men can't see you and where maybe he can
get over caring about you. That's the real reason. He's a
queer devil. But then all men are though none quite like Freddie."

"So I'm to go to the Island for three months," said Susan reflectively.

"You don't seem to care. It's plain you never was there. . . .
And you've got to go. There's no way out of it--unless you
skip to another city. And if you did you never could come back
here. Freddie'd see that you got yours as soon as you landed."

Susan sat looking at her glass. Maud watched her in
astonishment. "You're as queer as Freddie," said she at
length. "I never feel as if I was acquainted with you--not
really. I never had a lady friend like that before. You don't
seem to be a bit excited about what Freddie's going to do. Are
you in love with him?"

Susan lifted strange, smiling eyes to Maud's curious gaze.
"I--in _love_--with a _man_," she said slowly. And then she laughed.

"Don't laugh that way," cried Maud. "It gives me the creeps.
What are you going to do?"

"What can I do?"

"Nothing."

"Then if there's nothing to do, I'll no nothing."

"Go to the Island for three months?"

Susan shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't gone yet." She rose.
"It's too stuffy and smelly in here," said she. "Let's move out."

"No. I'll wait. I promised to meet a gentleman friend here.
You'll not tell that I tipped you off?"

"You'd not have told me if you hadn't known I wouldn't."

"That's so. But--why don't you make it up with Freddie?"

"I couldn't do that."

"He's dead in love. I'm sure you could."

Again Susan's eyes became strange. "I'm sure I couldn't. Good
night." She got as far as the door, came back. "Thank you for
telling me."

"Oh, that's all right," murmured the girl. She was embarrassed
by Susan's manner. She was frightened by Susan's eyes. "You
ain't going to----" There she halted.

"What?"

"To jump off? Kill yourself?"

"Hardly," said Susan. "I've got a lot to do before I die."

She went directly home. Palmer was lying on the bed, a
cigarette between his lips, a newspaper under his feet to
prevent his boots from spoiling the spread--one of the many
small indications of the prudence, thrift and calculation that
underlay the almost insane recklessness of his surface
character, and that would save him from living as the fool
lives and dying as the fool dies.

"I thought you wouldn't slop round in these streets long," sai