" From
Ralph's point of view Derry Drake was not handsome, and he was utterly
unaware that back of Derry's silver-blond slenderness and apparent
languidness were banked fires which could more than match his own.
And there was this, too, of which he was unconscious, that Derry's
millions meant nothing to Jean. Had he remained the shabby son of the
shabby old man in the Toy Shop, her heart would still have followed him.
So, fatuously hopeful, Ralph stayed. He stayed until five, until
half-past five. Until a quarter of six.
And he talked of the glories of war!
Derry grew restless. As he sat in the rose-colored chair, he fingered
a tassel which caught back one of the curtains of the wide window. It
was a silk tassel, and he pulled at one strand of it until it was
flossy and frayed. He was unconscious of his work of destruction,
unconscious that Jean's eyes, lifted now and then from her knitting,
noted his fingers weaving in and out of the rosy strands.
Ralph talked on. With seeming modesty he spoke of the feats of other
men, yet none the less it was Ralph they saw, poised like a bird at
incredible heights, looping the loop, fearless, splendid--beating the
air with strong wings.
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