“David said you’d been ailing,” she said cheerfully, “so I came to play mama. Your reviews are fantastic. You’ve made it, honey.” “Have I ever,” Bett sighed. She sat up, turned white, and dashed for the bathroom, barely making it in time. When she came back out, Janet was staring at her over a platter of scrambled eggs, her face concerned. “Yes, I can see you’ve been ailing,” Janet said softly. “Poor darling. Poor, poor darling. Does he know?” She nodded miserably. “Well, is he going to marry you?” She shook her head. Janet made a rough sound in her throat. She slammed down the platter of eggs. “Why not?” “He doesn’t think it’s his.” “Oh, baloney.” Janet sat down beside her on the bed, pulling the tear-washed face onto her shoulder. “Why doesn’t he?” “You can’t ever tell anyone.” “Dearest friend, when have I ever told anyone anything?” Bett smiled wanly. “He says he’s sterile.” “Cul?” “Cul.” She sighed wearily.
