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Updated: June 16, 2025
Do you think I am going to let Hilda Merritt stand between my child and happiness?" "It's awfully good of you, sir," Derry's voice was husky with feeling, "but " "There are no 'buts. You must let me have my own way; I shall consider it a patriotic privilege to support one soldier and his little wife." He was riding above the situation splendidly. He even had visions of straightening things out.
The snow still fell, and the old man in the lacquered bed was still unconscious, his stertorous breathing sounding through the house. And it was her wedding day! They dined in the great room where Derry's ancestors gazed down on them. Emily was there, and it was a bridal feast, with things ordered hurriedly. Bronson, too, had seen to that. But they ate little.
Derry, however, howled on unconsoled, and Rachael, stopping, half- dressed, to take him in her arms, mused while she kissed him over the tiny sorrow that could so convulse him. Was she no more than a howling baby robbed of a toy? Nothing could be more real than Derry's sense of loss, no human being could weep more desolately or more unreasonably.
So her fame went forth and took on gradually something of the supernatural her tall, straight slenderness, her steady eyes, her halo of red hair grew to have a sort of sacred significance, like that of some militant young saint. Then came a day when Derry's regiment marched through the town to the trenches, spent an interval, and came back, awed by what it had seen, but undaunted.
The Palace is there still, but Kensington is gone. Look about for it in the neighbourhood, if you have the heart to do so, and see if this is a lie. You will find residential flats, and you will find Barker's, and you will find Derry's, and you will find Toms's. But you will not find Kensington. "You may wonder, Gwen!
Not slavish obedience, but obedience founded on a knowledge of one's place and value in the pack?" Jean, striving to follow Derry's point of view, found herself floundering. "I am glad you like it, but I don't see how you can. And you mustn't say that you've always been a Tin Soldier on a shelf. I won't have it.
Amarilly protested against this combination of colors so repellent to artistic eyes, but the family all agreed that it "would be perfickly swell," so she withdrew her opposition and confided her grievance to Derry's sympathizing, shuddering ears.
"You'd be like a white kitten in a dog fight." It seemed intolerable that tongues should be busy with this talk of young Drake's cowardice. He had seemed something so much more than that. And he was a man with a man's right to leadership. What was the matter with him? The night before she had slept little Derry's voice Derry's eyes! She had gone over every word that he had said.
"You'd be more comfortable, you mean, Bronson." The impatient note had gone out of Derry's voice. Temporarily he pigeon-holed his thoughts of Jean, and gave his attention to this servant who was more than a servant, more even than a friend. To Derry, Bronson wore a sort of halo, like a good old saint in an ancient woodcut.
She went into the double parlors to witness the ceremony, which gave her a few little heart thrills. "Them words sounds orful nice," she thought approvingly. "The Boarder and Lily Rose must hev an Episcopal fer to marry them. I wonder if I'll ever get to Miss King's and Mr. St. John's weddin' or Mr. Derry's; but I guess he'll never be married. He jokes too much to be thinkin' of sech things."
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