than the pleasures and the joys. When
she left him before, she had gone sustained by the feeling
that she was doing it for him, was doing a duty. Now, she was
going merely to save herself, to further herself. Life, life
in that great and hard school of practical living, New York,
had given her the necessary hardiness to go, aided by Rod's
unfaithfulness and growing uncongeniality. But not while she
lived could she ever learn to be hard. She would do what she
must--she was no longer a fool. But she could not help
sighing and crying a little as she did it.

It was not many minutes after noon when Spenser came. He
looked so sheepish and uncomfortable that Susan thought
Constance had told him. But his opening sentence of apology was:

"I took too many nightcaps and Fitz had to lug me home with him."

"Really?" said Susan. "How disappointed Constance must have been!"

Spenser was not a good liar. His face twisted and twitched so
that Susan laughed outright. "Why, you look like a caught
married man," cried she. "You forget we're both free."

"Whatever put that crazy notion in your head--about Miss
Francklyn?" demanded he.

"When you take me or anyone for that big a fool, Rod, you only
show how foolish you yourself are," said she with the utmost
good humor. "The best way to find out how much sense a person has
is to see what kind of lies he thinks'll deceive another person."

"Now--don't get jealous, Susie," soothed he. "You know how a
man is."

The tone was correctly contrite, but Susan felt underneath the
confidence that he would be forgiven--the confidence of the
egotist giddied by a triumph. Said she:

"Don't you think mine's a strange way of acting jealous?"

"But you're a strange woman."

Susan looked at him thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose I am," said
she. "And you'll think me stranger when I tell you what I'm
going to do."

He started up in a panic. And the fear in his eyes pleased
her, at the same time that it made her wince.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, Rod--I'm leaving."

"I'll drop Constance," cried he. "I'll have her put out of
the company."

"No--go on with her till you've got enough--or she has."

"I've got enough, this minute," declared he with convincing
energy and passion. "You must know, dearest, that to me
Constance--all the women I've ever seen--aren't worth your
little finger. You're all that they are, and a whole lot more
besides." He seized her in his arms. "You