"Mr. Iden, do you remember me?" asked Lane. He caught the slight averting of Iden's eyes from his uniform, and divined how the father of Mel Iden hated soldiers. But nothing could daunt Lane. "Yes, Lane, I remember you," returned Iden. He returned Lane's hand-clasp, but not cordially. Lane had mapped out in his mind this little interview. Taking off his hat, he carefully lowered himself until his back was propped against the tree, and looked frankly at Iden. "It's warm. And I tire so easily. The damned Huns cut me to pieces.... Not much like I was when I used to call on Mel!" Iden lowered his shadowed face. After a moment he said: "No, you're changed, Lane.... I heard you were gassed, too." "Oh, everything came my way, Mr. Iden.... And the finish isn't far off." Iden shifted his legs uneasily, then sat more erect, and for the first time really looked at Lane. It was the glance of a man who had strong aversion to the class Lane represented, but who was fair-minded and just, and not without sympathy. "That's too bad, Lane. You're a young man.... The war hit us all, I guess," he said, and at the last, sighed heavily. "It's been a long pull--Blair Maynard and I were the first to enlist, and we left Middleville almost immediately," went on Lane. He desired to plant in Iden's mind the fact that he had left Middleville long before the wild era of soldier-and-girl attraction which had created such havoc. Acutely sensitive as Lane was, he could not be sure of an alteration in Iden's aloofness, yet there was some slight change. Then he talked frankly about specific phases of the war. Finally, when he saw that he had won interest and sympathy from Iden he abruptly launched his purpose. "Mr. Iden, I came to ask if you will give your consent to my marrying Mel." The older man shrank back as if he had been struck. He stared. His lower jaw dropped. A dark flush reddened his cheek. "What!... Lane, you must be drunk," he ejaculated, thickly. "No. I never was more earnest in my life. I want to marry Mel Iden." "Why?" rasped out the father, hoarsely. "I understand Mel," replied Lane, and swiftly he told his convictions as to the meaning and cause of her sacrifice. "Mel is good. She never was bad. These rotten people who see dishonor and disgrace in her have no minds, no hearts. Mel is far above these painted, bare-kneed girls who scorn her.... And I want to show them what _I_ think of her. I want to give her boy a name--so he'll have a chance in the world. I'll not live long. This is just a little thing I can do to make it easier for Mel." "Lane, you can't be the father of her child," burst out Iden. "No. I wish I were. I was never anything to Mel but a friend. She was only a girl--seventeen when I left home." "So help me God!" muttered Iden, and he covered his face with his hands. "Say yes, Mr. Iden, and I'll go to Mel this afternoon." "No, let me think.... Lane, if you're not drunk, you're crazy."