He put
her in it and stood before her, trying to smile. Her hair had loosened,
and the shining mass of it had fallen about her face and to her
shoulders. She was more than ever like a little girl as she looked up
at him, her eyes worshiping him, her lips trying to smile, and one
little hand dabbing her eyes with a tiny handkerchief that was already
wet and crushed.
"You--you don't seem very glad to see me, Derry."
"I--I'm just stunned," he managed to say. "You see--"
"It IS a shocking surprise, Derry. I meant it to be. I've been planning
it for years and years and YEARS! Please take off your coat--it's
dripping wet!--and sit down near me, on that stool!"
Again he obeyed. He was big for the stool.
"You are glad to see me, aren't you, Derry?"
She was leaning over the edge of the big chair, and one of her hands
went to his damp hair, brushing it back. It was a wonderful touch. He
had never felt anything like it before in his life, and involuntarily
he bent his head a little. In a moment she had hugged it up close to
her.
"You ARE glad, aren't you, Derry? Say 'yes.'"
"Yes," he whispered.
He could feel the swift, excited beating of her heart.
"And I'm never going back again--to THEM," he heard her say, something
suddenly low and fierce in her voice.
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