"Mrs. Witherspoon prides herself on her conservation menus. She says that she serves war things, that she gives us nothing to eat that the men need, and she likes her friends about her."
"We shall miss Drusilla," Derry said. "I've been worried about her since the Huns recaptured those towns in France."
"Daddy wrote that she is not far from his hospital, doing splendid work, and that the men adore her."
"They would," said Derry. "She is a great-hearted creature. I can fancy her singing to them over there. You know what a wonder she was at that sort of thing—"
After dinner the General was eager to have his son to himself. "The women will excuse us while we smoke and talk."
Derry's eyes wandered to Jean. "All right," he said with an effort.
The General's heart tightened. His son was his son. The little girl in silver and rose was in a sense an outsider. She had not known Derry throughout the years, as his father had known him. How could she care as much?
Yet she did care. He realized how Derry's coming had changed her. He heard her laugh as she had not laughed in all the weeks of loneliness. She came up and stood beside Derry, and linked her arm in his and looked up at him with shining eyes.
"Isn't he—wonderful?" she asked, with a catch of her breath.
"Oh, take her away," the old gentleman said. "Go and talk to her somewhere."