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Updated: June 16, 2025
Doctor McKenzie on one side of the fire with his cigar, Emily on the other side with her knitting. Jean between them in a low chair, a knot of Derry's violets fragrant against the gray of her gown, her fingers idle. "Why aren't you knitting?" the Doctor asked. "I don't have to set a good example to Emily." "And you do to Hilda?" He threw back his head and laughed. "You needn't laugh.
From Ralph's point of view Derry Drake was not handsome, and he was utterly unaware that back of Derry's silver-blond slenderness and apparent languidness were banked fires which could more than match his own. And there was this, too, of which he was unconscious, that Derry's millions meant nothing to Jean.
It was Derry's war-time offering. No other candies were permitted by Margaret's patriotism. Her children ate molasses on their bread, maple sugar on their cereal. Her soldier was in France, and there were other soldiers, not one of whom should suffer because of the wanton waste of food by the people who stayed softly at home. "You tell us a story, Uncle Derry," Teddy pleaded as he ate his taffy.
After dinner the General was eager to have his son to himself. "The women will excuse us while we smoke and talk." Derry's eyes wandered to Jean. "All right," he said with an effort. The General's heart tightened. His son was his son. The little girl in silver and rose was in a sense an outsider. She had not known Derry throughout the years, as his father had known him. How could she care as much?
Thus, with his father asleep in the lacquered bed, and his mother smiling in her gilded frame, the son stood alone in the great shell of a house which had in it no beating heart, no throbbing soul to answer his need. Derry's rooms were furnished in a lower key than those in which his father's taste had been followed.
But when she tiptoed into Derry's room, and found hope and confidence there, found the blue eyes wide open, under the bandage, and heard the enchanting little voice announce, "I had hot milk, Mother," Rachael felt that her cup of joy was brimming. He had fallen out of the swing, Derry told her, and Dad had hurted him, and Jimmy added sensationally that Derry had broken his leg!
"There is, of course, the possibility that he may get a grip on himself." Derry's languor left him. "Do you think there's the least hope of it? Frankly? No platitudes?" "We are making some rather interesting experiments psycho-analysis things like that " He stood up. He was big and breezy. "What's the matter with you this morning? You ought to be up and out." Derry flushed. "Nothing much."
But Warren Gregory did not falter, did not even glance away from his own hands. Then it was over. The tension in the room broke suddenly, the atmosphere changed, although there was not an audible breath. The nurses moved swiftly and surely, needing no instructions. George lifted Derry's little hand from Rachael's, and put one arm about her.
Yet she did care. He realized how Derry's coming had changed her. He heard her laugh as she had not laughed in all the weeks of loneliness. She came up and stood beside Derry, and linked her arm in his and looked up at him with shining eyes. "Isn't he wonderful?" she asked, with a catch of her breath. "Oh, take her away," the old gentleman said. "Go and talk to her somewhere."
"Mother says I've got to pray for the Germans." "Teddy," Margaret admonished. "Well, I rather think I would," Derry told him. "They need it." This was a new angle. "Shall you hate to kill them?" There was a stir about the table. The old man and the women seemed to hang on Derry's answer. "Yes, I shall hate it. I hate all killing, but it's got to be done."
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