"Frank! Frank!" she burst forth suddenly. "That is not true! Oh! I had forgotten. I—I wish we had died back there in the château!"
"Belinda!" he cried, in horror.
"I am not yours! You cannot be mine! Between us is that other woman—your children!" gasped the overwrought girl, and fell to weeping wildly.
Amazed, he halted her, holding her firmly by both shoulders.
"Hush, dear girl!" he begged. "Belinda! Have you gone mad? What are you saying?"
"Stella! Your 'kiddies'! I heard you and your brother speak of them."
"Jerry's widow!" uttered Frank as if stunned.
"Jerry's'?"
"Jerry Cameron. My best chum. He married a silly little fool of a woman in his sophomore year. His father turned him adrift for it and Jerry went to work. Sold autos. Plucky fellow after all. And the babies came in plenty. Why is it, can you tell me, that women who shouldn't have children always have a raft of 'em?"
"Go on!" commanded Belinda, in no mind for abstruse problems.