"He had to go to Grandpont whether you sent him there or not," I said. "But didn’t you give him an answer?" Susan had replied to my questions rapidly and defiantly; but, without any warning, she sat down plump on the top stair with the candlestick in her lap, and sobbed the plentifullest and heartiest sobs of all her many sobbings since Ruddington wrote his first letter. Overwrought as I was, I wonder that the unexpectedness and oddity of it did not drive me into hysterical laughter. I controlled myself only by speaking to Susan roughly. "Get up, you silly creature!" I said. "Georgette will hear you, and Madame! What’s the matter?" "Oh, Miss Gertrude," she sobbed, "I know I oughtn’t to have said the things to Gibson that I did say. I oughtn’t, I know, I know!" "Then what did you say them for?" "It was all his fault, Miss, not mine. I oughtn’t to have said the things I did. But why did he say such bitter, cruel, awful things to me?" "I’ve no idea, Susan," I said, taking the candlestick from her lap and leaving her to follow. She did not appear till she had dried her eyes and regained some composure. When she came into my room, her lips were set, and she did not speak. "Susan," I explained, "I was sorry to cut you short. But we mustn’t have scenes on the stairs. Besides, to-night I’m tired out. Gibson upset me this morning. But I’m sorry if you’ve quarrelled." Susan broke down again. "I hate him, Miss," she cried with a stamp of her pretty foot. "I sha’n’t never forgive him for the things he’s said to-day! I sha’n’t never speak to him again! Not a word, Miss. Not if I live to be a thousand!" At that I stopped her, and I don’t know any more. _Friday, three o’clock_. Susan came to me in the summer-house this morning, and said firmly: "Please, Miss, I’ve decided." Certainly I am out of sorts. As she paused on the verge of her announcement, my heart stood still. No doubt the strain and excitement of these three weeks have sapped me and mined me, and Susan’s and Gibson’s affairs have been so constantly present to my mind that I suppose they have become affairs of my own. Anyhow, I felt myself chilling ridiculously and going pale as Susan spoke. "What have you decided?" I asked at last. "I have decided," replied Susan in her most important manner, "that I will keep company with his Lordship for a month. I mean, Miss, when we’re back at Traxelby." "You’ll take him for a month on trial?" I said, jesting feebly. "Yes, Miss. I don’t think I ought to be married to him till I’m sure I can put up with him." "Of course, Susan," I answered. "But that was settled all along. He isn’t expecting you at present to say that you will marry him. He simply asks whether he may come in person and persuade you." "Yes, Miss," said Susan, colouring charmingly. And after thirty seconds she added, "Please, Miss Gertrude, I beg pardon, ... but when shall we go back to Traxelby?"