She herself belonged to that very large class of women for whom passion is only a rather-to-be-avoided word.  She was loving, and generous where she loved, but far too ignorant of essential facts regarding herself, and the world about her, to either protect herself from being misunderstood, or to give even her thoughts free range, had she desired to do so.  What knowledge she had had come to her,—­in Heaven alone knows what distorted shape!—­from some hazily remembered passage in a play, from some joke whose meaning had at first entirely escaped her, or from some novel, forbidden by Auntie as “not nice,” but read nevertheless, and construed into a hundred vague horrors by the mystified little brain.

Lately all this mass of curiously mixed information had had new light thrown upon it because of the sudden personal element that entered into Susan’s view.  Love became the great Adventure, marriage was no longer merely a question of gifts and new clothes and a honeymoon trip, and a dear little newly furnished establishment.  Nothing sordid, nothing sensual, touched Susan’s dreams even now, but she began to think of the constant companionship, the intimacy of married life, the miracle of motherhood, the courage of the woman who can put her hand in any man’s hand, and walk with him out from the happy, sheltered pale of girlhood, and into the big world!

She was interrupted in her dreaming by Ella’s maid, who put her head into the room with an apologetic: 

“Miss Saunders says she’s sorry, Miss Brown, but if Mrs. Richardson isn’t here, and will you come down to fill the second table?”

Downstairs went Susan, to be hastily pressed into service.

“Heaven bless you, Sue,” said Ella, the cards already being dealt.  “Kate Richardson simply hasn’t come, and if you’ll fill in until she does——­You say hearts?” Ella interrupted herself to say to her nearest neighbor.  “Well, I can’t double that.  I lead and you’re down, Elsa—­”

To Susan it seemed a little flat to sit here seriously watching the fall of the cards, deeply concerned in the doubled spade or the dummy for no trump.  When she was dummy she sat watching the room dreamily, her thoughts drifting idly to and fro.  It was all curiously unreal,—­Stephen gone to a club dinner in the city, Kenneth lying upstairs, she, sitting here, playing cards!  When she thought of Kenneth a little flutter of excitement seized her; with Stephen’s memory a warm flood of unreasoning happiness engulfed her.

“I beg your pardon!” said Susan, suddenly aroused.

“Your lead, Miss Brown—–­”

“Mine?  Oh, surely.  You made it—–?”

“I bridged it.  Mrs. Chauncey made it diamonds.”

“Oh, surely!” Susan led at random.  “Oh, I didn’t mean to lead that!” she exclaimed.  She attempted to play the hand, and the following hand, with all her power, and presently found herself the dummy again.