"Don't you know her well enough to understand that she'll pluck only the little lovely blooms?"
His eyes rested on Jean's absorbed face. "Yes, thank God. And thank you, too, for saying it, Emily."
After dinner they sat in the library. 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. Isn't it comfy with Emily?"
"It is." He glanced at the slender black figure. He was still feeling the fineness of the thing she had said about Jean. "But when she is here I am jealous."
"Oh, Daddy."
"And I am never jealous of Hilda. If you had Emily all the time you'd love her better than you do me."