Sometimes Kenneth joined them, and Susan knew that it was on her account.  She was very demure with him; her conversation for Emily, her eyes all sisterly unembarrassment when they met his.  Mrs. Saunders was not well, and kept to her room, so that more than once Susan dined alone with the man of the house.  When this happened Kenneth would bring his chair down from the head of the table and set it next to hers.  He called her “Tweeny” for some favorite character in a play, brought her some books she had questioned him about, asked her casually, on the days she went to town for Emily, at what time she would come back, and joined her on the train.

Susan had thought of him as a husband, as she thought of every unattached man, the instant she met him.  But the glamour of those early views of Kenneth Saunders had been somewhat dimmed, and since her arrival at “High Gardens” she had tried rather more not to displease this easily annoyed member of the family, than to make a definite pleasant impression upon him.  Now, however, she began seriously to consider him.  And it took her a few brief moments only to decide that, if he should ask her, she would be mad to refuse to become his wife.  He was probably as fine a match as offered itself at the time in all San Francisco’s social set, good-looking, of a suitable age, a gentleman, and very rich.  He was so rich and of so socially prominent a family that his wife need never trouble herself with the faintest thought of her own standing; it would be an established fact, supreme and irrefutable.  Beside him Peter Coleman was a poor man, and even Isabel’s John paled socially and financially.  Kenneth Saunders would be a brilliant “catch” for any girl; for little Susan Brown—­it would be a veritable triumph!

Susan’s heart warmed as she thought of the details.  There would be a dignified announcement from Mrs. Saunders.  Then,—­Babel!  Telephoning, notes, telegrams!  Ella would of course do the correct thing; there would be a series of receptions and dinners; there would be formal affairs on all sides.  The newspapers would seize upon it; the family jewels would be reset; the long-stored silver resurrected.  There would be engagement cups and wedding-presents, and a trip East, and the instant election of young Mrs. Saunders to the Town and Country Club.  And, in all the confusion, the graceful figure of the unspoiled little companion would shine serene, poised, gracious, prettily deferential to both the sisters-in-law of whom she now, as a matron, took precedence.

Kenneth Saunders was no hero of romance; he was at best a little silent and unresponsive; he was a trifle bald; his face, Susan had thought at first sight, indicated weakness and dissipation.  But it was a very handsome face withal, and, if silent, Kenneth could be very dignified and courteous in his manner; “very much the gentleman,” Susan said to herself, “always equal to the situation”!

Other things, more serious things, she liked to think she was woman of the world enough to condone.  He drank to excess, of course; no woman could live in the same house with him and remain unaware of that; Susan had often heard him raging in the more intense stages approaching delirium tremens.  There had been other things, too;—­ women, but Susan had only a vague idea of just what that meant, and Kenneth’s world resolutely made light of it.