self. "They 're made of the same stuff; but she does n't care anything about him yet," and Edward Balloure groaned inwardly and cursed the fate which stood in shape of a poor helpless woman between him and this girl whom he so wilfully and sinfully loved.
It was quite true, as the professor had said, that Susan did not as yet care anything for Tom Lawton. In her girlhood she had been used to seeing him come and go in her uncle's house, quietly and familiarly; his silent presence had produced no impression on her fancy; in fact she hardly remembered him when she first met him after her return from Europe. But it was not many weeks before the quality in Tom's steady gaze, which had penetrated Edward Balloure's consciousness, penetrated Susan's also. She became afraid that Tom was beginning to love her too well.
"Dear Tom!" she thought to herself. "The dear fellow! What shall I do? Whatever put such a thought into his head? How shall I stop him? I don't want him to fall in love with me," and in the most right-minded way Susan set herself to work to prevent what had already happened. It had once been Susan's belief that any woman could save any man the pain of a direct refusal; but the fallacy of this belief in individual cases she had been taught by some trying experiences. However, she still clung to her theory, and endeavored to carry it out in practice as conscientiously as if
