asn't
it remarkable that his father knew her father? And she was Jean
McKenzie, and he was Derry Drake!

At last there was no excuse for him to linger. "I shall come back for
more--Lovely Dreams," he told Miss Emily, and got away.

Alone in the shop the two women looked at each other. Then Emily said,
"Jean, darling, how dreadful it must be for him."

"Dreadful--."

"With such a father--."

"Oh, you mean--the other night."

"Yes. He isn't happy, Jean."

"How do you know?"

"He has lonesome eyes."

"Oh, Emily."

"Well, he has, and it must be dreadful."

How dreadful it was neither of them could really know. Derry, having
lunched with a rather important committee, went to Drusilla Gray's in
the afternoon for a cup of tea. He was called almost at once to the
telephone. Bronson was at the other end. "I am sorry, Mr. Derry, but
I thought you ought to know--"

Derry, with the sick feeling which always came over him with the
knowledge of what was ahead, said steadily, "That's all right,
Bronson--which way did he go?"

"He took the Cabin John car, sir. I tried to get on, but he saw me,
and sent me back, and I didn't like to make a scene. Shall I follow in
a taxi?"

"Yes; I'll get away as soon as I can and call you up out there."

He went back to Drusilla. "Sing for me," he said. Drusilla Gray lived
with her Aunt Marion in an apartment winch overlooked Rock Creek.
Marion Gray occupied herself with the writing of books. Drusilla had
varying occupations. Just now she was interested in interior
decoration and in the war.

She was also interested in trying to flirt with Derry Drake. "He won't
play the game," she told her aunt, "and that's why I like it--the game,
I mean."

"You like him because he hasn't surrendered."

"No. He is a rather perfect thing of his kind, like a bit of jewelled
Sevres or _Sang de boeuf_. And he doesn't know it. And that's another
thing in his favor--his modesty. He makes me think of a little
Austrian prince I once met at Palm Beach; who wore a white satin shirt
with a high collar of gold embroidery, and white kid boots, and
wonderful rings--and his nails long like a Chinaman's. At first we
laughed at him--called him effeminate--. But after we knew him we
didn't laugh. There was the blood in him of kings and rulers--and
presently he had us on our knees. And Derry's like that. When you
first meet him you look over his head; then you find yourself looking
up-