Susan seated herself and waited. He lit a cigar with the deliberation of one who is striving to gain time. The bench happened to be one of those that are divided by iron arms into individual seats. He sat with a compartment between them. The moonbeams struck across his profile as he turned it toward her; they shone full upon her face. He looked, hastily glanced away. With a gruffness as if the evening mist had got into his throat he said:
"Let's take another bench."
"Why?" objected she. "I like this beautiful light."
He rose. "Please let me have my way." And he led her to a bench across which a tree threw a deep shadow; as they sat there, neither could see the other's face except in dimmest outline. After a brief silence he began:
"You love Rod—don't you?"
She laughed happily.
"Above everything on earth?"
"Or in heaven."
"You'd do anything to have him succeed?"
"No one could prevent his succeeding. He's got it in him. It's bound to come out."