her
feelings.... I reached out for her hands and drew her upon my knees.

"Susan," I said, "Miss Disbrow couldn't marry me even if she got round
me, and wanted to. You see, I have a wife already."

Susan stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. "You have, Ambo? Where is
she?"

"She left me two years ago."

"Left you?" It was evident that she did not understand. "Oh--what will
she say when she comes home and finds _me_ here? She won't like it; she
won't like me!" wailed Susan. "I know she won't."

"Hush, dear. She's not coming home again. She made up her mind that she
couldn't live with me any more."

"What's her name?"

"Gertrude."

"Why couldn't she live with you, Ambo?"

"She said I was cruel to her."

"_Weren't_ you good to her, Ambo? Why? Didn't you like her?"

The rapid questions were so unexpected, so searching, that I gasped. And
my first impulse was to lie to Susan, to put her off with a few
conventional phrases--phrases that would lead the child to suppose me a
wronged, lonely, broken-hearted man. This would win me a sympathy I had
not quite realized that I craved. But Susan's eyes were merciless, and I
couldn't manage it. Instead, I surprised myself by blurting out: "That's
about it, Susan. I didn't like her--enough. We couldn't hit it off,
somehow. I'm afraid I wasn't very kind."

Instantly Susan's thin arms went about my neck, and her cheek was
pressed tight to mine.

"Poor Ambo!" she whispered. "I'm so sorry you weren't kind. It must
_hurt_ you so." Then she jumped from my knees.

"Ambo!" she demanded. "Is my room--_her_ room? Is it?"

"Certainly not. It isn't hers any more. She's never coming back, I tell
you. She put me out of her life once for all; and God knows I've put her
out of mine!"

"If you can't let me have another room, Ambo--I'll have to go."

"Why? Hang it all, Susan, don't be silly! Don't make difficulties where
none exist! What an odd, overstrained child you are!" I was a little
annoyed.

"Yes," nodded Susan gravely, "I see now why Gertrude left you. But she
must be awfully stupid not to know it's only your outside that's made
like that!"

Next morning, without a permissive word from me, Susan had Miss Goucher
move all her things to a small bedroom at the back of the house,
overlooking the garden. This silent flitting irritated me not a little,
and that afternoon I had a frank little talk with Miss Disbrow--franker,
perhaps, than I had intended. Miss Disbrow at once