She was silent, searching for the words which she felt that she ought to say. So that was it? They would go together, and the tongues of the world would wag. And Hilda would know that they were wagging, and would not care. But he, with his mind on bigger things, would never know, and would blunder unseeing into the net which was set for him. She felt that she ought to warn him, that the good friendship which existed between them demanded it. Yet it was a hard thing to say, and she hated it. So the moment passed. It was he who spoke first--of Jean and Derry. "What do you think of it, Emily?" "He is very much in love with her." "And Jean?" "Oh, I think you know. You saw her tonight." He felt a sudden sense of age and loneliness. "She won't miss me, then?" "Do you think that anyone could make up to your little Jean for the loss of her father?" He covered his face with his hand. "You are feeling it like that?" she asked, gently. "Yes. She is all I have, Emily. And I am jealous--desperately--desperately." She searched for words to comfort him, and at last they came. "She will be very proud of her Daddy in France." "Do you think she will?" "I know it." "And yet--I am not really worthy of all that she gives--" She leaned forward, her white hands in her lap. Jean's comment echoed once more in his ears. "I like Emily's hands much better than Hilda's." They seemed, indeed, to represent all that was lovely in Emily, her refinement, her firmness, her gentle spirit. "Bruce," she said--she rarely called him that--"your dear wife would never have loved you if you hadn't been worthy of love." "I need her--to hold me to my best." "Hold yourself to it, Bruce--" She stood up. "I must go to bed, and so must you. We have busy days before us." He spoke impulsively. "You are a good woman, Emily--there's no one in the world that I would trust to stay with Jean but you." She smiled a little wistfully as she went upstairs. She had perhaps comforted him, but she had left unsaid the words she should have spoken. "You must not take Hilda with you. If you take her with you, will your Jean be proud of her Daddy in France?" CHAPTER XI HILDA WEARS A CROWN At two o'clock on Thanksgiving morning the light burned low in the General's room. Hilda, wide awake, was reading. Derry stopped at the door. She rose at once and went to him. "Is he all right, Miss Merritt?" "Yes. He's sound asleep." "Then you think he's better?" "Much better." "Good. I hope you can stay on the case. Dr. McKenzie says it is all because of your splendid care of him. I just left McKenzie, by the way. I took him and his daughter to the ball at the Willard. We had a corking time." Her eyes saw a change in him. This was not the listless Derry with whom she had talked the day before--here were flushed cheeks and shining eyes--gay youth and gladness--.