He was John Keith now, fighting for John Keith's life--and Derwent
Conniston's sister.
Mary Josephine herself put the first shot into the fabric of his plans.
She must have been watching for him, for when halfway up the slope he
saw her coming to meet him. She scolded him for being away from her, as
he had expected her to do. Then she pulled his arm about her slim
little waist and held the hand thus engaged in both her own as they
walked up the winding path. He noticed the little wrinkles in her
adorable forehead.
"Derry, is it the right thing for young ladies to call on their
gentlemen friends over here?" she asked suddenly.
"Why--er--that depends, Mary Josephine. You mean--"
"Yes, I do, Derwent Conniston! She's pretty, and I don't blame you, but
I can't help feeling that I don't like it!"
His arm tightened about her until she gasped. The fragile softness of
her waist was a joy to him.
"Derry!" she remonstrated. "If you do that again, I'll break!"
"I couldn't help it," he pleaded. "I couldn't, dear. The way you said
it just made my arm close up tight. I'm glad you didn't like it. I can
love only one at a time, and I'm loving you, and I'm going on loving
you all my life.
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