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 quite brightly. “You’re like a wonderful tonic. They’re giving Tristan on Thursday. Shall we go together?”

“I should enjoy it enormously.”

She shook hands with him and jumped into a cab.

“Oh, poor thing!” she murmured. “Poor thing! What can I do for him?”

She clenched her hands when she thought of Margaret. It was monstrous that she should have caused such havoc in that good, strong man.

“Oh, I hope she’ll suffer for it,” she whispered vindictively. “I hope she’ll suffer all the agony that he has suffered.”

Susie dressed herself for Covent Garden as only she could do. Her gown pleased her exceedingly, not only because it was admirably made, but because it had cost far more than she could afford. To dress well was her only extravagance. It was of taffeta silk, in that exquisite green which the learned in such matters call Eau de Nil; and its beauty was enhanced by the old lace which had formed not the least treasured part of her inheritance. In her hair she wore an ornament of old Spanish paste, of exquisite workmanship, and round her neck a chain which had once adorned that of a madonna in an Andalusian church. Her individuality made even her plainness attractive. She smiled at herself in the glass ruefully because Arthur would never notice that she was perfectly dressed.

When she tripped down the stairs and across the pavement to the cab with which he fetched her, Susie held up her skirt with a grace she flattered