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

He was coming to call on Susan! All the way down Main Streetto the Wright place Ruth fought against her mood of angry anddepressed silence, tried to make the best of her chance to impressSam. But Sam was absent and humiliatingly near to curt. He haltedat his father's gate. She halted also, searched the grounds withanxious eyes for sign of Lottie that would give her the excuse forentering."So long," said Sam."Do come to Sinclairs' early. You always did dance so well.""Oh, dancing bores me," said the blase Sophomore. "But I'll beround before the shindy's over. I've got to take Lot home."He lifted the hat again with what both he and Ruth regarded asa gesture of most elegant carelessness. Ruth strolled reluctantlyon, feeling as if her toilet had been splashed or crushed. As sheentered the front door her mother, in a wrapper and curl papers,appeared at the head of the stairs. "Why!" cried she. "Where's thesilk? It's for your dress tonight, you know.""It'll be along," was Ruth's answer, her tone dreary, her lipquivering. "I met Sam Wright.""Oh!" exclaimed her mother. "He's back, is he?"Ruth did not reply. She came on up the stairs, went into thesitting-room–the room where Doctor Stevens seventeen yearsbefore had torn the baby Susan from the very claws of death. Sheflung herself down, buried her head in her arms upon that sametable. She burst into a storm of tears."Why, dearie dear," cried her mother, "whatever is the matter?""It's wicked and hateful," sobbed the girl, "but–– Oh, mamma, I»hate« Susan! She was along, and Sam hardly noticed me, andhe's coming here this evening to call.""But you'll be at Sinclairs'!" exclaimed Mrs. Warham."Not Susan," sobbed Ruth. "He wants to see only her."The members of the Second Presbyterian Church, of whichFanny Warham was about the most exemplary and assiduousfemale member, would hardly have recognized the face encircledby that triple row of curl-papered locks, shinily plastered withquince-seed liquor. She was at woman's second critical age, andthe strange emotions working in her mind–of whose disorder noone had an inkling–were upon the surface now. She ventured thisfreedom of facial expression because her daughter's face was hid.She did not speak. She laid a tender defending hand for an instantupon her daughter's shoulder–like the caress of love andencouragement the lioness gives her cub as she is about to givebattle for it. Then she left the room. She did not know what to do,but she knew she must and would do something.