She went home, crying all the way.  And now a partial success attended the deep Meadows’ policy.  It was no common stroke of unscrupulous cunning to plunge her into the very depths of woe in order to take her out of them.  The effects were manifold, and all tended his way.

First she was less sorrowful than she had been before that deadly blow, for now the heart had realized a greater woe, and had the miserable comfort of the comparison; but, above all, new and strong passions had risen and battled fiercely with grief—­anger and wounded pride.

Susan had self-respect and pride, too, perhaps a shade too much though less small vanity than have most persons of her moderate caliber.

What! had she wept and sighed all these months for a man who did not care for her?

What! had she defied sneers, and despised affectionate hints, and gloried openly in her love, to be openly insulted and betrayed!

What! had she shut herself from the world, and put on mourning and been seen in mourning for one who was not dead, but well and happy and married to another!

An agony of shame rushed over the wronged, insulted, humiliated beauty.  She longed to fly from the world.  She asked her father to leave Grassmere and go to some other farm a hundred miles away.  She asked him suddenly, nervously, and so impetuously that the old man looked up in dismay.

“What! leave the farm where your mother lived with me, and where you were born.  I should feel strange, girl; but”—­and he gave a strange sigh—­“mayhap I shall have to leave it whether I will or no.”

Susan misunderstood him and colored with self-reproach.  She said hastily:  “No! no!  Father, you shan’t leave it for me.  Forgive me, I am a wayward girl!”

And the strung nerves gave way, and tears gushed over the hot cheeks, as she clung to her father, and tried to turn the current of her despised love and bestow it all on that selfish old noodle.  A great treasure went a-begging in Grassmere farmhouse.

Mr. Meadows called, but much to his chagrin Susan was never visible.  “Would he excuse her? she was indisposed.”

The next evening he came he found her entertaining four or five other farmers’ daughters and a couple of young men.  She was playing the piano to them and talking and laughing louder and faster than ever he had heard her in his life.  He sat moody a little while and watched her uneasily, but soon took his line, and exerting his excellent social powers became the life of the party.  But as he warmed Susan froze, as much as to say, “Somebody must play the fool to amuse these triflers—­if you undertake it I need not.”  For all that the very attempt at society indicated what was passing in Susan’s mind, and the deep Meadows invited all present to meet at his house in two days’ time.