"Oh," she gasped, interrupting him, "that's just it. Nick doesn't know . . . doesn't even suspect. And if he did. . . ."
Strefford flung away his cigar and turned to scrutinize her. "I don't see—hanged if I do. What business is it of any of us, after all?"
That, of course, was the old view that cloaked connivance in an air of decency. But to Susy it no longer carried conviction, and she hesitated.
"If Nick should find out that I know. . . ."
"Good Lord—doesn't he know that you know? After all, I suppose it's not the first time—"
She remained silent.
"The first time you've received confidences—from married friends. Does Nick suppose you've lived even to your tender age without . . . Hang it, what's come over you, child?"
What had, indeed, that she could make clear to him? And yet more than ever she felt the need of having him securely on her side. Once his word was pledged, he was safe: otherwise there was no limit to his capacity for wilful harmfulness.
"Look here, Streff, you and I know that Ellie hasn't been away for a cure; and that if poor Clarissa was sworn to secrecy it was not because it 'worries father' to think that mother needs to take care of her health." She paused, hating herself for the ironic note she had tried to sound.
"Well—?" he questioned, from the depths of the chair into which he had sunk.
"Well, Nick doesn't . . . doesn't dream of it.
