some kind of a life of it;
for Sister, chiefly. And I tried; oh, I did try!
Then those whispered scandals about us began. But
it wasn't the scandal itself that did for me; it
was something added to it--by Mrs. Arthur, I
suppose--something _true_, Ambo, that I'd never
honestly faced. Suddenly my father rose from the
dead! Suddenly I was forced to feel that never,
never under any conditions, would it have been
possible for me to be yours--bear you children....
Suddenly I felt, saw--as I should have seen long
ago--that the strain of evil, perhaps of madness,
in my father--the strain that made his life a hell
of black passions--must end with me!

Here's where Jimmy comes back, Ambo--and it's the
worst of all I have to confess. My anxiety was all
for you now: not for myself, I happened to love
you that way. "Suppose," I kept thinking, "suppose
something should unexpectedly make it possible for
Ambo to ask me to be his wife? Suppose Gertrude
should fall in love herself and insist on divorce?
Or suppose she should die? Ambo would be certain
to come to me. And if he did? Should I have the
moral courage to send him away? As I must--I
must!"

Dear, from that time on a sort of demon in me
kept suggesting: "Jimmy--Jimmy's the solution!
He's almost in love with you now; all he needs is
a little encouragement. You could manage it,
Susan. You could engage yourself to Jimmy; and
then you could string him along! You could make it
an interminable engagement, years and years of it,
and break it off when Ambo was thoroughly
discouraged or cured; you're clever enough for
that. And Jimmy's ingenuousness itself. You could
manage Jimmy." Oh, please don't think I ever
really listened to my demon, was ever tempted by
him! But I hated myself for the mere fact that
such thoughts could even occur to me! They did,
though, more than once; and each time I had to
banish them, thrust them down into their native
darkness.

But they didn't die there, Ambo; they lived there,
a hideous secret life, lying in wait to betray me.