" He
dropped his light tone. "Oh, my dear, can't you see?"
"No. I can't see. Daddy would let us have this house, and I have a
little money of my own from my mother, and--and the Connollys would
take care of everything, and we should see the spring come, and the
summer."
He rose and went and stood with his back to the fire. "But I shan't be
here in the spring and summer."
She clasped her hands nervously. "Derry, I don't want you to go."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. I do. At least not yet. We can be married--and have just a
little, little month or two--and then I'll let you go--truly."
He shook his head. "I've stayed out of it long enough. You wouldn't
want me to stay out of it any longer, Jean-Joan."
"Yes, I should. Other men can go, but I want to keep you--it's bad
enough to give--Daddy--. I haven't anybody. Mary Connolly has her
husband, but I haven't anybody--" her voice broke--and broke again--.
He came over and knelt beside her. "Let me tell you something," he
said. "Do you remember the night of the Witherspoon dinner? Well,
that night you cut me dead because you thought I was a coward--and I
thanked God for the women who hated cowards.
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