Hilda, pouring out more wine for herself, stood suddenly transfixed.
Derry spoke from the threshold. "Dr. McKenzie has asked you repeatedly
not to give my father wine, Miss Merritt."
He was breathing quickly. His hat was in his hand and he wore his fur
coat. "Why are you giving it to him against the Doctor's orders?"
The General interposed. "Don't take that tone with Miss Merritt,
Derry. I asked her to get it for me, and she obeyed my orders. What's
the matter with that?"
"Dr. McKenzie said, explicitly, that you were not to have it."
"Dr. McKenzie has nothing to do with it. You may tell him that for me,
I am not his patient any longer."
"Father--"
"Certainly not. Do you think I am going to take orders from
McKenzie--or from you?"
"But, Miss Merritt is his nurse, under his orders."
"She is not going to be his nurse hereafter. I have other plans for
her."
Derry stood staring, uncomprehending. "Other plans--"
"I have asked her to be my wife."
Oh, lovely painted lady on the stairs, has it come to this? Have your
prayers availed no more than this? Have the years in which you
sacrificed yourself, in which you sacrificed your son, counted no more
than this?
Derry felt faint and sick.
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