"Hello, Sue!" said Peter gaily. "I'm just in. Burns said that you telephoned."
"Burns said no more than the truth," said Susan. It was the old note of levity, anything but natural to to-night's mood and the matter in hand. But it was what Peter expected and liked. She heard him laugh with his usual gaiety.
"Yes, he's a truthful little soul. He takes after me. What was it?"
Susan made a wry mouth in the dark.
"Nothing at all," she said, "I just telephoned--I thought we might go out somewhere together."
"GREAT HEAVEN, WE'RE ENGAGED!" she reminded her sinking heart, fiercely.
"Oh, too bad! I was at the Gerald's, at one of those darn rehearsals."
A silence.
"Oh, all right!" said Susan. A writhing sickness of spirit threatened to engulf her, but her voice was quiet.
"I'm sorry, Sue," Peter said quickly in a lower tone, "I couldn't very well get out of it without having them all suspect. You can see that!"
Susan knew him so well! He had never had to do anything against his will. He couldn't understand that his engagement entailed any obligations. He merely wanted always to be happy and popular, and have everyone else happy and popular, too.
"And what about this trip to Japan with Mr. Gerald?" she asked.
There was another silence. Then Peter said, in an annoyed tone: "Oh, Lord, that would probably be for a MONTH, or six weeks at the outside!"
"I see," said Susan tonelessly.
"I've got Forrest here with me to-night," said Peter, apropos of nothing.
"Oh, then I won't keep you!" Susan said.
"Well," he laughed, "don't be so polite about it!--I'll see you to- morrow?"
"Surely," Susan said. "Good-night."
"Over the reservoir!" he said, and she hung up her receiver.
She did not sleep that night. Excitement, anger, shame kept her wakeful and tossing, hour after hour. Susan's head ached, her face burned, her thoughts were in a mad whirl. What to do--what to do-- what to do----! How to get out of this tangle; where to go to begin again, away from these people who knew her and loved her, and would drive her mad with their sympathy and curiosity!
The clock struck three--four--five. At five o'clock Susan, suddenly realizing her own loneliness and loss, burst into bitter crying and after that she slept.
The next day, from the office, she wrote to Peter Coleman: MY DEAR PETER: I am beginning to think that our little talk in the office a week ago was a mistake, and that you think so. I don't say anything of my own feelings; you know them. I want to ask you honestly to tell me of yours. Things cannot go on this way. Affectionately, SUSAN.