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Richmond, Grace S. (Grace Smith), 1866-1959

"The Twenty-Fourth of June"


I just wanted it to seem like a bit of home, when she comes in to-night.
There'll be some flowers here then, of course--lots of them, and that
ought to give it the last touch. There are always flowers in her home,
bowls of them, everywhere--it was one of the first things I noticed. Do
you think she will like it here?" he ended, with a hint of almost boyish
diffidence in his tone.
"Like it? It's wonderful. I never heard of anything so--so--all it
should be for--a girl like her," Hugh exclaimed, lamely enough, yet with
a certain eloquence of inflection which meant more than his choice of
words. He turned to Richard. "I can't tell you," he went on, flushing
with the effort to convey to his friend his deep feeling, "how fortunate
I think you are, and how I hope--oh, I hope you and she will be--the
happiest people in the world!"
"I'm sure you hope that, old fellow," Richard answered, more touched by
this difficult voicing of what he knew to be Hugh's genuine devotion
than he should have been by the most felicitous phrasing of another's
congratulations. "And I can tell you this. There's nobody else I know
whom I would have brought here to see my preparations--nobody else who
would have understood how I feel about--what I'm doing to-day.


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