"I have had a letter from Hilda. She wants to come over. I haven't answered the letter. But when I do, I shall tell her that there may be something that she can do, but it will not be with me. I need women who can see the pathos of such things as that starved cat and kittens out there among the shell-holes, and Hilda would never have seen it. She would have left the cat to starve."
Jean found herself crying over the letter. "I am not helping at all, Derry."
"My dear, you are."
"I am not. I am just sitting on a pink cushion, like Polly Ann—-"
It was the first flash he had seen for days of her girlish petulance. He smiled. "That sounds like the Jean of yesterday."
"Did you like the Jean of yesterday better than the Jean of to-day?"
"There is only one Jean for me—yesterday, today and forever."
She stood a little away from him. "Derry, I've been thinking and thinking—"
He put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to him. "What have you been thinking, Jean-Joan?"