nervously trying to withdraw them.

"Oh, Daren, I'm glad to see you home--alive--whole," she said, almost
in a whisper. "Are you--well?"

"No, Mel. I'm in pretty bad shape," he replied. "Lucky to get home
alive--to see you all."

"I'm sorry. You're so white. You're wonderfully changed, Daren."

"So are you. But I'll say I'm happy it's not painted face and plucked
eyebrows.... Mel, what's happened to you?"

She suddenly espied the decoration on his coat. The blood rose and
stained her clear cheek. With a gesture of exquisite grace and
sensibility that thrilled Lane she touched the medal. "Oh! The _Croix
de Guerre_.... Daren, you were a hero."

"No, Mel, just a soldier."

She looked up into his face with eyes that fascinated Lane, so
beautiful were they--the blue of corn-flowers--and lighted then with
strange rapt glow.

"Just a soldier!" she murmured. But Lane heard in that all the
sweetness and understanding possible for any woman's heart. She amazed
him--held him spellbound. Here was the sympathy--and something
else--a nameless need--for which he yearned. The moment was fraught
with incomprehensible forces. Lane's sore heart responded to her rapt
look, to the sudden strange passion of her pale face. Swiftly he