forty. His face was deep
lined, and his hair was well grayed. But his eyes were young; blue and
smiling, they transformed his whole face. It was as if his face had
registered the responsibilities and worries that his eyes had never
recognized.

He was speaking. "I know exactly how you feel, Wallace. I think every
decent chap feels like that the day before he marries. He wants to
look back on every year, and search out every mean thought, and every
unworthy action--if there is one. But"--he reached to take the other's
hand--"you needn't be blaming yourself, old man. Ha-ha-a-a! Don't I
know you! Why, bless the ridiculous boy, you couldn't do a downright
bad thing if you wanted to! You're the very soul of honor."

Wallace got to his feet--started, rather, as if there was something
which Farvel's words had all but driven him to say, but which he was
striving to keep back. Resolutely he looked out of the window, swaying
a little, with one hand holding to the edge of the table so tightly
that his finger-ends were bloodless.

"The very soul of honor," repeated Farvel, watching the half-averted
face.

Wallace sank down. "Oh, Alan," he began huskily, "I'll treat her
right--tenderly and--and honorably. I love her--I can't tell you how I
love her."

Farvel did not speak for a moment. Then, "Everybody loves her," he
said, huskily too.

"Oh, not the right way--not her parents, I mean. They haven't ever
considered her--you know that. She hasn't had a home--or happiness."
He touched his eyes with the back of a hand.

"Make her happy." Farvel's voice was deep with feeling. "She's had
all the things money can buy. Now--give her what is priceless."

"I will! I will!"

"Faithfulness, and unselfish love, and tenderness when she's ill,
and--best of all, Wallace,--peace. Don't ever let the first
quarrel----"

"Quarrel!"

"I fancy most men don't anticipate unpleasantness when they marry. But
this or that turns up and marriage takes forbearance." He rose. "Now,
I've been talking to you as if you were some man I know only
casually--instead of the old fellow who's so near and dear to me. I
know your good heart, your clean soul----"

Wallace again stood. "Oh, don't think I'm an angel," he plead.
"I--I----" Once more that grip on the table. He shut his jaws tight.
He trembled.

"Now, this will do," said Farvel, gently. "Come! We'll go down and
see how preparations are going forward. A little work