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 FLAMING

YOUTH

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Constance swayed, irresolute, uncertain on her feet. ‘How far has this gone?” she muttered. Scott rallied his defences. “You’re not to think that this is just a casual, cheap flirtation,” he said.

“If I

could make you understand how deeply and honestly I love Pat “Honestly! echoed Constance with scorn. “J won’t split words with you. And for myself I’ve no excuses to make. I ought to have held myself better in hand. But as for this sort of thing—my kissing Pat— it’s the first time and it will be——” “Oh, piffle!” Pat’s reckless voice broke in, “Tell her the truth, Cary.” Constance looked from one to the other. Her lips quivered, curled down at the corners like a grieved baby’s. She began to sob in short, quick, strangled catches of the

breath. Suddenly a dreadful look convulsed her face. She pressed her hands down upon her abdomen. “Oh!” she cried. “Ah-h-h-h. The pain! Pat! ’m——” Scott jumped to catch her, barely in time to break the fall. He eased her into the chair. Pat was beside him instantly. “Phone for Bobs. Quick! Tell him to get Dr. Courcey. No You go for Courcey, it’ll save time. Second house around the corner. ‘Tell him to bring everything. All his instruments and a nurse. Don’t come back. VU write you.” As he hurried to the door he heard a shriek, then Pat’s

strong, soothing voice: “All right, Con, old girl. minutes.”

The doctor’ll be here in five

Such was their parting, one of life’s sardonic emendations to the plots and plans of lovers.