-humored, for, on seeing the delinquents enter, he smiled good-humoredly, and shook his head with mock disapproval, as he said: "Three-quarters of an hour late, children. That is more than I bargained for, but you will be punished. The luncheon is cold and you will be compelled to eat it without grumbling."
Harold took Florence's hand and they both stood before the Judge; then Harold said penitently: "The fault is mine, sir, but I have a greater sin to answer for. I have robbed you of your daughter, and I come to ask your clemency."
"I think I understand," answered the Judge. "Yours is a very grave offense, and the only way you can obtain pardon is by seeking benefit of clergy. Florence, my girl, come here and let me kiss you. You have made me very happy."
"Happy," echoed Florence, "I feared you would never forgive me."
"Not forgive you for loving the son of Judge Wainwright? He was my best friend and his son will make my daughter the best husband in the world. Give me your hand, Harold," he continued, after he had kissed Florence affectionately, "you are your father's own boy."
"That is the best compliment you could pay me," answered Harold.