sarily great readjustment. It was
probable that it had to come about this way. It was better so than to go
on living an unhappy life. He was really fitted for something better, he
thought--a great career. He would have to adjust this thing with Angela
in some way now, either leave her, or make some arrangement whereby he
could enjoy the company of Suzanne uninterrupted. There must be no
interference. He did not propose to give her up. The child might come.
Well and good. He would provide for it, that would be all. He recalled
now the conversation he had had with Suzanne in which she had said that
she would live with him if she could. The time had come. Their plan for
a studio should now be put into effect. It must be secret. Angela would
not care. She could not help herself. If only the events of this night
did not terrorize Suzanne into retracing her steps! He had not explained
to her how he was to get rid of Angela apart from what she had heard
this night. She was thinking, he knew, that they could go on loving each
other in this tentative fashion, occupying a studio together, perhaps,
not caring what the world thought, not caring what her mother thought,
ignoring her brother and sister and Angela, and being happy with Eugene
only. He had never tried to disillusion her. He was not thinking clearly
himself. He was rushing forward in an aimless way, desiring the
companionship of her beautiful mind and body. Now he saw he must act or
lose her. He must convince her in the face of what Angela had said, or
let her go. She would probably be willing to come to him rather than
leave him entirely. He must talk, explain, make her understand just what
a trick this all was.

Angela had not slept, but lay staring at the ceiling in the dark, her
eyes a study in despair. When morning came they were none of them
further along in their conclusions than they were the night before, save
to know, each separately and distinctly, that a great tragedy or change
was at hand. Suzanne had thought and thought, or tried to, but the
impulse of blood and passion in her were Eugeneward and she could only
see the situation from their own point of view. She loved him, she
thought--must love him, since he was so ready to sacrifice so much for
her; yet at the same time there was a strange, disconcerting nebulosity
about her which, had Eugene fully realized it at this moment, would have
terrified him. In her state, which was one of wondering delight at th