Sue? It was impossible—it was unnatural—it was horrible. Sue? She stamped her foot, and sent a pebble flying down the path.
Sue—poor old Sue—dear old Sue—"Old" Sue, whichever way you took it, how could she, how could she?
In Leo's eyes, Sue, verging on middle age, had never been young; earliest reminiscences pictured her the same composed and tranquil creature, with the same detachment from life as regarded herself, the same contented absorption in the concerns of others, that was present now to the eyes of all.
No one ever thought of Sue in connection with love or matrimony; not even in years gone by; not even when Leo was a child.
True, she had her own niche in the family and household, and it was by no means an unimportant one—but it was high upon a shelf as regarded affairs of the heart.
Her dress, her habits, her punctilio in small matters—all that she did or said marked her the typical old maid, and had done so for years out of mind—so that the present revelation was worse than shocking, it was cruel.
For the best part of an hour the storm raged. She found herself repeating her father's words "preposterous!"—"outrageous!"—and endorsing them with throbs of scorn and anger. The sister she loved, the woman she venerated was lowered in her eyes. She was pained, as well as shocked....
But presently there ensued a change. After all, what had poor Sue done? Certainly she had at no time given the faintest outward indication of her folly, till powerless to help herself; she had endured what must have been a painful ordeal beforehand with fortitude, and there must have been many similar occasions when calmness and self-restraint were needed, and had never failed.
Was it not rather wonderful of Sue? The weakness was there, but she had had strength to hide it. Maud and Sybil knew nothing of it; no one knew; least of all the man himself.
And apparently Sue was content to have it so,—here was another marvel; she loved and asked for nothing in return. She could go quietly on week after week, month after month, hugging her secret,—yet its power was such that Leo herself trembled to recall the hour that so nearly laid it bare. It was terrible to see Sue blanch and blench; to watch the fluttering of her lace jabot as her bosom heaved beneath. She trembled as she had never trembled at any emotions of her own.