Dr. McKenzie did not always dine at home. But tonight when Jean came down he was at the head of the table. He was a big, handsome man with crinkled hair like his daughter's, copper-colored and cut close to his rather classic head. Hilda Merritt was also at the table. She was a trained nurse, who, having begun life as the Doctor's office-girl, had, gradually, after his wife's death, assumed the management of his household. Jean was not fond of her. She had repeatedly begged that her dear Emily might take Miss Merritt's place. "But Hilda is much younger," her father had contended, "and much more of a companion for you." "She isn't a companion at all, Daddy. We haven't the same thoughts." But Hilda had stayed on, and Jean had sought her dear Emily's company in the little shop. Sometimes she waited on customers. Sometimes she worked in the rear room. It was always a great joke to feel that she was really helping. In all her life her father had never let her do a useful thing. The table was lighted with candles, and there was a silver dish of fruit in the center. The dinner was well-served by a trim maid. Jean ate very little. Her father noticed her lack of appetite, "Why don't you eat your dinner, dear?" "I had chocolate at Emily's." "I don't think she ought to go there so often," Miss Merritt complained. "Why not?" Jean's voice was like the crack of a whip. "It is so late when you get home. It isn't safe." "I can always send the car for you, Jean," her father said. "I don't care to have you out alone." "Having the car isn't like walking. You know it isn't, Daddy, with the rain against your cheeks and the wind--" Dr. McKenzie's quick imagination was fired. His eyes were like Jean's, lighted from within. "I suppose it is all right if she comes straight up Connecticut Avenue, Hilda?" Miss Merritt had long white hands which lay rather limply on the table. Her arms were bare. She was handsome in a red-cheeked, blond fashion. "Of course if you think it is all right, Doctor--" "It is up to Jean. If she isn't afraid, we needn't worry." "I'm not afraid of anything." He smiled at her. She was so pretty and slim and feminine in her white gown, with a string of pearls on her white neck. He liked pretty things and he liked her fearlessness. He had never been afraid. It pleased him that his daughter should share his courage. "Perhaps, if I am not too busy, I will come for you the next time you go to the shop. Would walking with me break the spell of the wind and wet?" "You know it wouldn't. It would be quite--heavenly--Daddy." After dinner, Doctor McKenzie read the evening paper. Jean sat on the rug in front of the fire and knitted for the soldiers. She had made sweaters until it seemed sometimes as if she saw life through a haze of olive-drab. "I am going to knit socks next," she told her father.