On one of these walks Etta confided to her the only romance of her life therefore the real cause of her deep discontent. It was a young man from one of these houses—a flirtation lasting about a year. She assured Susan it was altogether innocent. Susan—perhaps chiefly because Etta protested so insistently about her unsullied purity—had her doubts.
"Then," said Etta, "when I saw that he didn't care anything about me except in one way—I didn't see him any more. I—I've been sorry ever since."
Susan did not offer the hoped-for sympathy. She was silent.
"Did you ever have anything like that happen to you?" inquired Etta.
"Yes," said Susan. "Something like that."
"And what did you do?"
"I didn't want to see him any more."
"Why?"
"I don't know—exactly.
"And you like him?"