“May they always live happy ever after,” said Grogan, standing up, glass in hand. “May they never have any troubles that they can’t nip in the bud. As their principles demand of ’em to drink this stuff as the pure juice of the grape, may it be blessed to ’em forever and to their descendants.”
Every body laughed and drank. Harry Boland toasted him in return:
“Here’s the health of our very good friend, Mr. Michael Grogan. May all his mornings be golden and all his sunsets clear.”
“Thanks for the sunrises in particular,” said Grogan. “Now ladies and gentlemen I wish to toast the good health of another young lady who is with us today, one who has made me a great deal of trouble and scared me blue with blue envelopes. May she soon find a bridegroom for herself, one of them brave lads who can talk right back to her as I never could when she tackled this old man!” He lifted his grape-juice with a great flourish. “Here’s to herself, Miss Mary Randall!”
Miss Randall blushed and nodded her thanks.
“Speech, speech,” demanded Grogan.
“Thank you, thank you but I just can’t, not here, not now,” she said and quiet fell upon them.
The thoughts of all were with the young girl who had disappeared, for whom all had worked, suffered, prayed.
“I do want to say,” Miss Randall, broke the silence, “that you all must know how glad I am that Mr. and Mrs. Harry Boland are to have a useful and happy life together and that I....” She stopped suddenly, looking out the opened door that led towards the garden, her whole expression changing, her lips parting, her breath coming quickly.
“What did you see out there?” asked Harvey Spencer, with the sharp intentness which he had learned from his maturing city experience.