"You've got it bad, Drusilla."
"If you think I am in love with him, I'm not. I'd like to be, but it
wouldn't be of any use. He's a Galahad--a pocket-edition Galahad. If
he ever falls in love, there'll be more of romance in it than I can
give him."
It was to this Drusilla that Derry had come. He liked her immensely.
And they had in common a great love of music.
She had tea for him, and some rather strange little spiced cakes on a
red lacquer tray. There was much dark blue and vivid red in the room,
with white woodwork. Drusilla herself was in unrelieved red. The
effect was startling but stimulating.
"I am not sure that I like it," she said, "the red and white and blue,
but I wanted to see whether I could do it. And Aunt Marion doesn't
care. The red things can all be taken out, and the rest toned down.
But I have a feeling that a man couldn't sit in this room and be a
slacker."
"No, he couldn't," Derry agreed. "You'd better hang out a recruiting
sign, Drusilla."
"I should if they would let me. The best I can do is ask them to tea
and sing for them."
It was right here that Bronson's message had broken in, and Derry,
coming back from the telephone, had said, "Sing for me.
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