"The man you love, Suzanne?" she asked, swept completely from her moorings, and lost upon a boundless sea. "Who is he?"
"Mr. Witla, mama—Eugene. I love him and he loves me. Don't stare, mama. Mrs. Witla knows. She is willing that we should have each other. We love each other. I am going to stay here where I can be near him. He needs me."
"Eugene Witla!" exclaimed her mother, breathless, a look of horror in her eyes, cold fright in her tense hands. "You love Eugene Witla? a married man! He loves you! Are you talking to me? Eugene Witla!! You love him! Why I can't believe this. I'm not in my right mind. Suzanne Dale, don't stand there! Don't look at me like that! Are you telling me, your mother? Tell me it isn't so! Tell me it isn't so before you drive me mad! Oh, great Heavens, what am I coming to? What have I done? Eugene Witla of all men! Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!"
"Why do you carry on so, mama?" asked Suzanne calmly. She had expected some such scene as this—not quite so intense, so hysterical, but something like it, and was, in a way, prepared for it. A selfish love was her animating, governing impulse—a love also that stilled self, and put aside as nothing all the world and its rules. Suzanne really did not know what she was doing. She was hypnotized by the sense of perfection in her lover, the beauty of their love. Not practical facts but the beauty of the summer, the feel of cool winds, the glory of skies and sunlight and moonlight, were in her mind. Eugene's arms about her, his lips to hers, meant more than all the world beside. "I love him. Of course, I love him. What is there so strange about that?"
"What is strange? Are you in your right mind? Oh, my poor, dear little girl! My Suzanne! Oh, that villain! That scoundrel! To come into my house and make love to you, my darling child! How should you know? How could I expect you to understand? Oh, Suzanne! for my sake, for the love of Heaven, hush! Never breathe it! Never say that terrible thing to me again! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!!! That I should live to see this! My child! My Suzanne! My lovely, beautiful Suzanne! I shall die unless I can stop this! I shall die! I shall die!"
Suzanne stared at her mother quite astonished at the violent emotion into which she had cast her. Her pretty eyes were open wide, her eyebrows elevated, her lips parted sweetly. She was a picture of intense classic beauty, chiseled, peaceful, self-possessed. Her brow was as smooth as marble, her lips as arched as though they had never known one emotion outside joy. Her look was of a quizzical, slightly amused, but not supercilious character which made her more striking than ever if possible.
"Why, mama! You think I am a child, don't you? All that I say to you is true. I love Eugene. He loves me. I am going to live with him as soon as it can be quietly arranged. I wanted to tell you because I don't want to do anything secretly, but I propose to do it. I wish you wouldn't insist on looking on me as a baby, mama. I know what I am doing. I have thought it all out this long time."
"Thought it all out!" pondered Mrs. Dale. "Going to live with him when it can be arranged! Is she talking of living with a man without a wedding ceremony being performed? With a man already married! Is the child stark mad? Something has turned her brain. Surely something has. This is not my Suzanne—my dear, lovely, entrancing Suzanne."
To Suzanne she exclaimed aloud:
"Are you talking of living with this, with this, oh, I don't dare to name him. I'll die if I don't get this matter straightened out; of living without a marriage ceremony and without his being divorced? I can't believe that I am awake. I can't! I can't!"