"I wish I knew what was going on in your head!" exclaimed Etta.
"So do I," said Susan, smiling.
"Do you really mind my going? Really—honestly?"
There wasn't a flaw in Susan's look or tone. "If you tried to stay with me, I'd run away from you."
"And if I do get him, I can help you. Once he's mine——" Etta rounded out her sentence with an expression of countenance which it was well her adoring rescuer did not see. Not that it lacked womanliness; "womanly" is the word that most exactly describes it—and always will exactly describe such expressions—and the thoughts behind—so long as men compel women to be just women, under penalty of refusing them support if they are not so.
Redmond came in, and Etta left him alone with Susan. "Well, has
Etta told you?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the girl. She looked at him—simply a look, but the violet-gray eyes had an unusual seeming of seeing into minds and hearts, an expression that was perhaps the more disquieting because it was sympathetic rather than critical.
His glance shifted. He was a notably handsome young fellow—too young for any display of character in his face, or for any development of it beyond the amiable, free and easy lover of a jolly good time that is the type repeated over and over again among the youth of the comfortable classes that send their sons to college.
"Are you going with her?" he asked.
"No," said Susan.