Susan murmured: "Dear, dear Joe!" She pulled down his head and kissed the tears from his eyes. It was a moment of pure bliss for her. They sat down, holding each other’s hands, oblivious of Mrs. Biddlecombe, who still stared at them, trying to remember how the late Mr. Biddlecombe had behaved when Susan was born, and vaguely mindful of his conspicuous absence, and the discovery later that he had assuaged his anxiety with strong waters. Meanwhile, Susan’s tenderness had aroused in her husband the determination to vanquish his mother-in-law. The power to cope with her surged within. "You want me to stay, Susie?" "Oh yes, till the pain comes." "And after?" "No, no!" "But why, why?" She looked prettier and sweeter than he had ever seen her when she whispered: "I couldn’t bear for you to see my face. It, it," her voice quivered, "it frightens me. Just now I looked in the glass, and I didn’t recognize it as mine." "There!" exclaimed Mrs. Biddlecombe. "I shall do as Susan wishes," said Quinney humbly. "You will leave the room when I nod?" "Please!" said Susan, with her arms about his neck. Presently Mrs. Biddlecombe nodded. *CHAPTER VI* *THE VISITOR ARRIVES* *I* Quinney went downstairs, whistling softly to hide a growing perturbation of spirit. He could not disguise from himself that he was terribly worried. Till now he had bolstered anxiety with the reflection that what was happening had happened before to millions and billions (he loved big figures) of women, but he had never realized that each and all of them had suffered cruel pain. When Susan spoke of her changed face, a spasm of agony twisted him. He resented fiercely the conviction that his wife must suffer, and he divined somehow, partly from Mrs. Biddlecombe and partly from Susan, that the pain was greater than he had supposed. He salved his quivering sensibilities with the balm applied by all husbands at such moments; she was young, healthy, and strong. She would pull through. And yet, the damnable thought that sometimes things did happen grew and grew.