station platform, hoarding time by
infinitesimally split seconds, dreading her inevitable escape. Phil--by
request, I suspect--did not come down; and Susan forbade me to enter the
train with her, having previously forbidden me to accompany her to town.
Togo was forward, amid crude surroundings, riling the brakemen with his
disgusted disdain. Miss Goucher had already said a decorous but
sincerely felt good-by, and had taken her place inside.

"Let's not be silly, Ambo," Susan whispered. "After all, you'll be down
soon--won't you? You're always running to New York."

Then, unexpectedly, she snatched her hand from mine, threw her arms
tight round my neck, and for a reckless public moment sobbed and kissed
me. With that she was gone.... I turned, too, at once, meaning flight
from the curious late-comers pressing toward the car steps. One of them
distinctly addressed me.

"Good morning, Ambrose. Don't worry about your charming little ward.
She'll be quite safe--away from you. I'll keep a friendly eye on her
going down."

It was Lucette.

THE FOURTH CHAPTER

I

I HAD a long conference with Phil the day after Susan's departure, and
we solemnly agreed that we must, within reasonable limits, give Susan a
clear field; her desire to play a lone hand in the cut-throat poker game
called life must be, so far as possible, respected. But we sneakingly
evaded any definition of our terms. "Within reasonable limits;" "so far
as possible"--the vagueness of these phrases will give you the measure
of our secret duplicity.

Meanwhile we lived on from mail delivery to mail delivery, and Susan
proved a faithful correspondent. There is little doubt, I think, that
the length and frequency of her letters constituted a deliberate
sacrifice of energy and time, laid--not reluctantly, but not always
lightly--on the altar of affection. It was a genuine, yet must often
have been an arduous piety. To write full life-giving letters late at
night, after long hours of literary labor, is no trifling effort of good
will--good will, in this instance, to two of the loneliest, forlornest
of men. Putting aside the mere anodyne of work we had but one other
effective consolation--Jimmy; our increasing interest and joy in Jimmy.
But, for me at least, this was not an immediate consolation; my taste
for Jimmy's prosaic companionship was very gradually acquired.

Our first word from Susan was a day letter, telephoned to me from the
telegraph office,