"Then you wouldn't have to do much pretending," urged Etta.
"And what does a little pretending amount to?"
"That's what I say to myself," replied Susan thoughtfully.
"It isn't nearly as bad as—as what we started out to do."
Susan laughed at Etta's little hypocrisy for her respectability's comfort. "As what we did—and are doing," corrected she. Burlingham had taught her that it only makes things worse and more difficult to lie to oneself about them.
"John's crazy about you. But he hasn't money enough to ask you to come along. And——" Etta hesitated, eyed Susan doubtfully. "You're sure you don't love him?"
"No. I couldn't love him any more than—than I could hate him." Susan's strange look drifted across her features. "It's very queer, how I feel toward men. But—I don't love him and I shan't pretend. I want to, but somehow—I can't."
Etta felt that she could give herself the pleasure of unburdening herself of a secret. "Then I may as well tell you, he's engaged to a girl he thinks he ought to marry."
"I suspected so."
"And you don't mind?" inquired Etta, unable to read Susan's queer expression.
"Except for him—and her—a little," replied Susan. "I guess that's why I haven't liked him better—haven't trusted him at all."