"I"d forgotten how cold I was," said Etta; "hadn"t you?"
"No," said Susan, "I hadn"t forgotten anything."
"Yes, I suppose it was all worse for you than for me. _You_ used to be a lady."
"Don"t talk nonsense," said Susan.
"I don"t regret what I"m doing," Etta now declared. "It was Gus that made me think about it." She looked somewhat sheepish as she went on to explain. "I had a little too much to drink last night. And when Gus and I were alone, I cried--for no reason except the drink. He asked me why and I had to say something, and it popped into my head to say I was ashamed of the life I was leading. As things turned out, I"m glad I said it. He was awfully impressed."
"Of course," said Susan.
"You never saw anything like it," continued Etta with an expression suggesting a feeling that she ought to be ashamed but could not help being amused. "He acted differently right away.
Why don"t you try it on John?"
"What for?"
"Oh, it"ll make him--make him have more--more respect for you."
"Perhaps," said Susan indifferently.
"Don"t you want John to--to respect you?"
"I"ve been too busy having a good time to think much about him--or about anything. I"m tired of thinking. I want to rest.
Last night was the first time in my life I danced as much as I wanted to."
"Don"t you like John?"
"Certainly."
"He does know a lot, doesn"t he? He"s like you. He reads and and thinks--and---- He"s away ahead of Fatty except---- You don"t mind my having the man with the most money?"
"Not in the least," laughed Susan. "Money"s another thing I"m glad to rest from thinking about."
"But this"ll last only a few days longer. And--If you managed John Redmond right, Lorna----"
"Now--you must not try to make me think."
"Lorna--are you _really_ happy?"
"Can"t you see I am?"
"Yes--when we"re all together. But when--when you"re alone with him----"
Susan"s expression stopped her. It was a laughing expression; and yet-- Said Susan: "I am happy, dear--very happy. I eat and drink and sleep--and I am, oh, so glad to be alive."
"_Isn"t_ it good to be alive!--if you"ve got plenty," exclaimed Etta. "I never knew before. _This_ is the dream, Lorna--and I think I"ll kill myself if I have to wake."
On Sat.u.r.day afternoon the four were in one of the rooms discussing where the farewell dinner should be held and what they would eat and drink. Etta called Susan into the other room and shut the door between.
"Fatty wants me to go along with him and live in Detroit," said she, blurting it out as if confessing a crime.
"Isn"t that splendid!" cried Susan, kissing her. "I thought he would. He fell in love with you at first sight."
"That"s what he says. But, Lorna--I--I don"t know _what_ to do!"
"_Do_? Why, go. What else is there? Go, of course."
"Oh, no, Lorna," protested Etta. "I couldn"t leave you. I couldn"t get along without you."
"But you must go. Don"t you love him?"
Etta began to weep. "That"s the worst of it. I do love him so!
And I think he loves me--and might marry me and make me a good woman again. . . . You mustn"t ever tell John or anybody about that--that dreadful man I went with--will you, dear?"
"What do you take me for?" said Susan.
"I"ve told Fatty I was a good girl until I met him. You haven"t told John about yourself?" Susan shook her head.
"I suppose not. You"re so secretive. You really think I ought to go?"
"I know it."
Etta was offended by Susan"s positive, practical tone. "I don"t believe you care."
"Yes, I care," said Susan. "But you"re right to follow the man you love. Besides, there"s nothing so good in sight here."
"What"ll _you_ do? Oh, I can"t go, Lorna!"
"Now, Etta," said Susan calmly, "don"t talk nonsense. I"ll get along all right."
"You come to Detroit. You could find a job there, and we could live together."
"Would Fatty like that?"
Etta flushed and glanced away. Young Gulick had soon decided that Susan was the stronger--therefore, the less "womanly"--of the two girls, and must be the evil influence over her whom he had appeared just in time to save. When he said this to Etta, she protested--not very vigorously, because she wished him to think her really almost innocent. She wasn"t _quite_ easy in her mind as to whether she had been loyal to Lorna. But, being normally human, she soon _almost_ convinced herself that but for Lorna she never would have made the awful venture. Anyhow, since it would help her with Gulick and wouldn"t do Lorna the least mite of harm, why not let him think he was right?
Said Susan: "Hasn"t he been talking to you about getting away from--from all this?"
"But I don"t care," cried Etta, moved to an outburst of frankness by her sense of security in Susan"s loyalty and generosity. "He doesn"t understand. Men are fools about women.
He thinks he likes in me what I haven"t got at all. As a matter of fact if I had been what he made me tell him I was, why we"d never have met--or got acquainted in the way that makes us so fond of each other. And I owe it all to you, Lorna. I don"t care what he says, Lorna--or does. I want you."
"Can"t go," said Susan, not conscious--yet not unaware, either--of the curious mixture of heart and art in Etta"s outburst of apparent eagerness to risk everything for love of her. "Can"t possibly go. I"ve made other plans. The thing for you is to be straight--get some kind of a job in Detroit--make Fatty marry you--quick!"
"He would, but his father"d throw him out."
"Not if you were an honest working girl."
"But----" Etta was silent and reflective for a moment. "Men are so queer," she finally said. "If I"d been an honest working girl he"d never have noticed me. It"s because I am what I am that I"ve been able to get acquainted with him and fascinate him. And he feels it"s a sporty thing to do--to marry a fast girl. If I was to settle down to work, be a regular working girl--why, I"m afraid he--he"d stop loving me. Then, too, he likes to believe he"s rescuing me from a life of shame. I"ve watched him close.
I understand him."