She dropped into the chair that faced his, at the desk, and cupped her face in her hands, staring gloomily before her.  “If any of my own people knew that I refused to marry Kenneth Saunders,” she went on presently, “they would simply think me mad; and perhaps I am!  But, although he was his very sweetest and nicest this morning,—­and I know how different he can be!—­somehow, when I leaned over him, the little odor of ether!—­” She broke off short, with a little shudder.

There was a silence.  Then Susan looked at her companion uncomfortably.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” she asked, with a tremulous smile.

Bocqueraz sat down at the desk opposite her, and stared at her across folded arms.

“Nothing to say,” he said quietly.  But instantly some sudden violent passion shook him; he pressed both palms to his temples, and Susan could see that the fingers with which he covered his eyes were shaking.  “My God!  What more can I do?” he said aloud, in a low tone.  “What more can I do?  You come to me with this, little girl,” he said, gripping her hands in his.  “You turn to me, as your only friend just now.  And I’m going to be worthy of your trust in me!”

He got up and walked to the window, and Susan followed him there.

“Sweetheart,” he said to her, and in his voice was the great relief that follows an ended struggle, “I’m only a man, and I love you!  You are the dearest and truest and wittiest and best woman I ever knew.  You’ve made all life over for me, Susan, and you’ve made me believe in what I always thought was only the fancy of writers and poets;—­ that a man and woman are made for each other by God, and can spend all their lives,—­yes, and other lives elsewhere—­in glorious companionship, wanting nothing but each other.  I’ve seen a good many women, but I never saw one like you.  Will you let me take care of you, dear?  Will you trust me?  You know what I am, Sue; you know what my work stands for.  I couldn’t lie to you.  You say you know the two extremes of life, dear, but I want to show you a third sort; where money isn’t paramount, where rich people have souls, and where poor people get all the happiness that there is in life!”

His arm was about her now; her senses on fire; her eyes brimming.

“But do you love me?” whispered Susan.

“Love you!” His face had grown pale.  “To have you ask me that,” he said under his breath, “is the most heavenly—­the most wonderful thing that ever came into my life!  I’m not worthy of it.  But God knows that I will take care of you, Sue, and, long before I take you to New York, to my own people, these days will be only a troubled dream.  You will be my wife then—­”

The wonderful word brought the happy color to her face.