Lane made good his threat, and this last onslaught left her spent and white.
"You must like my kisses, Mel Iden," he said.
"I implore you—Daren"
"I implore you to marry me."
"Dear friend, listen to reason," she begged. "You don't love me. You've just a chivalrous notion you can help me—and my boy—by giving us your name. It's noble, Daren, thank you. But—"
"Take care," warned Lane, bending low over her. "I can make good my word all night."
"Boy, you've gone crazy," she whispered, sadly.
"Well, now you may be talking sense," he laughed. "But that's neither here nor there.... Mel, I may die any day now!"
"Oh, my God!—don't say that," she cried, as if pierced by a blade.
"Yes. Mel, make me happy just for that little while."