d Susie. 'I thought you might like to hear
about her.'

'I don't see that it can do any good,' he answered.

Susie made a little hopeless gesture. She was beaten.

'Shall we go?' she said.

'You are not angry with me?' he asked. 'I know you mean to be kind. I'm
very grateful to you.'

'I shall never be angry with you,' she smiled.

Arthur paid the bill, and they threaded their way among the tables. At
the door she held out her hand.

'I think you do wrong in shutting yourself away from all human
comradeship,' she said, with that good-humoured smile of hers. 'You
must know that you will only grow absurdly morbid.'

'I go out a great deal,' he answered patiently, as though he reasoned
with a child. 'I make a point of offering myself distractions from my
work. I go to the opera two or three times a week.'

'I thought you didn't care for music.'

'I don't think I did,' he answered. 'But I find it rests me.'

He spoke with a weariness that was appalling. Susie had never beheld so
plainly the torment of a soul in pain.

'Won't you let me come to the opera with you one night?' she asked. 'Or
does it bore you to see me?'

'I should like it above all things,' he smiled, quite brightly. 'You're
like a wonderful tonic. They're giving Tristan on Thursday. Shall we go
together?'

'I should enjoy it enormously.'

She shook hands with him and jumped into a cab.

'Oh, poor thing!' she murmured. 'Poor thing! What can I do for him?'

She clenched, her hands when she thought of Margaret. It was monstrous
that she should have caused such havoc in that good, strong man.

'Oh, I hope she'll suffer for it,' she whispered vindictively. 'I hope
she'll suffer all the agony that he has suffered.'

Susie dressed herself for Covent Garden as only she could do. Her gown
pleased her exceedingly, not only because it was admirably made, but
because it had cost far more than she could afford. To dress well was her
only extravagance. It was of taffeta silk, in that exquisite green which
the learned in such matters call _Eau de Nil_; and its beauty was
enhanced by the old lace which had formed not the least treasured part
of her inheritance. In her hair she wore an ornament of Spanish paste,
of exquisite workmanship, and round her neck a chain which had once
adorned that of a madonna in an Andalusian church. Her individuality
made even her plainness attractive. She smiled at herself in the glass
ruefully, because Arthur would never