He laid his hand on Derry's shoulder. "I've money enough, God knows. And I shan't need it. It isn't a fortune, but it is enough to make all of us comfortable for the rest of our days—and I want Jean to be happy. Do you think I am going to let Hilda Merritt stand between my child and happiness?"
"It's awfully good of you, sir," Derry's voice was husky with feeling, "but—"
"There are no 'buts.' You must let me have my own way; I shall consider it a patriotic privilege to support one soldier and his little wife."
He was riding above the situation splendidly. He even had visions of straightening things out. "When I go back I shall tell Hilda what I think of her, I shall tell her that it is preposterous—that her professional reputation is at stake."
"What will she care for her professional reputation when she is my father's wife?"
The thought of Hilda with the world, in a sense, at her feet was maddening. The Doctor paced the floor roaring like an angry lion. "It may not do any good, but I've got to tell her what I think of her."
Derry had a whimsical sense of the meeting of the white cat and this leonine gentleman—would she purr or scratch?
"The sooner you and Jean are married the better. If Hilda thinks she is going to keep you and Jean apart she is mistaken."
"Oh—did she know of the engagement?"
"Yes," the Doctor confessed. "I told her the other day when she came to fix the books."