The question of Hilda was not
settled, but she yielded as many an older woman has yielded--to the
sweetness of tribute--to man's impulse to make things right not by
justice but by the bestowal of his bounty.
From the florist's, they went to Huyler's old shop on F Street, where
the same girl had served Jean with ice-cream sodas and hot chocolate
for fifteen years. Administrations might come and administrations go,
but these pleasant clerks had been cup-bearers to them all--Presidents'
daughters and diplomats' sons--the sturdy children of plain
Congressmen, the scions of noble families across the seas.
It was while Jean sat on a high stool beside her father, the sunshine
shining on her through the wide window, that Derry Drake, coming down
Twelfth, saw her!
Well, he wanted a lemonade. And the fact that she was there in a gray
squirrel coat and bunch of violets with her copper-colored hair shining
over her ears wasn't going to leave him thirsty!
He went in. He bowed to the Doctor and received a smile in return.
Jean's eyes were cold above her chocolate. Derry bought his check,
went to a little table on the raised platform at the back of the room,
drank his lemonade and hurried out.
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