Charming stories. I am having them put in a little pamphlet to
go with the toys."
"She's Dr. McKenzie's daughter, isn't she? I saw her last night at the
play."
"Yes. Such a dear child. She is usually here in the afternoon."
He had hoped until then that Jean might be hidden in that rear room,
locked up with the dolls in a drawer, tucked away in a box--he had a
blank feeling of the futility of his tea-cup--
Then, suddenly, the gods being in a gay mood, Jean arrived!
At once his errand justified itself. She wore a gray squirrel jacket
and a hat to match--and her crinkled copper-colored hair came out from
under the hat and over her ears. She carried a little muff. Her
eyes--the color of her cheeks! A man might walk to the world's end for
less than this--!
He was buying, he told her, pink pussy cats and yellow owls. Had she
liked the play last night? He was glad that she adored Maude Adams.
He adored--Maude Adams. Did she remember "Peter Pan"? Yes, he had
gone to everything--glorified matinees--glorified everything! Wasn'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.
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