Well, she's worth it,
Dick--worth the best you can give."
"Worth far better than I can give, grandfather," Richard responded, the
glow in his smooth cheek deepening.
"Well, I don't mean to overrate you," said the old man, smiling, "but
you seem to me pretty well worth while any girl's taking. Not that you
can't become more so--and will, I thoroughly believe. It's not so much
what you've done this last year as what you show promise of doing--great
promise. That's all one can ask at your age. Ten years later--but we
won't go into that. To-night's enough--eh, my dear boy? My dear boy!"
he repeated, with a sudden access of tenderness in his voice. Then, as
if afraid of emotion for them both, he pressed his grandson's hand and
abruptly led the way into the outer room, where Thompson stood waiting
with his fur-lined coat and muffler.
From this point on it seemed to Richard more or less like a rapidly
shifting series of pictures, all wonderfully coloured. The first was
that of the electric light of the big car's interior shining on the
faces of Uncle Rufus and Aunt Ruth, on Mr. Kendrick and Hugh Benson--the
latter a little pale but quite composed.
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