"What's the matter?" he asked, as she did not smile.
Susan still watched him seriously. She did not answer.
"My fault?" he asked.
"No-o." Susan's lip trembled. "Or perhaps it is, in a way," she said slowly and softly, still striking almost inaudible chords. "I can't--I can't seem to see things straight, whichever way I look!" she confessed as simply as a troubled child.
"Will you come across the hall into the little library with me and talk about it for two minutes?" he asked.
"No." Susan shook her head.
"Susan! Why not?"
"Because we must stop it all," the girl said steadily, "ALL, every bit of it, before we--before we are sorry! You are a married man, and I knew it, and it is ALL WRONG--"
"No, it's not all wrong, I won't admit that," he said quickly. "There has been no wrong."
It was a great weight lifted from Susan's heart to think that this was true. Ended here, the friendship was merely an episode.