finished canvases leaned with their faces against the wall; pieces of stuff were hung here and there, and photographs of well-known pictures. She had fallen unconsciously into a wonderful pose, and her beauty gave her, notwithstanding her youth, a rare dignity. Susie smiled mockingly.
“You look like a Greek goddess in a Paris frock,” she said.
“What have you to say to me?” asked Margaret, divining from the searching look that something was in her friend’s mind.
Susie stood up and went to her.
“You know, before I’d seen him I hoped with all my heart that he’d make you happy. Notwithstanding all you’d told me of him, I was afraid. I knew he was much older than you. He was the first man you’d ever known. I could scarcely bear to entrust you to him in case you were miserable.”
“I don’t think you need have any fear.”
“But now I hope with all my heart that you’ll make him happy. It’s not you I’m frightened for now, but him.”
Margaret did not answer; she could not understand what Susie meant.
“I’ve never seen anyone with such a capacity for wretchedness as that man has. I don’t think you can conceive how desperately he might suffer. Be very careful, Margaret, and be very good to him, for you have the power to make him more unhappy than any human being should be.”
“Oh, but I want him to be happy,” cried Mar-
