And he talked of the glories of war!

Derry grew restless. As he sat in the rose-colored chair, he fingered
a tassel which caught back one of the curtains of the wide window. It
was a silk tassel, and he pulled at one strand of it until it was
flossy and frayed. He was unconscious of his work of destruction,
unconscious that Jean's eyes, lifted now and then from her knitting,
noted his fingers weaving in and out of the rosy strands.

Ralph talked on. With seeming modesty he spoke of the feats of other
men, yet none the less it was Ralph they saw, poised like a bird at
incredible heights, looping the loop, fearless, splendid--beating the
air with strong wings.

Six o'clock, and at last Ralph rose. Even then he hesitated and hung
back, as if he expected that Derry might go with him. But Derry, stiff
and straight beside the rose-colored chair, bade him farewell!

And now Derry was alone with Jean!

They found themselves standing close together in front of the fire.
The garment of coldness and of languor which had seemed to enshroud
Derry had dropped from him. The smile which he gave Jean was like warm
wine in her veins.

"Well--?"

"I asked you to come--to say--that I am,--sorry--," her voice breaking.
"Daddy told me that he knew why--you couldn't fight--"