_rose_.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Procter, attracted by the strange, almost
solemn silence. "What's the trouble, Jane?"

She handed the note to him, waited while he read it through not once,
but many times, as she had.

He passed it back to her. "Shall we go for her?" he asked.

But she shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know just how to act where
Suzanna's concerned," she said. She folded the note. "No, sometimes I
feel just helpless."




CHAPTER VI

SUZANNA MAKES HER ENTRY


Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in the kitchen, she belatedly washing the
supper dishes, he smoking his pipe near the window. She lent, through
her vivid personality, color to him. Big, hearty, he was not
picturesque. He seemed to take note of realities more than she did.
Perhaps springing from emotional folk, she stood with a quality of rich
background denied to him by a line of unimaginative ancestors.

He read his big books, she found truths in her own heart. She found a