"Oh, what a nice man you are, and how able you are."
"Oh, nothing like that," replied Eugene jestingly.
"Yes, she did. And I think Mrs. Witla likes me. I can meet you sometimes when I'm there, but we must be so careful. I mustn't stay out long today. I want to think things out, too. You know I'm having a real hard time thinking about this."
Eugene smiled. Her innocence was so delightful to him, so naïve.
"What do you mean by thinking things out, Suzanne?" asked Eugene curiously. He was interested in the workings of her young mind, which seemed so fresh and wonderful to him. It was so delightful to find this paragon of beauty so responsive, so affectionate and helpful and withal so thoughtful. She was somewhat like a delightful toy to him, and he held her as reverently in awe as though she were a priceless vase.
"You know I want to think what I'm doing. I have to. It seems so terrible to me at times and yet you know, you know——"
"I know what?" he asked, when she paused.
"I don't know why I shouldn't if I want to—if I love you."
Eugene looked at her curiously. This attempt at analysis of life, particularly in relation to so trying and daring a situation as this, astonished him. He had fancied Suzanne more or less thoughtless and harmless as yet, big potentially, but uncertain and vague. Here she was thinking about this most difficult problem almost more directly than he was and apparently with more courage. He was astounded, but more than that, intensely interested. What had become of her terrific fright of ten days before? What was it she was thinking about exactly?
"What a curious girl you are," he said.