In the stillness, Derry heard the quick-drawn breath of the girl in front of him.  “Daddy, I should hate a man like that.”

“But, my dear—­”

“I should hate him, Daddy.”

The play was over.

The lights went up, and Jean stood revealed.  She was pinning on her hat.  She saw Derry and smiled at him.  “Daddy,” she said, “it is Mr. Drake—­you know him.”

Dr. McKenzie held out his hand.  “How do you do?  So you young people have met, eh?”

“In Emily’s shop, Daddy.  He—­he came to buy my Lovely Dreams.”

The two men laughed.  “As if any man could buy your dreams, Jeanie,” her father said, “it would take the wealth of the world.”

“Or no wealth at all,” said Derry quickly.

They walked out together.  As they passed the portal of the gilded door, Derry felt that the moment of parting had come.

“Oh, look here, Doctor,” he said, desperately, “won’t you and your daughter take pity on me—­and join me at supper?  There’s dancing at the Willard and all that—­Miss McKenzie might enjoy it, and it would be a life-saver for me.”

Light leaped into Jean’s eyes.  “Oh, Daddy—­”

“Would you like it, dear?”

“You know I should.  So would you.  And you haven’t any stupid patients, have you?”

“My patients are always stupid, Drake, when they take me away from her.  Otherwise she is sorry for them.”  He looked at his watch.  “When I get to the hotel I’ll telephone to Hilda, and she’ll know where to find us.”

It was the Doctor who talked as they went along—­the two young people were quite ecstatically silent.  Jean was between her father and Derry.  As he kept step with her, it seemed to him that no woman had ever walked so lightly; she laughed a little now and then.  There was no need for words.

While her father telephoned, they sat together for a moment in the corridor.  She unfastened her coat, and he saw her white dress and pearls.  “Am I fine enough for an evening like this?” she asked him; “you see it is just the dress I wear at home.”

“It seems to me quite a superlative frock—­and I am glad that your hat is lined with blue.”

“Why?”

“Your cloak last night was heavenly, and now this—­it matches your eyes—­”

“Oh.”  She sat very still.

“Shouldn’t I have said that?  I didn’t think—­”

“I am glad you didn’t think—­”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes.  I hate people who weigh their words—­” The color came up finely into her cheeks.

When Dr. McKenzie returned, Derry found a table, and gave his order.

Jean refused to consider anything but an ice.  “She doesn’t eat at such moments,” Doctor McKenzie told his young host.  “She lives on star-dust, and she wants me to live on star-dust.  It is our only quarrel.  She’ll think me sordid because I am going to have broiled lobster.”