"Thank you, Doctor. It's—something to know—what to expect," returned Lane, with a smile.
"You might live a year—and you might not.... You might improve. God only knows. Miracles do happen. Anyway, come back to see me."
Lane shook hands with him and went out, passing another patient in the reception room. Then as Lane opened the door and stepped out upon the porch he almost collided with a girl who evidently had been about to come in.
"I beg your——" he began, and stopped. He knew this girl, but the strained tragic shadow of her eyes was strikingly unfamiliar. The transparent white skin let the blue tracery of veins show. On the instant her lips trembled and parted.
"Oh, Daren—don't you know me?" she asked.
"Mel Iden!" he burst out. "Know you? I should smile I do. But it—it was so sudden. And you're older—different somehow. Mel, you're sweeter—why you're beautiful."
He clasped her hands and held on to them, until he felt her rather nervously trying to withdraw them.
"Oh, Daren, I'm glad to see you home—alive—whole," she said, almost in a whisper. "Are you—well?"
"No, Mel. I'm in pretty bad shape," he replied. "Lucky to get home alive—to see you all."
"I'm sorry. You're so white. You're wonderfully changed, Daren."