"Don't look at me." She put her hands up as if to shield her face from flame. "Just tell me what to do."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Of course," said she impatiently. "Do you think I'd come bothering you—— Oh, no! Not that way. Though it might have happened. Now you do know."
"Go on, Pat."
"Aren't you shocked?" Her eyes darted up at him, at once supplicating and defiant, from out the tangle of her vagrant hair.
"Not a bit. We doctors don't judge. We help."
"Oh, Bobs! You are divine. I want to know—it's awfully hard to put it—to know whether—if he'll know—when we're married."
"He?" Osterhout groped in a murk of bewilderment. "Who?"
"Monty, of course. Don't be dumb."
"Monty? Isn't Monty the man?"