Miss Emily looked from one to the other.  She was conscious of something which touched the stars—­something which all her life she had missed, something which belongs to youth and ecstasy.

“Wholesale orders are not in my line,” she said.  “You can settle that with Jean.”

She surveyed the tea-wagon.  “I’m starved.  And if I eat I shall spoil my dinner.”

“I can ring for hot water, Emily, and there are more of the pound cakes.”

“My dear, no.  I must go upstairs and dress.  Your father sent for my bag, and Julia says it is in my room.”

She bade Derry a cheerful good-bye, and left them alone.

“I must go, too,” said Derry, and took Jean’s hand.  He stood looking down at her.  “May I come tomorrow?”

“Oh,—­yes—­”

“There’s one thing that I should like more than anything, if we could go to church together—­to be thankful that—­that we’ve found each other—­”

Tears in the shining eyes!

“Why are you crying?”

“Because it is so—­sweet.”

“Then you’ll go?”

“I’d love it.”

He dropped her hand and got away.  She was little and young, so divinely innocent.  He felt that he must not take unfair advantage of that mood of exaltation.

He drove straight downtown and ordered flowers for her.  Remembering the nun’s dress, he sent violets in a gray basket, with a knot on the handle of heavenly blue.

The flowers came while Jean was at dinner.  Emily was in Hilda’s place, a quiet contrast in her slenderness and modest black to Hilda’s opulence.  Dr. McKenzie had not had time to dress.

“I am so busy, Emily.”

“But you love the busy-ness, don’t you?  I can’t imagine you without the hours crammed full.”

“Just now I wish that I could push it away as Richards pushed it—­”

Jean looked up.  “But Dr. Richards went to France, Daddy.”

“I envy him.”

“Oh, do you—?” Then her flowers came, and she forgot everything else.

The Doctor whistled as Julia set the basket in front of Jean.  “Ralph is generous.”

Jean had opened the attached envelope and was reading a card.  A wave of self-conscious color swept over her cheeks.  “Ralph didn’t send them.  It—­it was Derry Drake.”

“Drake?  How did that happen?”

“He was here this afternoon for tea, and Ralph, and Emily—­only Emily was late, and the tea was cold—­”

“So you’ve made up?”

“We didn’t have to make up much, Daddy, did we?” mendaciously.

Miss Emily came to the rescue.  “He seems very nice.”

“Splendid fellow.  But I am not sure that I want him sending flowers to my daughter.  I don’t want anyone sending flowers to her.”

Miss Emily took him up sharply.  “That’s your selfishness.  Life has always been a garden where you have wandered at will.  And now you want to shut the gate of that garden against your daughter.”