Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise, by David Graham Phillips

Susan halted. "When did you get back, Sam?" she asked. "Iheard you were going to stay on in the East all summer."After they had shaken hands across the hedge that camealmost to their shoulders, Susan began to move on. Sam keptpace with her on his side of the carefully trimmed boxwood barrier."I'm going back East in about two weeks," said he. "It's awfully dullhere after Yale. I just blew in–haven't seen Lottie or father yet.Coming to Lottie's party?""No," said Susan."Why not?"Susan laughed merrily. "The best reason in the world. Lottie hasonly invited just so many couples.""I'll see about that," cried Sam. "You'll be asked all right, allright.""No," said Susan. She was one of those whose way of sayingno gives its full meaning and intent. "I'll not be asked, thank you–and I'll not go if I am."By this time they were at the gate. He opened it, came out intothe street. He was a tallish, athletic youth, dark, and pleasingenough of feature to be called handsome. He was dressed with agreat deal of style of the efflorescent kind called sophomoric. Hewas a Sophomore at Yale. But that was not so largely responsiblefor his self-complacent expression as the deference he had gotfrom babyhood through being heir apparent to the Wright fortune.He had a sophisticated way of inspecting Susan's charms of figureno less than charms of face that might have made a disagreeableimpression upon an experienced onlooker. There is a time forfeeling without knowing why one feels; and that period ought not tohave been passed for young Wright for many a year."My, but you're looking fine, Susie!" exclaimed he. "I haven'tseen anyone that could hold a candle to you even in the East."Susan laughed and blushed with pleasure. "Go on," said shewith raillery. "I love it.""Come in and sit under the trees and I'll fill all the time you'llgive me."This reminded her. "I must hurry uptown," she said. "Good-by.""Hold on!" cried he. "What have you got to do?" He happened toglance down the street. "Isn't that Ruth coming?""So it is," said Susan. "I guess Bessie Andrews wasn't athome."Sam waved at Ruth and called, "Hello! Glad to see you."Ruth was all sweetness and smiles. She and her mother–quiteprivately and with nothing openly said on either side–hadcanvassed Sam as a "possibility." There had been keendisappointment at the news that he was not coming home for thelong vacation. "How are you, Sam?" said she, as they shookhands. "My, Susie, »doesn't« he look New York?"Sam tried to conceal that he was swelling with pride. "Oh, this isnothing," said he deprecatingly.Ruth's heart was a-flutter. The Fisher picture of the Chamberslove-maker, thought she, might almost be a photograph of Sam.She was glad she had obeyed the mysterious impulse to make atoilette of unusual elegance that morning. How get rid of Susan?"»I«'ll take the sample, Susie," said she. "Then you won't have tokeep father waiting."Susie gave up the sample. Her face was no longer so brightand interested."Oh, drop it," cried Sam. "Come in–both of you. I'll telephone forJoe Andrews and we'll take a drive–or anything you like." He waslooking at Susan."Can't do it," replied Susan. "I promised Uncle George.""Oh, bother!" urged Sam. "Telephone him. It'll be all right–won'tit, Ruth?""You don't know Susie," said Ruth, with a queer, strained laugh."She'd rather die than break a promise.""I must go," Susan now said. "Good-by.""Come on, Ruth," cried Sam. "Let's walk uptown with her.""And you can help match the silk," said Ruth."Not for me," replied young Wright. Then to Susan, "What've»you« got to do? Maybe it's something I could help at.""No. It's for Uncle George and me.""Well, I'll go as far as the store. Then–we'll see."