Susan, profoundly apprehensive, went slowly out of the room. She turned to the stairway that led to the upper hall to hear Ella's voice from her own room: "Sue! Going up to see Ken?"
"Yes," Susan said without turning back.
"That's a good child," Ella called gaily. "The kid's gone down to dinner, but don't hurry. I'm dining out."
"I'll be down directly," Susan said, going on. She crossed the dimly lighted, fragrant upper hall, and knocked on Kenneth's door.
It was instantly opened by the gracious and gray-haired Miss Trumbull, the night nurse. Kenneth, in a gorgeous embroidered Mandarin coat, was sitting up and enjoying his supper.
"Come in, woman," he said, smiling composedly. Susan felt warmed and heartened by his manner, and came to take her chair by the bed. Miss Trumbull disappeared, and the two had the big, quiet room to themselves.
"Well," said Kenneth, laying down a wish-bone, and giving her a shrewd smile. "You can't do it, and you're afraid to say so, is that it?"
A millstone seemed lifted from Susan's heart. She smiled, and the tears rushed into her eyes.
"I--honestly, I'd rather not," she said eagerly.
"That other fellow, eh?" he added, glancing at her before he attacked another bone with knife and fork.
Taken unawares, she could not answer. The color rushed into her face. She dropped her eyes.
"Peter Coleman, isn't it?" Kenneth pursued.
"Peter Coleman!" Susan might never have heard the name before, so unaffected was her astonishment.
"Well, isn't it?"
Susan felt in her heart the first stirring of a genuine affection for Kenneth Saunders. He seemed so bright, so well to-night, he was so kind and brotherly.
"It's Stephen," said she, moved by a sudden impulse to confide. He eyed her in blank astonishment, and Susan saw in it a sort of respect. But he only answered by a long whistle.
"Gosh, that is tough," he said, after a few moments of silence. "That is the limit, you poor kid! Of course his wife is particularly well and husky?"
"Particularly!" echoed Susan with a shaky laugh. For the first time in their lives she and Kenneth talked together with entire naturalness and with pleasure. Susan's heart felt lighter than it had for many a day.
"Stephen can't shake his wife, I suppose?" he asked presently.
"Not--not according to the New York law, I believe," Susan said.
"Well--that's a case where virtue is its own reward,--NOT," said Kenneth. "And he--he cares, does he?" he asked, with shy interest.