return with me tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"As far as Lenox or New York?"

"We'll see what mama says. If you can agree with her--anything you
want--I am willing."

After a time Eugene and Suzanne parted for the night. It was agreed that
they should see each other in the morning, that they should go back as
far as Lenox together. Mrs. Dale was to help Eugene get a divorce. It
was a delightfully affectionate and satisfactory situation, but somehow
Eugene felt that he was not handling it right. He went to bed in one
part of the house--Suzanne in another--Mrs. Dale, fearful and watchful,
staying near by, but there was no need. He was not desperate. He went to
sleep thinking that the near future was going to adjust everything for
him nicely, and that he and Suzanne were eventually going to get
married.

CHAPTER XXI

The next day, after wavering whether they would not spend a few days
here in billing and cooing and listening to Mrs. Dale's veiled pleas as
to what the servants might think, or what they might know already or
suspect from what the station master at Three Rivers might say, they
decided to return, Eugene to New York, Suzanne to Lenox. All the way
back to Albany, Eugene and Suzanne sat together in one seat in the
Pullman like two children rejoicing in each other's company. Mrs. Dale
sat one seat away, turning over her promises and pondering whether,
after all, she had not yet better go at once and try to end all by an
appeal to Colfax, or whether she had better wait a little while and see
if the affair might not die down of its own accord.

At Albany the following morning, Suzanne and Mrs. Dale transferred to
the Boston and Albany, Eugene going on to New York. He went to the
office feeling much relieved, and later in the day to his apartment.
Angela, who had been under a terrific strain, stared at him as if he
were a ghost, or one come back to life from the dead. She had not known
where he had gone. She had not known whether he would ever come back.
There was no use in reproaching him--she had realized that long since.
The best she could do was to make an appeal. She waited until after
dinner, at which they had discussed the mere commonplaces of life, and
then came to his room, where he was unpacking.

"Did you go to find Suzanne?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Is she with you?"

"No."

"Oh, Eugene, do you know where I have spent the last three days?" she
asked.

He did not answer.

"On my knees. On my