"I haven't told you the worst."
Doctor McKenzie stopped in front of him. "The worst?"
"Dad is going to marry her."
"What?"
Derry repeated what he had said.
The Doctor dropped into a chair. "Who told you?"
"Dad."
"And she admitted that it was--true?"
"Yes."
Derry gave the facts. "He wasn't himself, of course, but that doesn't
change things for me."
The Doctor in the practice of his profession had learned to conceal his
emotions. He concealed now what he was feeling, but a close observer
might have seen in the fading of the color in his cheeks, the beating
of his clenched fist on the arm of his chair, something of that which
was stirring within him.
"And this has been going on ever since she went there. She has had it
in mind to wear your mother's jewels--" Derry had graphically described
Bronson's watch on the stairs--"to get your father's money. I knew she
was cold-blooded, but I had always thought it a rather admirable
quality in a woman of her attractive type."
Before his eye came the vision of Hilda's attractiveness by his
fireside, at his table. And now she would sit by the General's fire,
at his table.
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