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Updated: June 16, 2025


Derry's face brightened. "You don't mind?" "Of course not," stoutly. "Bronson says that the rain has stopped. There's probably a moon somewhere, if you'll look for it." Margaret went up to put the children to bed. Emily, promising to come back, withdrew to write a letter. The old man sat alone. He limped into the blue room, and gazed indifferently around on its treasures.

She also gave her special coaching in setting table and serving, so Derry's domestic life became a thing of pride to himself and his coterie of artists. He gave little luncheons and studio teas in his apartments, Amarilly achieving great success in her double role of cook and waitress. Her work was not only profitable financially, but it developed new tastes and tendencies.

The plan of the Boarder had been to leave the walls rough and unfinished till their settling process should be accomplished, but Amarilly, absorbed heart and soul in this first experience of making a nesting place, pleaded for paper "quiet, pretty paper with soft colors," she implored, Derry's teachings now beginning to bear fruit in Amarilly's development of the artistic.

With something of a thrill she prayed for Derry's father. She was not conscious as she made her petitions of any ulterior motive. Yet a placated Providence would, she felt sure, see that the General's sickness should not frustrate the plans which she had quite daringly made for his son. Derry had dined that night with his cousin, Margaret Morgan.

He had always been, therefore, to a certain extent, at the mercy of the unscrupulous. He had loaned money and used his influence in behalf of certain wily and weeping females who had deserved at his hands much less than they got. In his thoughts of a wife for Derry, he had pictured her as sweet and unsophisticated a bit reserved, like Derry's mother

Arriving at the top, he was led to Derry's car. He insisted on an understanding. If he got in, they were to stop at the Club. "No," Derry said, "we won't stop. We are going home." Derry had never commanded a brigade. But he had in him the blood of one who had. He possessed also strength and determination backed at the moment by righteous indignation.

"He will come back," she said. "He must come back and oh, oh, Derry's mother in Heaven you must tell me how to live without him ." A perfect day, with men lying dead by thousands on the battlefield; twilight, with a young moon; night and the stars

So he went back to her, and when she saw him coming, the burden of her distress fell from her. The world became once more hers and Derry's, with everybody else shut out. When they had supper with the Witherspoon party joining them, and Ralph palely repentant beside her, she even, to the utter bewilderment of her father, smiled at him, and talked as if their quarrel had never been.

Around her throat was a wide collar of pearls with diamond slides. Her fair hair was combed back in the low pompadour of the period, and there were round flat curls on her temples. The picture was old-fashioned, but the painted woman was exquisite, as she had always been, as she would always be in Derry's dreams. The great house had given to the General's wife her proper setting.

And on the first page she pasted, not the faded violet from the basket which had come to her yesterday oh, day of days! not the dance program on which Derry's name was most magically scrawled, nor the spring of heather, nor a handful of rose leaves from the offering of the morning no, the very first thing that went into Jean's memory book was a frayed silken tassel that had been cut from a rose-colored curtain!

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