That had been a confession, though she knew it not.  And she had ignored it, taking it as badinage, and he had been too weak to brand it truth.  Strangely enough, she did not judge him for posing as Major Calvert’s nephew.  Strangely enough, that seemed trivial in comparison with the other.  It was so natural for him to be the rightful heir that she could not realize that he was an impostor, nor apportion the fact its true significance.  Her brain was unfit to grapple.  Only her heart lived; lived with the passive life of stagnation.  It was choked with weeds on the surface.  She tried to patch together the broken parts of her life.  Tried and failed.  She could not.  She seemed to be existing without an excuse; aimlessly, soullessly.

After many horrible days, hideous nights, she realized that she still loved Garrison.  Loved with a love that threatened to absorb even her physical existence.  It seemed as if the very breath of her lungs had been diverted to her heart, where it became tissue-searing flame.

And at Calvert House life had resolved itself into silence.  The major and his wife were striving to live in the future; striving to live against Garrison’s return.  They were ignorant of the true cause of his leaving.  For Sue, the keeper of the secret, had not divulged it.  She had been left with a difficult proposition to face, and she could not face it.  She temporized.  She knew that sooner or later the truth would have to come out.  She put it off.  She could not tell, not now, not now.  Each day only rendered it the more difficult.  She could not tell.

She had only to look at the old major; to look at his wife, to see that the blow would blast them.  She had had youth to help her, and even she had been blasted.  What chance had they?  And so she said that Garrison and she had quarreled seriously and that in sudden anger, pique, he had left.  Oh, yes, she knew he would return.  She was quite sure of it.  It was all so silly and over nothing, and she had no idea he would take it that way.  And she was so sorry, so sorry.

It had all been her fault.  He had not been to blame.  It was she, only she.  In a thoughtless moment she had said something about his being dependent on his uncle, and he had fired up, affirming that he would show her that he was a man, and could earn his own salt.  Yes, it had been entirely her own fault, and no one hated herself as she did.  He had gone to prove his manhood, and she knew how stubborn he was.  He would not return until he wished.

Sue lied bravely, convincingly, whole-heartedly.  Everything she did was done thoroughly.  She would not think of the future.  But she could not tell that Garrison was an impostor; a father of children.  She could not tell.  So she lied, and lied so well that the old major, bewildered, was forced to believe her.  He was forced to acquiesce.  He could not interfere.  He could do nothing.  It was better that his nephew should prove his manhood; return some time and love the girl, than that he should hate her for eternity.