It was not until just before he himself quitted the mother ship that Larry Wolfe learned of Ann's illness. Climbing above his pride, he had gone to her cabin to say good-bye.
Doctor Van Doren, ship's surgeon, met him at the door. "You must not excite her," he said, in a low tone. "Say good-bye if you like, but—"
"Doctor!" Larry seized his arm. "I—I hadn't heard Ann was sick. What is it?"
"I don't know. Just a complete physical collapse. She's too tired to eat, even. Ever since last night."
Larry was pushing past him into the cabin. He went down on his knees beside the girl's bed and his hand closed on her cold fingers. "Ann!" he choked. "They didn't tell me...."
Ann wouldn't meet his eyes. "I asked them not to. I'm all right, Larry. Just tired."
A cold blade stabbed at Larry's heart. "Why wouldn't you let me know?" he asked.
Ann's eyes seemed fixed on a rivet in the ceiling. "Because I didn't want to worry you. And—I didn't want to fight with you again."
"As if I'd so much as raise my voice, with you sick," Larry groaned. Then his eyes fastened on a ruby-colored heart lying on the girl's breast. "What's that?" he asked, half in alarm. "I've never seen it before; it looks—like it's alive, Ann!"
The girl's fingers toyed with it. "It was a gift," she murmured absently.