“Rich Kendrick—­” Benson was taken out of himself now.  His voice was slightly tremulous, but he spoke with less difficulty than before.  “You are fitter than you know.  You’ve developed as I never thought any man could in so short a time.  I’ve been watching you and I’ve seen it.  There was always more in you than people gave you credit for—­it was your inheritance from a father and grandfather who have meant a great deal in their world.  You’ve found out what you were meant for, and you’re coming up to new and finer standards every day.  You are fit to take this girl—­and that means much, because I know a little of what a—­” Now he was floundering again, and his fine, then face flamed more hotly than before—­“of what she is!” he ended, with a complete breakdown in the style of his phraseology, but with none at all in the conveyance of his meaning.

Richard flung out his hand, catching Hugh’s, and gripping it.  “Bless you for a friend and a brother!” he cried, his eyes bright with sudden moisture.  “You’re another whom I mustn’t disappoint.  Disappoint?  I ought to be flayed alive if I ever forget the people who believe in me—­who are trusting me with—­Roberta!”

It was a pity she could not have heard him speak her name, have seen the way he looked at his friend as he spoke it, and have seen the way his friend looked back at him.  There was a quality in their mentioning of her, here in this place where she was soon to be, which was its own tribute to the young womanhood she so radiantly imaged.

In spite of all these devices to make the hours pass rapidly, they seemed to Richard to crawl.  That one came, at last, however, which saw him knocking at the door of his grandfather’s suite, dressed for his marriage, and eager to depart.  Bidden by Mr. Kendrick’s man to enter, he presented himself in the old gentleman’s dressing-room, where its occupant, as scrupulously attired as himself, stood ready to descend to the waiting car.  Richard closed the door behind him, and stood looking at his grandfather with a smile.

“Well, Dick, boy—­ready?  Ah, but you look fresh and fine!  Clean in body and mind and heart for her—­eh?  That’s how you look, sir—­as a man should look—­and feel—­on his wedding day.  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.