"
"I belong anywhere--and everywhere--and nowhere," said Susan.
"Yes, I belong here. I've got a chance uptown. If it pans
out, I'll let you in."
Clara looked at her wistfully. Clara had a wicked temper when
she was in liquor, and had the ordinary human proneness to
lying, to mischievous gossip, and to utter laziness. The life
she led, compelling cleanliness and neatness and a certain
amount of thrift under penalty of instant ruin, had done her
much good in saving her from going to pieces and becoming the
ordinary sloven and drag on the energies of some man.
"Lorna," she now said, "I do believe you like me a little."
"More than that," Susan assured her. "You've saved me from
being hard-hearted. I must go to the hospital. So long!"
"How about this evening?" asked Clara.
"I'm staying in. I've got something to do."
"Well--I may be home early--unless I go to the ball."
Susan was refused admittance at the hospital. Spenser, they
said, had received a caller, had taxed his strength enough for
the day. Nor would it be worth while to return in the
morning. The same caller was coming again. Spenser had said
she was to come in the afternoon. She received this
cheerfully, yet not without a certain sense of hurt--which,
however, did not last long.
When she was admitted to Spenser the following afternoon, she
faced him guiltily--for the thoughts Brent had set to bubbling
and boiling in her.
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