"
"Well, I think you did make yourself--very useful--last night, didn't
you?"
"Oh, that!" Jerry shrugged his shoulders. Then, surveying her
critically, he added: "You look awfully tired this morning, Di!"
She did. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and her face looked
white and drawn. The previous evening had been the occasion of her
reception, and she had carried it pluckily through single-handed. Quiet
and composed, she had moved about amongst her guests, covering Max's
absence with a light touch and pretty apology, her demeanour so natural
and unembarrassed that the tongues, which would otherwise have wagged
swiftly enough, were inevitably stilled.
But the strain had told upon her. This morning she looked haggard and
ill, more fit to be in bed than anything else.
"Oh, I shall be all right after a night's rest," she answered cheerfully.
"And as to making yourself useful there's really nothing I want you to do
for me. But I _do_ want you to go and make your peace with your father,
and take Joan to him. I'm sure he'll love her! So I'm writing to Max
telling him that I've given you leave of absence. He won't be returning
till Saturday at the earliest, and probably not then. If he wants you
back on Monday, we'll wire."
Jerry hesitated.
"Are you sure it will be quite all right? I don't really like leaving
you."
"Quite all right," she assured him.
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