Miss Emily came to the rescue. "He seems very nice."

"Splendid fellow. But I am not sure that I want him sending flowers to
my daughter. I don't want anyone sending flowers to her."

Miss Emily took him up sharply. "That's your selfishness. Life has
always been a garden where you have wandered at will. And now you want
to shut the gate of that garden against your daughter."

"Well, there are flowers that I shouldn't care to have her pluck."

"Don't you know her well enough to understand that she'll pluck only
the little lovely blooms?"

His eyes rested on Jean's absorbed face. "Yes, thank God. And thank
you, too, for saying it, Emily."

After dinner they sat in the library. Doctor McKenzie on one side of
the fire with his cigar, Emily on the other side with her knitting.
Jean between them in a low chair, a knot of Derry's violets fragrant
against the gray of her gown, her fingers idle.

"Why aren't you knitting?" the Doctor asked.

"I don't have to set a good example to Emily."

"And you do to Hilda?" He threw back his head and laughed.

"You needn't laugh. Isn't it comfy with Emily?"