"No, I'm not married--but I--I have a baby," she whispered.

"Mel!" gasped Lane. "A war baby?"

"Yes."

Lane was so shocked he could not collect his scattered wits, let alone
think of the right thing to say, if there were any right thing. "Mel,
this is a--a terrible surprise. Oh, I'm sorry.... How the war played
hell with all of us! But for you--Mel Iden--I can't believe it."

"Daren, so terribly true," she said. "Don't I look it?"

"Mel, you look--oh--heartbroken."

"Yes, I am broken-hearted," she replied, and drooped her head.

"Forgive me, Mel. I hardly know what I'm saying.... But listen--I'm
coming to see you."

"No," she said.

That trenchant word was thought-provoking. A glimmer of understanding
began to dawn in Lane. Already an immense pity had flooded his soul,
and a profound sense of the mystery and tragedy of Mel Iden. She had
always been unusual, aloof, proud, unattainable, a girl with a heart
of golden fire. And now she had a nameless child and was an outcast
from her father's house. The fact, the fatality of it, stunned Lane.

"Daren, I must go in to see Dr. Bronson," she said. "I'm glad you're