When they went out, the sleet was coming thick and fast, and Derry's car was waiting. And when they were safe inside, he turned to her and his voice exulted, "I haven't even told you that I love you--I haven't asked you to marry me--I haven't done any of the conventional things--it hasn't needed words, and that's the wonder of it." "Yes." "But you knew." "Yes." "From the first?" "I think it was from the first--" "In the Toy Shop?" "Yes." "And you thought I was poor--and I thought you were just the girl in the shop?" "Isn't it wonderful?" It was more wonderful than they knew. "Do you know that my money has always been more important to some people than I have been? I have thought they cared for me because of it." "Ralph said last night that I cared--for the money." She would not tell him of the other things that Ralph had said. And even as she thought of him, across the path of her rapture fell the shadow of Ralph's scorn of Derry. He bent down to her. "Jean, if I had been that shabby boy that you first saw in the shop would you have been happy with me, in a plain little house? Would you?" Up the streets came the people from the churches--the crowds of people who had thanked the Lord soberly, feeling meantime a bit bewildered as to the workings of His Providence. Most of them were going home to somewhat modified feasts. Many of them were having a soldier or two to dine with them. And presently these soldiers whom they feasted would be crossing the sea to that dread land of death and desolation. Should they thank the Lord for that? Some of the clergymen, craving light, had sought it in the Old Testament. But one, more inspired than the rest, had found it in the New. "And there was war in Heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels. And prevailed not--neither was their place found any more in Heaven." Those who came from that church spoke of a Holy War, and were thankful that there were men in America going forth to fight the Dragon. The two soldiers who were to dine at Dr. McKenzie's were plain young fellows from an upper county in Maryland. They were waiting somewhat awkwardly in the drawing-room when Jean arrived. She took them at once to the less formal library, left Derry with them and went upstairs to dress. As she came into the fresh and frilly room so identified with her child life and her girl life, she stopped on the threshold. Oh, little room, little room, the child that once lived here will never come again! She knelt beside the bed, her face buried in her hands. No words came, but in her heart she was saying, "My beloved is mine--and I am his--"