To this same
determination I came early this morning in the case of Mr. Kilbright.
None of us know what we may once have been, nor what we may become. All
we know is what we are. Mr. Kilbright may be mistaken as to what he was,
but I know what he is. And to that man I give myself as I am. I am
perfectly satisfied with the present."
Mrs. Colesworthy enfolded her in an approbatory embrace, and hurried
home to tell me about it. "There now!" she exclaimed, "didn't I say that
Lilian Budworth was a girl of good, sound common-sense?"
"That is what you said," I answered, "but I must admit that I was afraid
her common-sense would interfere with her acceptance of his story. We
had outside evidence in regard to it, but she had only his simple
statement."
"Which is quite enough, when a woman truly loves," said Mrs.
Colesworthy.
When old Mr. Scott was informed what had happened, he put down his
newspaper, took off his spectacles, and smiled a strange, wide smile. "I
have been reading," he said, "about a little machine, or box, that you
can talk into and then cork up and send by mail across the ocean to
anybody you know there. And then he can uncork it, and out will come
all you have said in your very words and voice, with the sniffles and
sneezes that might have got in accidental.
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