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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Mother's naughty little girl," she said, "to run away " "Let her stay," the General begged. "Somehow my heart needs her tonight." Four days of Derry's furlough had passed, four palpitating days, and now the hours that the lovers spent together began to take on the poignant quality of coming separation.
Some one was ascending the stairs. Some one who walked with a light step some one slim and youthful, in a white gown ! "Edith ?" But Edith's hair had not been crinkled and copper-colored, and Edith would have come straight up to him; she would not have hesitated on the top step as if afraid to advance. "Who are you?" "Jean " "Jean?" "Derry's wife." "Come here."
Jean finished her parfait. Derry's was untouched. Then the music brought them again to their feet, and they danced. The Doctor smoked alone. Back of him somebody murmured, "It is Derry Drake." "Confounded slacker," said a masculine voice. Then came a warning "Hush," as Derry and Jean returned. "It is snowing," Derry told the Doctor. "I have ordered my car."
Her own understanding of his need had been a blinding, whirling revelation. He had said, "I wanted some one who cared ." Not for a moment since then had the world been real to her. She had seemed in the center of a golden-lighted sphere, where Derry's voice spoke to her, where Derry's smile warmed her, where Derry, a silver-crested knight, knelt at her feet.
He couldn't leave that old man down there to die of the cold the wind was rising and rattled in the bare trees. But Derry's blood was boiling. He sat down on the parapet, thick blackness all about him. Whatever had been his father's shortcomings, they had always clung together and now they were separated by words which had cut like a knife.
Somewhere in a shadowed room an old man slept heavily with his servant sitting stiff and straight beside him, at the head of the stairway a painted bride smiled in the darkness, the dog Muffin stirred and whined. Derry's head was buried deep in the cushion. His hands clutched the letter which had cut the knot of his desperate decision. No one could not break a promise to a mother in Heaven. . . .
As far as that goes, Dad says he's known our grandmother, in the early days, have to help at a much worse job for a beast than fixing up old Derry's leg. Lots of women had to. They wouldn't like it, of course, but they certainly wouldn't have made it harder for the man they were helping by putting on frills!" "Well, you'd hate to have to get a woman to do a job like that." "Of course you would.
But Derry's letters, brought to her room every morning by Bronson, contained the elixir which sent her to her day's work with shining eyes and flushed cheeks. Sometimes she read bits of them to Bronson.
The base- burner, though not needed for some months, was set up, because the Boarder said he would not feel at home until he could put his feet on his own hearth. John Meredith sent an oaken library table and an easy-chair. Derry's offering was in the shape of a beautiful picture and a vase for the table. The best man, who fortunately had appealed to Amarilly for guidance, gave a couch.
Carriswood hesitated a second and then added Derry's information at the bottom of the page. "I suppose the lordly ancestor was one of King James's creation see Macaulay, somewhere in the second volume. I dare say there is a drop or two of good blood in the boy. He has the manners of a gentleman but I don't know that I ever saw an Irishman, no matter how low in the social scale, who hadn't."
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