"Hopelessly old-fashioned," assented the Philosopher. "Hopelessly
old-fashioned. But not so much in the matter of the frock as in some
other things. Heaven forbid that it should be otherwise!"
"Amen!" responded the Skeptic fervently.
V
RHODORA AND THE PREACHER
When the fight begins within himself
A man's worth something.
--_Robert Browning._
The Skeptic brought up the letter with him as he came home to dinner; it
had arrived in the last mail. The Philosopher happened to be dining with
us that night, so we four were together when the news came upon us. As
Hepatica read it aloud we stared at one another, astonished.
The letter was from Grandmother, inviting us to Rhodora's wedding, which
was to take place under her roof. Rhodora herself had been practically
under Grandmother's roof for four years now, except as she had been sent
to a school of Grandmother's selection. Rhodora had no mother. Her
father, an absorbed man of business, had, at Grandmother's suggestion,
been glad to let her have the girl to bring up--or to finish bringing
up--according to her own ideas.
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