ing above
socks and broad-toed sandals. Their short white frocks fell in widening
line from the shoulders, giving the effect of lightness, winginess. Both
children had lovely hair, curly, bobbed to a comfortable length, and
their wide, curious eyes fastened instantly upon Thornton--eyes of
purple-blue and eyes of hazel-gold; strange eyes, frankly confronting
him but disclosing nothing; eyes of utterly strange children; not a
familiar feature or expression to guide him.

"I have called them Joan and Nancy," Doris was saying. "You expressed no
preference, you know."

"Which is--is--mine?" Thornton whispered the question that somehow made
him flush with shame.

"I do not know!" It was whisper meeting whisper.

"You--what?" Thornton turned blazing eyes upon the woman by his side.
Her answer did not seem to shock him so much as it revealed what he had
suspected--Doris was playing with him, making him absurd by that
infernal power of hers that he had all but forgotten. He recalled, too,
with keen resentment her ability to transform a tragic incident into one
of humour--or the reverse.

"I do not know. I never have known," Doris was saying. "You see, I was
afraid of heredity if I had to deal with it. Without knowing it I could
be just to both children; give them the only possible opportunity to
overcome handicaps. I thought they might reveal themselves--but so far
they have not. They are adorable."

"This is damnable! Someone shall be made to speak--to suffer--or by
God!----"

The words were hardly above a whisper, but the tone frightened the
children.

"Auntie Dorrie!" they pleaded, and stretched out entreating arms.

"Come, darlings. The play is over and you did it beautifully."

They ran to her, clambered into her lap, and turned doubting eyes upon
Thornton.

"You--expect me to--to--take both?" he asked, still in that low, thick
tone.

"Certainly not. One is mine. I shall demand my rights, be quite sure of
that."

"This is the most outrageous thing I ever heard of!" Thornton was at
bay; "the most immoral."

"I have often thought that it might be," Doris returned, her lips
against Nancy's fair hair, "but the more you consider it the more you
are convinced that it is not. It is simply--unusual." The tone defied
understanding. "You must consider what I have done, George, step by
step. I did not act rashly. And when we come to actual contact with all
the truth confronting us, you and I will have to be very f