e you telling me,
your mother? Tell me it isn't so! Tell me it isn't so before you drive
me mad! Oh, great Heavens, what am I coming to? What have I done? Eugene
Witla of all men! Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!"

"Why do you carry on so, mama?" asked Suzanne calmly. She had expected
some such scene as this--not quite so intense, so hysterical, but
something like it, and was, in a way, prepared for it. A selfish love
was her animating, governing impulse--a love also that stilled self, and
put aside as nothing all the world and its rules. Suzanne really did not
know what she was doing. She was hypnotized by the sense of perfection
in her lover, the beauty of their love. Not practical facts but the
beauty of the summer, the feel of cool winds, the glory of skies and
sunlight and moonlight, were in her mind. Eugene's arms about her, his
lips to hers, meant more than all the world beside. "I love him. Of
course, I love him. What is there so strange about that?"

"What is strange? Are you in your right mind? Oh, my poor, dear little
girl! My Suzanne! Oh, that villain! That scoundrel! To come into my
house and make love to you, my darling child! How should you know? How
could I expect you to understand? Oh, Suzanne! for my sake, for the love
of Heaven, hush! Never breathe it! Never say that terrible thing to me
again! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!!! That I should live to see this!
My child! My Suzanne! My lovely, beautiful Suzanne! I shall die unless I
can stop this! I shall die! I shall die!"

Suzanne stared at her mother quite astonished at the violent emotion
into which she had cast her. Her pretty eyes were open wide, her
eyebrows elevated, her lips parted sweetly. She was a picture of intense
classic beauty, chiseled, peaceful, self-possessed. Her brow was as
smooth as marble, her lips as arched as though they had never known one
emotion outside joy. Her look was of a quizzical, slightly amused, but
not supercilious character which made her more striking than ever if
possible.

"Why, mama! You think I am a child, don't you? All that I say to you is
true. I love Eugene. He loves me. I am going to live with him as soon as
it can be quietly arranged. I wanted to tell you because I don't want to
do anything secretly, but I propose to do it. I wish you wouldn't insist
on looking on me as a baby, mama. I know what I am doing. I have thought
it all out this long time."

"Thought it all out!" pondered Mrs. Dale. "Going to live w