ed Eugene. With Suzanne he would
have this additional income, which might be used whatever else might
betide. If only Angela could be made to accept his conditions and
Suzanne could win in her contest with her mother all would be well. His
position need not be jeopardized. Mrs. Dale need hear nothing of it at
present. He and Suzanne could go on associating in this way until an
understanding had been reached. It was all like a delightful courtship
which was to bloom into a still more delightful marriage.

The day passed in assurances of affection. Suzanne told Eugene of a book
she had read in French, "The Blue Bird." The allegory touched Eugene to
the quick--its quest for happiness, and he named Suzanne then and there
"The Blue Bird." She made him stop the car and go back to get her an
exquisite lavender-hued blossom growing wild on a tall stalk which she
saw in a field as they sped by. Eugene objected genially, because it was
beyond a wire fence and set among thorns, but she said, "Yes, now, you
must. You know you must obey me now. I am going to begin to train you
now. You've been spoiled. You're a bad boy. Mama says that. I am going
to reform you."

"A sweet time you'll have, Flower Face! I'm a bad lot. Have you noticed
that?"

"A little."

"And you still like me?"

"I don't mind. I think I can change you by loving you."

Eugene went gladly. He plucked the magnificent bloom and handed it to
her "as a sceptre," he said. "It looks like you, you know," he added.
"It's regal."

Suzanne accepted the compliment without thought of its flattering
import. She loved Eugene, and words had scarcely any meaning to her. She
was as happy as a child and as wise in many things as a woman twice her
years. She was as foolish as Eugene over the beauty of nature, dwelling
in an ecstasy upon morning and evening skies, the feel of winds and the
sigh of leaves. The beauties of nature at every turn caught her eye, and
she spoke to him of things she felt in such a simple way that he was
entranced.

Once when they had left the car and were walking about the grounds of an
inn, she found that one of her silk stockings had worn through at the
heel. She lifted up her foot and looked at it meditatively. "Now, if I
had some ink I could fix that up so quickly," she said, laughing.

"What would you do?" he asked.

"I would black it," she replied, referring to her pink heel, "or you
could paint it."

He laughed and she giggled. It was thes