She is little and mean, but I could
never make Daddy see it."
He wondered if McKenzie would see it now.
Mary Connolly, coming in through the back door to her warm kitchen,
heard voices. Standing in the dark hall which connected the left wing
with the house, she could see through into the living room where Jean
sat with her lover.
There was much dark wood and the worn red velvet--low bookshelves
lining the walls, a grand piano on a cover by the window. In the
dimness Jean's copper head shone like the halo of a saint. Mary
decided that Derry was "queer-looking," until gathering courage, she
went in and was warmed by his smile.
"He hasn't had any lunch, Mary," Jean told her, "and he wouldn't let me
get any for him."
"I'll have something in three whisks of a lamb's tail," said Mary with
Elizabethan picturesqueness, and away she went on her hospitable
mission.
"Marrying just now," said Derry, picking up the subject, where he had
dropped it, when Mary came in, "is out of the question."
"Did you think that I was marrying you for your money?"
"No. But two months' pay wouldn't buy a gown like this,"--he lifted a
fold with his forefinger--"to say nothing of your little shoes.
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