Some of the experiences he related to me were
really quite amusing." The stranger laughed at recollection of
them--"that even here, in this place, they are generally referred to
as 'Darby and Joan.'"
"Yes," said the girl, "that is true. Mr. Longcord gave them that
name, the second evening after our arrival. It was considered
clever--but rather obvious I thought myself."
"Nothing--so it seems to me," said the stranger, "is more beautiful
than the love that has weathered the storms of life. The sweet,
tender blossom that flowers in the heart of the young--in hearts such
as yours--that, too, is beautiful. The love of the young for the
young, that is the beginning of life. But the love of the old for the
old, that is the beginning of--of things longer."
"You seem to find all things beautiful," the girl grumbled.
"But are not all things beautiful?" demanded the stranger.
The Colonel had finished his paper. "You two are engaged in a very
absorbing conversation," observed the Colonel, approaching them.
"We were discussing Darbies and Joans," explained his daughter. "How
beautiful is the love that has weathered the storms of life!"
"Ah!" smiled the Colonel, "that is hardly fair. My friend has been
repeating to cynical youth the confessions of an amorous husband's
affection for his middle-aged and somewhat--" The Colonel in playful
mood laid his hand upon the stranger's shoulder, an action that
necessitated his looking straight into the stranger's eyes.
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