"Your gentle maidens," Drusilla stated, "are driving ambulances or making munitions. When the Tommies come marching home again they will find comrades, not clinging vines."
"And they'll jolly well like it," said the big Englishman; "a man wants a woman who understands—"
This was law and gospel to Derry. "Of course. Jean, dear, may I tell Drusilla?"
"As if you had to tell me," Drusilla scoffed; "it is written all over you."
"Is it?" Derry marvelled.
"It is. The whole room is lighted up with it. You are a lucky man, Derry,"—for a moment her bright eyes were shadowed—"and Jean is a lucky girl." She leaned down and kissed the woman that Derry loved. "Oh, you Babes in the Wood—"
"By Jove," the Captain ejaculated, much taken by the little scene, "do you mean that they are going to be married?"
"Rather," Drusilla mocked him. "But don't shout it from the housetops. Derry is a public personage, and it might get in the papers."
"It is not to get in the papers yet," Derry said. "Dr. McKenzie won't let me tell Dad—he's too ill—but we told you because you are my good friend, Drusilla."
She might have been more than that, but he did not know it. When he went away with Jean, she looked after him wistfully.