"
He leaned against the big table, folded his arms on his chest,
looked at her with eyes that made her feel absolutely at ease
with him. Said he:
"You have known what it was to have no money--none?"
Susan nodded. "And no friends--no place to sleep--worse off
than _Robinson Crusoe_ when the waves threw him on the island.
I had to--to suck my own blood to keep alive."
"You smile as you say that," said he.
"If I hadn't learned to smile over such things," she answered,
"I'd have been dead long ago."
He seated himself opposite her. He asked:
"Why didn't you kill yourself?"
"I was afraid."
"Of the hereafter?"
"Oh no. Of missing the coming true of my dreams about life."
"Love?"
"That--and more. Just love wouldn't satisfy me. I want to
see the world--to know the world--and to be somebody. I want
to try _everything_."
She laughed gayly--a sudden fascinating vanishing of the
melancholy of eyes and mouth, a sudden flashing out of young
beauty. "I've been down about as deep as one can go. I want
to explore in the other direction."
"Yes--yes," said Brent, absently. "You must see it all."
He remained for some time in a profound reverie, she as
unconscious of the passing of time as he for if he had his
thoughts, she had his face to study. Try as she would, she
could not associate the idea of age with him--any age. He
seemed simply a grown man.
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