"Not practical, but intuitional. If I were practical, I would never have taken up medicine."
He walked to the door, his old body sinking in somewhat upon itself. His old, gray eyes twinkled slightly as he turned.
"You were in love once, Mrs. Dale," he said.
"Yes," she replied.
"You remember how you felt then?"
"Yes."
"Be reasonable. Remember your own sensations—your own attitude. You probably weren't crossed in your affair. She is. She has made a mistake. Be patient. Be calm. We want to stop it and no doubt can. Do unto others as you would be done by."
He ambled shufflingly across the piazza and down the wide steps to his car.
"Mama," she said, when after Dr. Woolley had gone her mother came to her room to see if she might not be in a mellower mood, and to plead with her further for delay, "it seems to me you are making a ridiculous mess of all this. Why should you go and tell Dr. Woolley about me! I will never forgive you for that. Mama, you have done something I never thought you would do. I thought you had more pride—more individuality."
One should have seen Suzanne, in her spacious boudoir, her back to her oval mirrored dressing table, her face fronting her mother, to understand her fascination for Eugene. It was a lovely, sunny, many windowed chamber, and Suzanne in a white and blue morning dress was in charming accord with the gay atmosphere of the room.