Hour after hour shame and hurt had their way with her.  Susan had to face the office, to hide her heart from Thorny and the other girls, to be reminded by the empty desk in Mr. Brauer’s office, and by every glimpse she had of old Mr. Baxter, of the happy dreams she had once dreamed here in this same place.

But it was harder far at home.  Mrs. Lancaster alternated between tender moods, when she discussed the whole matter mournfully from beginning to end, and moods of violent rebellion, when everyone but Susan was blamed for the bitter disappointment of all their hopes.  Mary Lou compared Peter to Ferd Eastman, to Peter’s disadvantage.  Virginia recommended quiet, patient endurance of whatever might be the will of Providence.  Susan hardly knew which attitude humiliated and distressed her most.  All her thoughts led her into bitterness now, and she could be distracted only for a brief moment or two from the memories that pressed so close about her heart.  Ah, if she only had a little money, enough to make possible her running away, or a profession into which she could plunge, and in which she could distinguish herself, or a great talent, or a father who would stand by her and take care of her—–­

And the bright head would go down on her hands, and the tears have their way.

“Headache?” Thorny would ask, full of sympathy.

“Oh, splitting!” And Susan would openly dry her eyes, and manage to smile.

Sometimes, in a softer mood, her busy brain straightened the whole matter out.  Peter, returning from Japan, would rush to her with a full explanation.  Of course he cared for her—­he had never thought of anything else—­of course he considered that they were engaged!  And Susan, after keeping him in suspense for a period that even Auntie thought too long, would find herself talking to him, scolding, softening, finally laughing, and at last—­and for the first time!—­in his arms.

Only a lovers’ quarrel; one heard of them continually.  Something to laugh about and to forget!

She took up the old feminine occupation of watching the post, weak with sudden hope when Mary Lou called up to her, “Letter for you on the mantel, Sue!” and sick with disappointment over and over again.  Peter did not write.

Outwardly the girl went her usual round, perhaps a little thinner and with less laughter, but not noticeably changed.  She basted cuffs into her office suit, and cleaned it with benzine, caught up her lunch and umbrella and ran for her car.  She lunched and gossiped with Thorny and the others, walked uptown at noon to pay a gas-bill, took Virginia to the Park on Sundays to hear the music, or visited the Carrolls in Sausalito.