"The beautiful but flimsy friendship of girlhood." "Younger than Miss Bodney, I fancy." "Yes, a year or so. She lives in Quincy, and is here for a month, but we shall keep her longer if we can. She is a source of great entertainment. Of course, you have noticed Florence closely—you couldn’t help it. She is one of the sweetest creatures that ever lived, and she has character, too. I couldn’t think more of her if she were my daughter—and she is to be my daughter. She and my son Howard are soon to be married. It is the prettiest romance in life or fiction. They are near the same age. They went to school hand in hand—sat beside each other at table, year after year, and in innocent love kissed each other good-night. They don’t know the time when they made their first vows—upon this life they opened their eyes in love; an infant devotion reached forth its dimpled hand and drew their hearts together. Beautiful." The preacher was thoughtful for a few moments, and then he said: "The Spirit of God doing the work it loves the best. And they are soon to be married. May I hope to—" "You shall join them together, Bradley." "I thank you." "No, thank the memory of your father. I knew him well. He was my friend at a time when friendship meant something to me." "And the young woman’s brother, Judge. I haven’t seen much of him." "George Bodney? A manly young fellow, sir, quiet and thoughtful. He and Howard are to take up the law when I put it down—indeed, they have begun already." "You are a happy man, Judge."