or that old neighbor: "Ah, my dear Mrs. Townehalle, how
young and well you look; and you tell me this is your daughter. I
knew your mother, my dear, when she was your age, and she was the very
prettiest girl in the county. And now let me present you to a most
charming woman, Mrs. Foster, of New York, who--" etc., etc. Or greeting
some old gray-head with: "Well, well--of coarse it is--why, Judge,
I haven't seen you since you left the bench which you graced so
admirably," etc, etc.; watching, too, Ruth and Jack as they stood
beneath a bower of arching roses--(Miss Felicia had put it together with
her own hands)--receiving the congratulations and good wishes of those
they knew and those they did not know; both trying to remember the names
of strangers; both laughing over their mistakes, and both famished for
just one kiss behind some door or curtain where nobody could see. As I
looked on, I say, noting all these and a dozen other things, it was
good to feel that there was yet another spot in this world of care where
unbridled happiness held full sway and joy and gladness were contagious.

But it was in the tropical garden, with its frog pond, climbing roses in
full bloom, water-lilies, honeysuckle, and other warm-weather shrubs and
plants (not a single thing was a-bloom outside, even the chrysanthemums
had been frost-bitten), that the greatest fun took place. That was a
sight worth ten nights on the train to see.

Here the wedding breakfast was spread, the bride's table being placed
outside that same arbor where Jack once tried so hard to tell Ruth he
loved her (how often have they laughed over it since); a table with
covers for seven, counting the two bridesmaids and the two gallants
in puffy steel-gray scarfs and smooth steel-gray gloves. The other
guests--the relations and intimate friends who had been invited to
remain after the ceremony--were to find seats either at the big or
little tables placed under the palms or beneath the trellises of
jasmine, or upon the old porch overlooking the tropical garden.

It was Jack's voice that finally caught my attention. I could not see
clearly on account of the leaves and tangled vines, but I could hear.

"But we want you, and you must."

"Oh, please, do," pleaded Ruth; there was no mistaking the music of her
tones, or the southern accent that softened them.

"But what nonsense--an old duffer like me!" This was Peter's voice--no
question about it.

"We won't any of us sit d