make a living, I'm not nearly so interested
in it; hardly at all. It's the stupid side of life, always; I shouldn't
like it to make much difference to me now, when it comes to real
decisions. I did want a nice home for Sister, though. As for me, any old
room most anywhere will do. It will, Ambo; don't laugh; I'm in earnest.
But what's your second guess?" she added quickly.

"You've some writing you want to do--a book, maybe? You're afraid the
review will interfere?"

"Ah, now you're a tiny bit warmer! I am afraid it will interfere, but in
a much deeper way than that; interfere with _me_."

"I don't quite follow that, do I!"

"Good gracious, no--since you ask. It's simple enough, though--and
pretty vague. Only it feels important--here." For an instant her hand
just touched her breast. "I hate so to be roped in, Ambo, have things
staked out for me--spiritually, I mean. Mr. Sampson's a darling; I love
him! But he's a great believer in ropes and stakes and fences--even
barbed wire. I'm beginning to see that the whole idea of his review is a
scheme for mending political and moral and social fences, stopping up
gaps in them made by irresponsible idealists--anarchists, revolutionary
socialists--people like that. People like me, really!--There! Now you do
look surprised."

I was; but I smiled.

"You've turned _Red_, Susan? How long since? Overnight?"

"Not red," answered Susan, with bravely forced gayety; "pinkish, say! I
haven't fixed on my special shade till I'm sure it becomes me."

"It's certain to do that, dear."

She bobbed me a little bow across the cloth, much in the old happy
style--alas, not quite. "But I never did like washed-out colors," she
threw in for good measure.

"You _are_ irresponsible, then! Suppose Phil could hear you--or Jimmy.
Jimmy'd say your Greenwich Village friends were corrupting you. Perhaps
they are?"

"Perhaps they are," echoed Susan, "but I think not. I'm afraid it goes
farther back, Ambo. It's left-over Birch Street; that's what it is. So
much of me's that. All of me, I sometimes believe."

"Not quite. You'll never escape Hillhouse, either, Susan. You've had
both."

"Yes, I've had both," she echoed again, almost on a sigh, pushing her
untasted _demi-tasse_ from her.

Suddenly her elbows were planted on the cloth before her, her
face--shadowed and too finely drawn--dropped between her hands, her eyes
sought and held mine. They dizzied me, her eyes....

"Ambo," she said earne