Her companion stood near her, watching her.  Susan, still excitedly confident that she controlled the situation, began to feel her breath come deep and swift, began to wish that she could think of just the right thing to say, to relieve the tension a little-began to wish that Ella would come in—­

She raised her eyes, a little frightened, a little embarrassed, to his, and in the next second he had put his arms about her and crushed her to him and kissed her on the mouth.

“Susan,” he said, very quietly, “you are my girl—­you are my girl, will you let me take care of you?  I can’t help it—­I love you.”

This was not play-acting, at last.  A grim, an almost terrible earnestness was in his voice; his face was very pale; his eyes dark with passion.  Susan, almost faint with the shock, pushed away his arms, walked a few staggering steps and stood, her back turned to him, one hand over her heart, the other clinging to the back of a chair, her breath coming so violently that her whole body shook.

“Oh, don’t—­don’t—­don’t!” she said, in a horrified and frightened whisper.

“Susan”—­he began eagerly, coming toward her.  She turned to face him, and breathing as if she had been running, and in simple entreaty, she said: 

“Please—­please—­if you touch me again—­if you touch me again—­I cannot—­the maids will hear—­Bostwick will hear—­”

“No, no, no!  Don’t be frightened, dear,” he said quickly and soothingly.  “I won’t.  I won’t do anything you don’t want me to!”

Susan pressed her hand over her eyes; her knees felt so weak that she was afraid to move.  Her breathing slowly grew more even.

“My dear—­if you’ll forgive me!” the man said repentantly.  She gave him a weary smile, as she went to drop into her low chair before the fire.

“No, no, Mr. Bocqueraz, I’m to blame,” she said quietly.  And suddenly she put her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands.

“Listen, Susan—­” he began again.  But again she silenced him.

“Just—­one—­moment—­” she said pleadingly.  For two or three moments there was silence.

“No, it’s my fault,” Susan said then, more composedly, pushing her hair back from her forehead with both hands, and raising her wretched eyes.  “Oh, how could I—­how could I!” And again she hid her face.

Stephen Bocqueraz did not speak, and presently Susan added, with a sort of passion: 

“It was wicked, and it was common, and no decent woman—­”

“No, you shan’t take that tone!” said Bocqueraz, suddenly looking up from a somber study of the fire.  “It is true, Susan, and—­and I can’t be sorry it is.  It’s the truest thing in the world!”

“Oh, let’s not—­let’s not talk that way!” All that was good and honest in her came to Susan’s rescue now, all her clean and honorable heritage.  “We’ve only been fooling, haven’t we?” she urged eagerly.  “You know we have!  Why, you—­you—­”