“I thought you didn’t care for music.”
“I don’t think I did,” he answered. “But I find it rests me.”
He spoke with a weariness that was appalling. Susie had never beheld so plainly the torment of a soul in pain.
“Won’t you let me come to the opera with you one night?” she asked. “Or does it bore you to see me?”
“I should like it above all things,” he smiled, quite brightly. “You’re like a wonderful tonic. They’re giving Tristan on Thursday. Shall we go together?”
“I should enjoy it enormously.”
She shook hands with him and jumped into a cab.
“Oh, poor thing!” she murmured. “Poor thing! What can I do for him?”
She clenched, her hands when she thought of Margaret. It was monstrous that she should have caused such havoc in that good, strong man.
“Oh, I hope she’ll suffer for it,” she whispered vindictively. “I hope she’ll suffer all the agony that he has suffered.”