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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Oh, how could I how could I!" And again she hid her face. Stephen Bocqueraz did not speak, and presently Susan added, with a sort of passion: "It was wicked, and it was COMMON, and no decent woman " "No, you shan't take that tone!" said Bocqueraz, suddenly looking up from a somber study of the fire. "It is true, Susan, and and I can't be sorry it is. It's the truest thing in the world!"
She was quite the last girl in the world to fall SERIOUSLY in love, with her eyes wide open, in so extremely undesirable a direction! This was not falling in love at all. Stephen Bocqueraz spoke of his wife half a dozen times a day. Susan, on her part, found plenty of things about him to dislike!
Then Susan looked at her companion uncomfortably. "Why don't you talk to me?" she asked, with a tremulous smile. Bocqueraz sat down at the desk opposite her, and stared at her across folded arms. "Nothing to say," he said quietly.
That pain came only at intervals, a voice, overheard in the street, would make her feel cold and weak with sudden memory, a poem or a bit of music that recalled Stephen Bocqueraz would ring her heart with sorrow, or, worst of all, some reminder of the great city where he made his home, and the lives that gifted and successful and charming men and women lived there, would scar across the dull wretchedness of Susan's thoughts with a touch of flame.
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