McKenzie in Paris. "I have had two hot baths, and all my clothes are
starched and ironed and fluted by an adorable Frenchwoman who opened
her house for me," she announced as she sat down with him at a corner
table. "I never wore fluted things before, but you can't imagine how
civilizing it is after you've been letting yourself down."
The Doctor was tired, and he looked it. "No one has starched and
fluted me."
"Poor man. I'm glad you ran away from it all for a minute with me.
Captain Hewes thought he might be able to come. But I haven't heard
from him, have you?"
"No. But he may blow in at any moment. It seems queer, doesn't it,
Drusilla, that you and I should be over here with all the rest of them
left behind."
She hesitated, then brought it out without prelude. "Hilda came to see
me."
"To see you? Why?"
"She is broken-hearted because you won't let her work with you."
"I told her I could not. And she hasn't any heart to break."
"I wonder if you'd mind," Drusilla ventured, "telling me what's the
matter."
"A rather squalid story," but he told it. "She wanted to marry the
General.
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