“Oh, my God!” Susan said, taken entirely unawares.

He was near enough to put his arm about her shoulders.

“My little girl,” he said, gravely, “did you think that I was going to leave you behind?”

“I couldn’t bear it,” Susan said simply.

“You could bear it better than I could,” he assured her.  “But we’ll never be separated again in this life, I hope!  And every hour of my life I’m going to spend in trying to show you what it means to me to have you—­with your beauty and your wit and your charm—­trust me to straighten out all this tangle!  You know you are the most remarkable woman I ever knew, Susan,” he interrupted himself to say, seriously.  “Oh, you can shake your head, but wait until other people agree with me!  Wait until you catch the faintest glimpse of what our life is going to be!  And how you’ll love the sea!  And that reminds me,” he was all business-like again, “the Nippon Maru sails on Sunday.  You and I sail with her.”

He paused, and in the gradually brightening gloom Susan’s eyes met his, but she did not speak nor stir.

“It’s the only way, dear!” he said urgently.  “You see that?  I can’t leave you here and things cannot go on this way.  It will be hard for a little while, but we’ll make it a wonderful year, Susan, and when it’s over, I’ll take my wife home with me to New York.”

“It seems incredible,” said Susan slowly, “that it is ever right to do a thing like this.  You—­you think I’m a strong woman, Stephen,” she went on, groping for the right words, “but I’m not—­in this way.  I think I could be strong,” Susan’s eyes were wistful, “I could be strong if my husband were a pioneer, or if I had an invalid husband, or if I had to—­to work at anything,” she elucidated.  “I could even keep a store or plow, or go out and shoot game!  But my life hasn’t run that way, I can’t seem to find what I want to do, I’m always bound by conditions I didn’t make—–­”

“Exactly, dear!  And now you are going to make conditions for yourself,” he added eagerly, as she hesitated.  Susan sighed.

“Not so soon as Sunday,” she said, after a pause.

“Sunday too soon?  Very well, little girl.  If you want to go Sunday, we’ll go.  And, if you say not, I’ll await your plans,” he agreed.

“But, Stephen—­what about tickets?”

“The tickets are upstairs,” he told her.  “I reserved the prettiest suite on board for Miss Susan Bocqueraz, my niece, who is going with me to meet her father in India, and a near-by stateroom for myself.  But, of course, I’ll forfeit these reservations rather than hurry or distress you now.  When I saw the big liner, Susan, the cleanness and brightness and airiness of it all; and when I thought of the deliciousness of getting away from the streets and smells and sounds of the city, out on the great Pacific, I thought I would be mad to prolong this existence here an unnecessary day.  But that’s for you to say.”