At the same time, I became convinced she was losing her memory. Chance remarks dropped at odd times indicated that her recollection of Wyn, of the events before Mark's birth, of all her past life in Allertown, was extremely faulty; she never had shown signs of remembering any events before she came to Allertown. As a matter of fact, it became increasingly apparent that she no longer accepted Mark as her son. The boy was growing out of babyhood with that speed which is so remarkable in children. She cared for him solicitously, but seemed to look on him as her little brother. Of course, I took her to Doctor Lodge. He, in turn, went with us to consult doctors at Mayer City. He could find nothing wrong with Summer physically, nor could they. They seemed to think we were faking. They heard my assurances, and those of Doctor Lodge, that Summer must be approaching the age of thirty, with obvious skepticism. "There is nothing wrong with this girl except an unfortunate emotional aberration," one doctor told me flatly. "Physiologically she is a girl of about fourteen, and it is difficult for me to believe that her chronological age is any higher." "As I told you before, she has a son nearly four years old," I said. "I don't say that's impossible at her age, for it isn't," he retorted. "But this girl has never been a mother. She's a virgin." I should have realized what all this meant. I believe there have been such cases in medical history before. But I suppose I was too close to it. I didn't understand, even when Summer reposed childish confidence in me. "I know what's going to happen, you know, because it's already happened to me," she said. She was a skinny girl now, with enormous blue eyes. "You know what's happened, because it's already happened to you. Isn't it funny?" Fortunately, Wyn returned not long after that. Wyn had the answer to the questions that had been puzzling me. * * * * * Wyn gave no warning of his return. He just walked into the house one afternoon, carrying a suitcase and smoking a pipe. When I found Wyn and Summer in the park, they had appeared to be twins. During Wyn's absence his hair had begun to gray--prematurely, I'm sure--and now he looked like Summer's father. The change in her must have been even more noticeable to him than it was to me, because he had been separated from her during its most remarkable development. But he showed no surprise at it. "I knew what the trouble was before I left," he said soberly. "You see, as Summer's husband I was much closer to her than you could be, even since she and the boy have been living with you." I could feel my ears turning red. I asked hurriedly: "What is wrong with Summer, Wyn?"