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 FLAMING

YOUTH

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he said: “Take your time, Pat. And when you're ready, tell me as much or as little as you wish.” “It isn’t too easy—even to you. Can’t you guess?” “Ah,” said he, after a pause of scrutiny. “So that’s it.” “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.

“Oh, Bobs!

You

are divine.

I want

We help.” 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?” “Oh, no!”

For the moment Osterhout was startled clean out of his professional attitude. ‘Who is?” he said sternly. - Instantly Pat was mutinous. “I won’t tell you.” “I’m sorry I asked it. It’s none of your doctor’s affair who he is. You want me to tell you whether your husband, when you marry, will know that you have had experience before.” “Yes,? answered Pat under her breath. “J’l] answer you as I always answer that question.”

“Always!

Have you had it asked you before?”