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FLAMING

YOUTH

69

“I can’t see any chance of cure.” “Poor old Bobs!” she said again, this time in a whisper. “If I were a man I’m sure I should be wild about Mona. I can see that even if she is my mother. She’s so lovely; and she’s so young; and she’s”—Dee smiled—‘“she’s such a bad child.” “No; she’s not,” he defended doggedly. ‘“She’s just a little spoiled because life has always petted her. And now the petting is almost over.” “Yes.

That’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Of Mona!

She’s

always had her own way with everyone and everything. But she’s got courage. She won’t flinch. Bobs, do you remember a talk we three had, months ago?” S6¥

os5,??

“I’d like to do something for her before—something that she wanted. And for you, too. It wouldn’t do any good, would it,” she asked wistfully, “if I were to marry you?” “Not a bit.” She smiled, awry, but withal, relieved. “What a bear you are! Isn’t that your phone ringing?” “Let it ring. This isn’t office hours.” “A hint for me? Having proposed and been rejected, I’m off.” She brushed his cheek again. “Old boy,” she said, “it is going to be tough going for you. Worse than for any of us. Good-bye.” Concentration upon his work being dissipated by this disturbing visit, Osterhout threw himself on the settee and dropped out of the world into a chasm of dark musings. If Mona had ever really cared for him, he mused—if he had been her lover—might he have been her lover, as she had hinted?—-had she lovers? Or were the other men merely playthings of her wayward moods, of her craving for excitement, for adulation, for the sunlit warmth

of

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