Susan gave the nurse, who was barely out of hearing, a troubled look.  If Miss Baker had not been there, she would have had the courage to tell Kenneth’s mother the truth.  As it was, Mrs. Saunders misinterpreted her glance.

“We won’t say one word!” she whispered with childish pleasure in the secret.  The little claw-like hands drew Susan down for a kiss; “Now, you and Doctor Cooper shall just have some little talks about my boy, and in a year he’ll be just as well as ever!” whispered the foolish, fond little mother, “and we’ll go into town next week and buy all sorts of pretty things, shall we?  And we’ll forget all about this bad sickness!  Now, run along, lovey, it’s late!”

Susan, profoundly apprehensive, went slowly out of the room.  She turned to the stairway that led to the upper hall to hear Ella’s voice from her own room: 

“Sue!  Going up to see Ken?”

“Yes,” Susan said without turning back.

“That’s a good child,” Ella called gaily.  “The kid’s gone down to dinner, but don’t hurry.  I’m dining out.”

“I’ll be down directly,” Susan said, going on.  She crossed the dimly lighted, fragrant upper hall, and knocked on Kenneth’s door.

It was instantly opened by the gracious and gray-haired Miss Trumbull, the night nurse.  Kenneth, in a gorgeous embroidered Mandarin coat, was sitting up and enjoying his supper.

“Come in, woman,” he said, smiling composedly.  Susan felt warmed and heartened by his manner, and came to take her chair by the bed.  Miss Trumbull disappeared, and the two had the big, quiet room to themselves.

“Well,” said Kenneth, laying down a wish-bone, and giving her a shrewd smile.  “You can’t do it, and you’re afraid to say so, is that it?”

A millstone seemed lifted from Susan’s heart.  She smiled, and the tears rushed into her eyes.

“I—­honestly, I’d rather not,” she said eagerly.

“That other fellow, eh?” he added, glancing at her before he attacked another bone with knife and fork.

Taken unawares, she could not answer.  The color rushed into her face.  She dropped her eyes.

“Peter Coleman, isn’t it?” Kenneth pursued.

“Peter Coleman!” Susan might never have heard the name before, so unaffected was her astonishment.

“Well, isn’t it?”

Susan felt in her heart the first stirring of a genuine affection for Kenneth Saunders.  He seemed so bright, so well to-night, he was so kind and brotherly.

“It’s Stephen,” said she, moved by a sudden impulse to confide.  He eyed her in blank astonishment, and Susan saw in it a sort of respect.  But he only answered by a long whistle.

“Gosh, that is tough,” he said, after a few moments of silence.  “That is the limit, you poor kid!  Of course his wife is particularly well and husky?”

“Particularly!” echoed Susan with a shaky laugh.  For the first time in their lives she and Kenneth talked together with entire naturalness and with pleasure.  Susan’s heart felt lighter than it had for many a day.