tude. "The dear,
darling little woman you speak of is not as badly off as you think, and
I don't think she needs as much of your sympathy as you are so anxious
to give. She is pretty well able to take care of herself, sick as she
is. As for killing me, you or anyone else, well that wouldn't be such a
bad idea. I'm not so much in love with life. This is not fifty years
ago, though, but the nineteenth century, and this is New York City. I
love Suzanne. She loves me. We want each other desperately. Now, an
arrangement can be made which will not interfere with you in any way,
and which will adjust things for us. Suzanne is anxious to make that
arrangement. It is as much her proposition as it is mine. Why should you
be so vastly disturbed? You know a great deal about life."

"Why should I be disturbed? Why should I? Can you sit in this office,
you a man in charge of all this vast public work, and ask me in cold
blood why I should be disturbed? And my daughter's very life at stake.
Why should I be disturbed and my daughter only out of her short dresses
a little while ago and practically innocent of the world. You dare to
tell me that she proposed! Oh, you impervious scoundrel! To think I
could be so mistaken in any human being. You, with your bland manners
and your inconsistent talk of happy family life. I might have
understood, though, when I saw you so often without your wife. I should
have known. I did, God help me! but I didn't act upon it. I was taken by
your bland, gentlemanly attitude. I don't blame poor, dear little
Suzanne. I blame you, you utterly deceiving villain and myself for being
so silly. I am being justly rewarded, however."

Eugene merely looked at her and drummed with his fingers.

"But I did not come here to bandy words with you," she went on. "I came
to say that you must never see my daughter again, or speak of her, or
appear where she might chance to be, though she won't be where you may
appear, if I have my way, for you won't have a chance to appear anywhere
in decent society very much longer. I shall go, unless you agree here
and now never to see or communicate with her any more, to Mr. Colfax,
whom I know personally, as you are aware, and lay the whole matter
before him. I'm sure with what I know now of your record, and what you
have attempted to do in connection with my daughter, and the condition
of your wife, that he will not require your services very much longer. I
shall go to Mr. Winfield, wh