and see--"

The curtains were not drawn, and the apartment was high up, so that
they looked out beyond the hills to a sky in which the daylight blue
had faded to a faint green, and saw the little moon and one star.

"Derry," Drusilla said, softly. "Derry, why aren't you fighting?"

It was the question he had dreaded. He had seen it often in her eyes,
but never before had she voiced it.

"I can't tell you, Drusilla, but there's a reason--a good one. God
knows I would go if I could."

The passion in his voice convinced her.

"Don't you know I'd be in it if I had my way. But I've got to stay on
the shelf like the tin soldier in the fairy tale. Do you remember,
Drusilla? And people keep asking me--why?"

"I shouldn't have asked it, Derry?"

"You couldn't know. And you had a right to ask--everybody has a
right--and I can't answer."

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "When I was a little girl," she
said, softly, "I used to cry--because I was so sorry for the--tin
soldier--"

"Are you sorry for me, Drusilla?"