"
The General ran his eye over the spruce figure.
"And you are all dressed up. I hope you are not going to be married,
Bronson."
It was an old joke between them. Bronson was a pre-destined bachelor,
and the General knew it.
But he liked to tease him.
"No, sir. I'll be back in time to look after your lunch, sir."
The General had been growing stronger, so that he spent several hours
each day in his chair. When Bronson had gone, he rose and moved
restlessly about the room. The day nurse cautioned him. "The Doctor
doesn't want you to exert yourself, General Drake."
He was always courteous, but none the less he meant to have his own
way. "Don't worry, Miss Martin. I'll take the responsibility."
He shuffled out into the hall. When she would have followed, he waved
her back. "I am perfectly able to go alone," he told her.
She stood on the threshold watching him. She was very young and she
was a little afraid of him. Her eyes, as she looked upon him, saw an
obstinate old man in a gay dressing gown. And the man in the gay
dressing gown felt old until he faced suddenly his wife's picture on
the stairs.
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