“In a perverse moment, I––went to church,” answered Susan. “There, I met him––I mean, I saw him––no, I mean, I heard him! It was enough. All the women were in love with him. How could I help it?”
“He must have been very persuasive.”
“Persuasive! He scolded us every minute. Dress and the devil! I”––casting down her eyes––“interested him from the first. He––he married me to reform me.”
“Ah,” commented the soldier, gazing doubtfully upon Susan’s smart gown, which, with elaborate art, followed the contours of her figure.
“But, of course, one must keep up appearances, you know,” she continued. “What’s the use of being a minister’s wife if you aren’t popular with the 471 congregation? At least,” she added, “with part of them!” And Susan tapped the pavement with a well-shod boot and showed her white teeth. “If you weren’t popular, you couldn’t fill the seats––I mean pews,” she added, evasively. “But you must come and see me––us, I should say.”
“Unfortunately, I am leaving to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” repeated Susan, reflectively. The pupils of her eyes contracted, something they did whenever she was thinking deeply, and her gaze passed quickly over his face, striving to read his impassive features. “So soon? When the carnival is on! That is too bad, to stay only one day, and not call on any of your old friends! Constance, I am sure, would be delighted to see you.”
Many women would have looked away under the circumstances, but Susan’s eyes were innocently fixed upon his. Half the pleasure of the assurance was in the accompanying glance and the friendly smile that went with it.
But a quiet question, “Miss Carew is living here?” was all the satisfaction she received.
“Yes. Have you not heard? She has a lovely home and an embarrassment of riches. Sweet embarrassment! Health and wealth! What more could one ask? Although I forgot, she was taken ill shortly after you left.”