"Well, she did, too. Her husband was the most wonderful man, and her baby was the most wonderful baby--and her house was the most wonderful house. You make me think of her in every way. But you won't have apple blossoms for your honeymoon, my dear." "No. But, oh, Mrs. Connolly--it won't make any real difference." "Not a bit. And if you'll come up here, Jim and I will promise not to be in the way. Your mother said we were never in the way. And I'll serve your meals in front of the sitting-room fire. They used to have theirs out of doors. But you'll be just as much alone, with me and Jim eating in the kitchen." It was very easy after that to tell Mrs. Connolly all about it. About Derry, and how he had fallen in love with her when he had thought she was just the girl in the Toy Shop. But there were things which she did not tell, of the shabby old gentleman and of the shadow which had darkened Derry's life. Then when she had finished, Mary Connolly asked the thing which everybody asked--"Why isn't he fighting?" Jean flushed. "He--he made a promise to his mother." "I'd never make my boys promise a thing like that. And if I did, I'd hope they'd break it." "Break it?" tensely. "Of course. Their honor's bigger than anything I could ever ask them. And they know it." "Then you think that Derry ought to break his promise?" "I do, indeed, my dear." "But--. Oh, Mrs. Connolly, I don't know whether I want him to break it." "Why not?" With her face hidden. "I don't know whether I could let him--go." "You'd let him go. Never fear. When the moment came, the good Lord would give you strength--" There were steps outside. Jean leaned over and kissed Mary Connolly on the cheek. "You are such a darling--I don't wonder that my mother loved you." "Well, you'll always be more than just yourself to me," said Mary. "You'll always be your mother's baby. And after I get lunch for you and the men I am going back to the church and ask the blessed Virgin to intercede for your happiness." So it was while Mary was at church, and the two men had gone to town upon some legal matter, that Jean, left alone, wandered through the house, and always before her flitted the happy ghost of the girl who had come there to spend her honeymoon. In the great south chamber was a picture of her mother, and one of her father as they looked at the time of their marriage. Her mother was in organdie with great balloon sleeves, and her hair in a Psyche knot. She was a slender little thing, and the young doctor's picture was a great contrast in its blondness and bigness. Daddy had worn a beard then, pointed, as was the way with doctors of his day, and he looked very different, except for the eyes which had the same teasing twinkle.