nk she
_must_." He turned to Susan. "Would you like it?"

Susan hesitated. Freddie said--rather lamely, "Of course she
would. For my part, I wish she would."

"Then I will," said Susan quietly.

Palmer looked astounded. He had not dreamed she would assent.
He knew her tones--knew that the particular tone meant
finality. "You're joking," cried he, with an uneasy laugh.
"Why, you wouldn't stand the work for a week. It's hard
work--isn't it, Brent?"

"About the hardest," said Brent. "And she's got practically
everything still to learn."

"Shall we try, Clelie?" said Susan.

Young Madame Deliere was pale with eagerness. "Ah--but that
would be worth while!" cried she.

"Then it's settled," said Susan. To Brent: "We'll make the
arrangements at once--today."

Freddie was looking at her with a dazed expression. His
glance presently drifted from her face to the fire, to rest
there thoughtfully as he smoked his cigar. He took no part in
the conversation that followed. Presently he left the room
without excusing himself. When Clelie seated herself at the
piano to wander vaguely from one piece of music to another,
Brent joined Susan at the fire and said in English:

"Palmer is furious."

"I saw," said she.

"I am afraid. For--I know him."

She looked calmly at him. "But I am not."

"Then you do not know him."

The strangest smile flitted across her face.

After a pause Brent said: "Are you married to him?"

Again the calm steady look. Then: "That is none of your business."

"I thought you were not," said Brent, as if she had answered
his question with a clear negative. He added, "You know I'd
not have asked if it had been 'none of my business.'"

"What do you mean?"

"If you had been his wife, I could not have gone on. I've all
the reverence for a home of the man who has never had one.
I'd not take part in a home-breaking. But--since you are free----"

"I shall never be anything else but free. It's because I wish
to make sure of my freedom that I'm going into this."

Palmer appeared in the doorway.

That night the four and Gourdain dined together, went to the
theater and afterward to supper at the Cafe de Paris.
Gourdain and young Madame Deliere formed an interesting,
unusually attractive exhibit of the parasitism that is as
inevitable to the rich as fleas to a dog. Gourdain was a
superior man, Clelie a superior woman. There was nothing of
the sycophant, or even of the co