"I get you, Dare.... For Margie, for Lorna, for Mel--even if they
have--"

"Yes," answered Lane, as Blair faltered.




CHAPTER IV


As Lane sped out Elm Street in a taxicab he remembered that his last
ride in such a conveyance had been with Helen when he took her home
from a party. She was then about seventeen years old. And that night
she had coaxed him to marry her before he left to go to war. Had her
feminine instinct been infallibly right? Would marrying her have saved
her from what Blair had so forcibly suggested?

Elm Street was a newly developed part of Middleville, high on one of
its hills, and manifestly a restricted section. Lane had found the
number of Helen's home in the telephone book. When the chauffeur
stopped before a new and imposing pile of red brick, Lane understood
an acquaintance's reference to the war rich. It was a mansion, but
somehow not a home. It flaunted something indefinable.

Lane instructed the driver to wait a few moments, and, if he did not
come out, to go back to town and return in about an hour. The house
stood rather far from the street, and as Lane mounted the terrace he
observed four motor cars parked in the driveway. Also his sensitive