“Did Ken say anything to you?” Susan asked, with flaming cheeks.

“No, he just said something to Mama about it’s being a shame to ask a girl your age to marry a man as ill as he.  But that’s all sheer nonsense,” Ella said briskly, “and it only goes to show that Ken is a good deal more decent than people might think!  What earthly objection any girl could have I can’t imagine myself!” Ella finished pointedly.

“Nobody could!” Susan said loyally.

“Nobody could,—­exactly!” Ella said in a satisfied tone.  “For a month or two,” she admitted reasonably, “you may have to watch his health pretty closely.  I don’t deny it.  But you’ll be abroad, you’ll have everything in the world that you want.  And, as he gets stronger, you can go about more and more.  And, whatever Hudson says, I think that the day will come when he can live where he chooses, and do as he likes, just like anyone else!  And I think—–­” Ella, having convinced herself entirely unaided by Susan, was now in a mellowed mood.  “I think you’re doing much the wisest thing!” she said.  “Go up and see him later, there’s a nice child!  The doctor’s coming at three; wait until he goes.”

And Ella was gone.

Susan shut the door of Ella’s room, and took a deep chair by a window.  It was perhaps the only place in the house in which no one would think of looking for her, and she still felt the need of being alone.

She sat back in the chair, and folded her arms across her chest, and fell to deep thinking.  She had let Ella leave her under a misunderstanding, not because she did not know how to disabuse Ella’s mind of the idea that she would marry Kenneth, and not because she was afraid of the result of such a statement, but because, in her own mind, she could not be sure that Kenneth Saunders, with his millions, was not her best means of escape from a step even more serious in the eyes of the world than this marriage would have been.

If she would be pitied by a few people for marrying Kenneth, she would be envied by a thousand.  The law, the church, the society in which they moved could do nothing but approve.  On the other hand, if she went away with Stephen Bocqueraz, all the world would rise up to blame her and to denounce her.  A third course would be to return to her aunt’s house,—­with no money, no work, no prospects of either, and to wait, years perhaps—–­

No, no, she couldn’t wait.  Rebellion rose in her heart at the mere thought.  “I love him!” said Susan to herself, thrilled through and through by the mere words.  What would life be without him now—­ without the tall and splendid figure, the big, clever hands, the rich and well-trained voice, without his poetry, his glowing ideals, his intimate knowledge of that great world in whose existence she had always had a vague and wistful belief?

And how he wanted her—–!  Susan could feel the nearness of his eagerness, without sharing it.