e understood why that very night he for the first time
asked her to supper after the rehearsal with Sperry and
Constance Francklyn, the leading lady, with whom he was having
one of those affairs which as he declared to Sperry were
"absolutely necessary to a man of genius to keep him freshened
up--to keep the fire burning brightly." He had carefully
coached Miss Francklyn to play the part of unsuspected
"understudy"--Susan saw that before they had been seated in
Jack's ten minutes. And she also saw that he was himself
resolved to conduct himself "like a gentleman." But after he
had taken two or three highballs, Susan was forced to engage
deeply in conversation with the exasperated and alarmed Sperry
to avoid seeing how madly Rod and Constance were flirting.
She, however, did contrive to see nothing--at least, the other
three were convinced that she had not seen. When they were
back in their rooms, Rod--whether through pretense or through
sidetracked amorousness or from simple intoxication--became
more demonstrative than he had been for a long time.

"No, there's nobody like you," he declared. "Even if I
wandered I'd always come back to you."

"Really?" said Susan with careless irony. "That's good. No,
I can unhook my blouse."

"I do believe you're growing cold."

"I don't feel like being messed with tonight."

"Oh, very well," said he sulkily. Then, forgetting his ill
humor after a few minutes of watching her graceful movements
and gestures as she took off her dress and made her beautiful
hair ready for the night, he burst out in a very different
tone: "You don't know how glad I am that you're dependent on
me again. You'll not be difficult any more."

A moment's silence, then Susan, with a queer little laugh,
"Men don't in the least mind--do they?"

"Mind what?"

"Being loved for money." There was a world of sarcasm in her
accent on that word loved.

"Oh, nonsense. You don't understand yourself," declared he
with large confidence. "Women never grow up. They're like
babies--and babies, you know, love the person that feeds them."

"And dogs--and cats--and birds--and all the lower orders."
She took a book and sat in a wrapper under the light.

"Come to bed--please, dear," pleaded he.

"No, I'll read a while."

And she held the book before her until he was asleep. Then
she sat a long time, her elbows on her knees, her chin
supported by her hands, her gaze fixed upon his face--the face
of t