pass in shoulder-touching distance of me.

But though I searched every face of those who passed like people seen moving along in a vague, disquieting dream, not one of those faces even remotely resembled the girl I loved.

During the nights my satin-clad body rested beside my husband in the bed in our comfortable room at our hotel. But my soul wandered the chill, fog-shrouded streets searching for Jan.

I was glad when we started home. The pleasant three day vacation my husband supposed I'd had, was actually a time of grief. But of course I didn't let Granger know that. I had forced my lips to smile, and I had laughed often. But the smile was a desperate lie, and the laughter was twisted sobs.

Sunday evening as we drove away from the lights that glittered through the fog, as we left the city and headed toward the little town we called home, I sat stiff and silent in the darkness. My husband supposed I was drowsy. He never guessed that I felt exactly as if I had been to a funeral.

I made up my mind that going to San Francisco was too painful for me. I mustn't do it again. After all, even if I did find Jan-what good would it do? I was now a married woman. Then I rubbed salt into my aching wound, by reminding myself, "It was Jan who went away. Jan left me."

The voice of practicality advised crisply, "So that part of your life is over. Forget Jan."

But though I agreed that seemed the wise thing to do, I knew I couldn't forget her.

"God help me!" I prayed.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Although I wanted to become pregnant this had not happened. Granger was increasingly anxious to be a father. And I reasoned that if anything could fill the loneliness in my heart, it would be love for a child of my own. But even then, I was planning that if I became pregnant and my baby should be a girl, I'd name her Jan. Quick tears blurred my eyes. I balled my fingers into fists. Oh why, even when I have been forgotten, why must I go on remembering? I sighed. But that is the way I am.

Each time I glanced at my flat abdomen I tormented myself with one question. Why don't I become pregnant? I knew I could conceive. After all, I'd once given birth to a baby. My heart tightened at the memory of that dead baby that I had never seen. Then my thoughts raced on. Granger knew I had given birth to that baby in his own home. If I could bear a child for a man I had despised while its seed was being sown in me, why couldn't I bear a child for Granger who was always kind to me?

Granger was gravely troubled when months passed and still I did not become pregnant.

He became afraid that it was his fault. I'll never forget the morning when he unburdened his fear to me. My lips were bright with lipstick, and my hair brushed into a mass of topaz curls about my shoulders. He usually commented on how pretty I looked at breakfast. But this morning he said nothing, even though my turquoise hostess robe was brand new. I wondered why he hadn't noticed it.

We were having breakfast of coffee, eggs, bacon, toast and orange marmalade, which happened to be his favorite breakfast menu. Sunlight was streaming like yellow ribbons through the rose curtains and

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