HIS SECOND WIFE

BY

ERNEST POOLE

TO M. A. 

HIS SECOND WIFE

CHAPTER I

On a train speeding toward New York, in one of the parlour cars twoyoung women sat facing each other, talking and smiling, deeply absorbed. They took little apparent notice of any one else in the car, but most ofthe people near them kept throwing curious glances their way. 

These glances differed vastly, as did the thoughts behind them. A tall, genial Westerner, who looked as though he had come from a ranch, smiledfrankly and hungrily on the pair and told himself with emphasis, "Thosetwo girls are fifty-fifty. I'd like a dozen of each brand. " And a slimcollege boy with fresh, eager eyes kept darting quick looks from time totime at the older of the two, the blonde. He asked himself confusedly, "How'd I start in with a woman like her?" And exciting pictures rose inhis mind. In the meantime an elderly lady, with a sharp, inquisitiveair, had put down the ages of the girls at twenty-two and thirty. 

"They're sisters, " she decided, but then she nearly changed her mind. They were such contrasted types. The blonde gave an appearance of sleekand moneyed elegance, with carefully undulated hair, a rounded bust, andpretty features smooth and plump, with a retroussé nose and rich, fulllips, and a manner of easy assurance. The brunette was younger and lessdeveloped, slim and lithe, her curling black hair rebellious, herfeatures more clean-cut and clear, with wide, eager lips and warm browneyes set wide apart. 

"Nevertheless, they are sisters, " the little lady firmly concluded. "The family resemblance is quite unmistakable. " And frowning inperplexity, "But if they are sisters, " she went on, "why is only one inmourning?" She looked at the younger of the two, who was simply dressedin black; and then at the blonde, whose sable cloak put back from hershoulders revealed a stylish travelling suit. "And why is one rich andthe other poor?"

Meanwhile a young woman nearby, with a fat, discontented face, regardedthe blonde with envy and thought:

"She's an actress with her maid. Why can't Harry allow me a maid, areal clever one like that? Men see these actresses on the stage and getto expecting things from their wives--without being willing to pay forit! Think what that girl could make of me!"

A quiet, able-looking woman sitting just across the aisle, who travelledfor a clothing store, was watching the "maid, " the brunette, and wasthinking, "She makes her clothes herself. She has been the beauty ofher small town. She's smart, too, and original. That collar was aclever idea--and that fichu of lace. A pity she's in mourning. "

But the large fat man behind the two girls had little thought for thebrunette. His heavy eyes, quite motionless, were upon the older girl. He took in her sensuous shoulders, the rounded contour of her bust, herglossy coiffure, the small, fine hairs at the back of her neck. And hethought, "Yes, she has been loved pretty well. " She was talking, and hecould just hear her voice, soft and provocative, like the little glovedhand on her chair. By her eyes, which were of a violet hue, he saw shewas aware of his gaze. Something gleamed in them that sent a thrill fardown into his sluggish soul. 

In the meantime a kindly old lady, whose eyes were fixed on thebrunette, noticed how hard she was listening, noticed the freshexpectancy in her parted lips and clear brown eyes, and asked with atouch of sadness:

"I wonder what's waiting for you in New York? I'm afraid I don't likethis companion of yours. And you're so very young, my dear, and eagerand gay. And you are to be so beautiful. "

And while all these conjectures were being made about them both, thebrunette was wrapt in her own inner fancies, vivid and exciting. Listening to her sister, swift thoughts and expectations mingled withthe memories of the life behind her. As she stared out of the window, fields and woods and houses kept whirling back out of her view--and soit was with her memories. It was hard to keep hold of any one. 

She had lived with her father, a lonely old man in a small, quiet townin Ohio, down in the lower part of the State. He was dead, and she wasgoing to live with her married sister in New York. He was dead and hisdaughter was not sad, though she'd been his only close companion and hadloved him tenderly. And this brought a guilty feeling now, which shefought down by telling herself there had been little sadness in hisdeath. She pictured her father making his speech at the unveiling ofthe Monument. How happy and proud he had appeared. For half his lifeold Colonel Knight had exhorted his fellow townsmen and painted dark theshame of their town: "The only county seat in Ohio with no soldiers'monument, sir!" He had held countless meetings, he had gone begging tohis neighbours, and every dollar he himself could save had gone intothat dream of his. At last he had triumphed; and after all theexcitement of his final victory, the old soldier had made his speech, and died. 

Around him and the monument and the old frame house on River Street, thelazy, shallow river, the high school near the court house, Demley'sTavern across the square, the line of shops on either side, the new"movie" theatre of pink tile, and the old yellow church on thecorner--the pictures of her life trooped by, the pictures of her lastfew years--with the miracle, the discovery that she herself, EthelKnight, who had always been considered "plain, " was slowly nowdeveloping into a beautiful woman. That brought memories whichthrilled--various faces of men, young and old, looks and glances, wordsoverheard, and countless small attentions. But these came in merefragments, rising only to be whirled back again into the past, as thetrain sped on toward the city. 

She was going to live in New York with her married sister, Amy Lanier. And from looking out of the car window, Ethel would turn quickly, throwa swift glance at her sister and smile. Amy seemed quite wonderful--Amywith her elegance, her worldly assurance, her smiling good-humour andknowledge of "life, " her apparent content, her sense of well being, ofbeing a joy to look at and love; Amy who had an adoring husband, Amy whospent money like water, Amy with dash and beauty and style. 

"New York just fairly shimmering in everything she wears!" thoughtEthel. 

Amy's sable cloak was long. She had worn it at the funeral, with ablack skirt and a heavy veil. But the veil she had put into her bag assoon as they had left the town, and the cloak thrown back revealed richcolours, the glitter and glint of a diamond brooch; and she wore a smallblue feathered hat which threw out changing colours in the play of lightin the car. There was to be no more mourning. Amy didn't believe inthat; she was good-humouredly arguing her young sister out of it. AndEthel, smiling back at her, saw how sensible it was. She felt death andsadness slipping away, and the life in the city opening. 

Since Amy's marriage five years ago, Ethel had only seen her twice--oncewhen Amy had come home, appearing resplendent with Joe her husband in alarge new touring car, and had sent a wave of excitement through thequiet little town; and again when she had asked Ethel to visit her for aweek in New York. That had been a glamourous week, but it had not beenrepeated. For nearly three years they had not met. In that time hadcome the change in Ethel's own appearance. And glancing now at Amy, sheread in those clear, smiling eyes that Amy was relieved and pleased andsurprised at the striking beauty which had come to her young sister. There was even a tone of expectancy in Amy's talk of their life in NewYork. 

"She thinks I'll get on finely!" This exciting thought kept risingrepeatedly in Ethel's mind. And with it came the sturdy resolve, "Imustn't be too humble now, or too dependent on her. I must show her I'msomebody all by myself--that I won't be a burden on her hands. I've gotto make a life of my own--find work perhaps--or marry!"

Then all such resolutions would merge in the images vivid and new, whichkept rising in her mind, of the life she would have in the city. 

She had a good voice. Old Mr. Riggs, the organist in the yellow churchat home, had planted that idea deep in her mind. If only her voicecould be brought out! She hadn't much money for teachers, but how shewould work if she got a chance! In her heart she knew she had no greatvoice, but gaily she let her fancy go and pictured herself on the stage. . . . This image passed and was replaced by a platform in an immenseauditorium crowded with cheering women and girls. Suffrage banners wereall about, and she was speaking to the crowd. Her voice rang clear andresolute. . . . There were other dreams and pictures--of dances inNew York cafés, of theatre parties, trips to Paris, hosts of friends. And the vague thought flashed into her mind:

"What possibilities for life--in me--me--Ethel Knight!"

She went on listening, building. She took in fragments of what Amy saidand mingled them with things she had read and pictures she'd seen inbooks, magazines and Sunday papers; or with things that she had heard inthe long discussions in her club of high school girls, over suffrage, marriage, Bernard Shaw. She thought of the opera, concerts, plays. Shesaw Fifth Avenue at night agleam with countless motors, torrents oftempestuous life--and numberless shop windows, hats and dainty gowns andshoes. She pictured herself at dinners and balls, men noticing hereverywhere. "As they are doing now, " she thought, "this very minute inthis car!" Out of all the pictures rose one of a church wedding. Andthen this picture faded, and changed to that of her father's funeral inthe old frame yellow church. She frowned, her brown eyes saddened andsuddenly grew wet with a deep homesick tenderness. But in a few momentsshe smiled again; once more her pulse-beat quickened. For Amy wastalking good-humouredly. And Ethel's eyes, now curious, now plainlythrilled, now quizzical, amused and pleased, kept watching her, and sheasked herself:

"Shall I ever be like that?"

The picture she had of her sister grew each moment more warm anddesirable. Eagerly she explored it by the quick questions she threwout. 

They were coming into the city now, in a dusk rich with twinklinglights. In the car the passengers were stirring. Amy stood up to bebrushed--sleek and alluring, worldly wise--and the fat man in the chairbehind her opened wide his heavy eyes. Then Ethel stood up--and in thepoise of her figure, slim and lithe with its lovely lines, in hercarriage, in her slender neck, in her dark face with its features clear, her lips a little parted, and in the look in her brown eyes--there wassomething which made glances turn from all down the softly lighted car. There was even a brief silence. And Ethel drew a sudden breath, as fromclose behind her the soft voice of the darky porter drawled:

"Yes'm--yes'm--dis is New York. We's comin' right into de station now. "

CHAPTER II

"Well, Ethel my love, we're here at last! . . . It must be aftermidnight. I wonder when I'll get to sleep? . . . Not that I careespecially. What a quaint habit sleeping is. "

She had formed the habit long ago of holding these inner conversations. Her father had been a silent man, and often as she faced him at mealsEthel had talked and talked to herself in quite as animated a way asthough she were saying it all aloud. Now she sat up suddenly in bed andturned on the light just over her head, and amiably she surveyed herroom. It was a pretty, fresh, little room with flowered curtains, ablue rug, a luxurious chaise longue and a small French dressing table. Very cheerful, very empty. "It looks, " she decided, "just like the bedfeels. I'm the first fellow who has been here. 

"No, " she corrected herself in a moment, "that's very ignorant of you, my dear. This is a New York apartment, you know. All kinds of otherfellows have been in this room ahead of me; and they've lain awake bythe hour here, planning how to get married or divorced, or getting readyto write a great book or make a million dollars, or sing in grand operaor murder their child. All the things in the newspapers have beenarranged in this spot where I lie! Now I'll turn out the light, " sheadded, "and sink quietly to rest!"

But in the dark she lay listening to the strange low hub-hub fromoutside. And it made her think of what she had seen an hour before, when at the open window, resting her elbows on the sill, she had begunto make her acquaintance with her backyard--a yawning abyss of brick andcement which went down and down to cement below, and up and up to astrip of blue sky, and to right and to left went stretching away withrows and rows of windows. And now as the murmurs and quick low cries, piano music, a baritone voice and a sudden burst of laughter, came toher ears, she gravely named her neighbours:

"Wives and husbands, divorcees, secret lovers, grafters, burglars, suffragettes, actresses and anarchists and millionaires and poor youngthings--all spending a quiet evening at home. And that's so sensible inyou all. You'll need your strength for tomorrow. "

From the city far and near came numberless other voices. From streetcars, motors and the L, from boats far off on the river this calm andstill October night, from Broadway and from Harlem and the many teemingslums, came the vast murmuring voice of the town. And she thought:

"I'm becoming a part of all this!" She listened a little and added, "Itbreathes, like something quite alive. " She smiled and added approvingly, "Quite right, my dear, just breathe right on. But don't go and breatheas though you were sleeping. Keep me company tonight. "

Suddenly she remembered how in their taxi from the train, as they hadsped up Park Avenue all agleam with its cold blue lights and she hadchattered gaily of anything that came into her head, twice she hadcaught in her sister's eyes that glimmer of expectancy. "Amy feels sureI will be a success!" Ethel thrilled at the recollection, and thought, "Oh, yes, you're quite a wag, my love; and as soon as you get over beingso young you'll probably make a name for yourself. No dinner orsuffrage party will ever again be quite complete without your droll dryhumour. . . . I suppose I ought to be going to sleep!"

And she yawned excitedly. From somewhere far in the distance there cameto her ears the dull bellowing roar of an ocean liner leaving dock atone o'clock to start the long journey over the sea. 

"I'm going to Paris, too!" she resolved. Her fancy travelled over theocean and roamed madly for awhile, with the help of many photographswhich she had seen in magazines. But she wearied of that and soonreturned. 

"Well, what do I think of Amy's home?"

She went over in her memory her eager inspection of the apartment. Therooms had been dark when they arrived; for they had not been expected sosoon, and a somewhat dishevelled Irish maid had opened the door and letthem in. With a quick annoyed exclamation, Amy had switched on thelights; and room after room as it leaped into view had appeared toEthel's eyes like parts of a suite in some rich hotel. And although asher sister went about moving chairs a bit this way and that and puttingthings on the table to rights, it took on a little more the semblance ofsomebody's home, still that first impression had remained in Ethel'smind. 

"People have sat in this room, " she had thought, "but they haven't livedhere. They haven't sewed or read aloud or talked things out and out andout. "

To her sister she had been loud in her praise. What a perfectly lovelyroom it was, what a wonderful lounge with the table behind it, and whatlamps, what a heavenly rug and how well it went with the curtains! WhenAmy lighted the gas logs, Ethel had drawn a quick breath of dismay. Butthen she had sharply told herself:

"This isn't an old frame house in Ohio, this is a gay little place inNew York! You're going to love it, living here! And you're pretty muchof a kid, my dear, to be criticizing like an old maid!" She had goneinto Amy's room, and there her mood had quickly changed. For thecurtains and the deep soft rug, the broad low dressing table with itsdrop-light shaded in chintz, the curious gold lacquered chair, thepowder boxes, brushes, trays, the faint delicious perfume of the place;and back in the shadow, softly curtained, the low wide luxuriousbed--had given to her the feeling that this room at least was personal. Here two people had really lived--a man and a woman. There had comeinto Ethel's brown eyes a mingling of confused delight and awkwardadmiration. And her sister, with a quick look and a smile, had lost theslightly ruffled expression her face had worn in the other rooms. Shehad regained her ascendancy. 

It had not been until Ethel was left in her own small room adjoining, that with an exclamation of remembrance and surprise she had stoppedundressing, opened her door and listened in the silence. "How perfectlyuncanny!" Frowning a moment, puzzled, her eye had gone to the only otherroom in the apartment, down at the end of the narrow hall. The door hadbeen closed. She had stolen to it and listened, but at first she hadnot heard a sound. Then she had given a slight start, had knockedsoftly and asked, "May I come in?" A woman's voice with a hostile notehad replied, "Yes, ma'am. " She had entered. And a moment later, downon her knees before a grave little girl of two who sat at a tiny tablesoberly having her supper, Ethel had cried:

"Oh, you adorable baby!"

For a time she had tried to make friends with the child, but the voiceof the nurse had soon cut in. And in the motherly Scotch face Ethel haddetected again a feeling of hostility. "What for?" she had asked. Andthe answer had flashed into her mind. "She's angry because Amy hasn'tbeen in to see Susette. " And Ethel had frowned. "It's funny. If I hadbeen away three days--"

She had gone back to her own room and began slowly to take off herthings. And a few minutes after that, she had heard a gruff kindlyvoice, a man's heavy tread and a glad little cry from Amy's room. 

"Joe has come home, " she had told herself. "I wonder how he and I willget on. "

And she had met him a little later with no slight uneasiness. But thishad been at once dispelled. Rather tall and full of figure, with thickcurling hair and close-cut moustache, Joe Lanier at thirty-five stillgave to his young sister-in-law the impression of kindly friendlinessshe had had from him some years before. There was nothing to be afraidof in Joe. But she had noticed the change in his face, the slightlytightened harassed expression. And she had thought:

"You poor man. How hard you have been working. "

And yet she could not say he looked tired, for at dinner his talk hadbeen almost boyish in its welcoming good humour. Later he had drawn heraside and had said with a touch of awkwardness:

"No use in talking about it, of course. I just want you to know I'm soglad you're here. " She had clutched his hand:

"That's nice of you, Joe. " And then she had turned from him, and with asudden quiver inside she had added quite inaudibly: "Oh, Dad, dearest!I'm so homesick! Just this minute--if I could be back!"

But she had liked Joe that evening. 

She remembered the hungry light in his eyes. He and Amy had soon goneto their room. And as Ethel thought about them now, lying here alone inthe dark she felt again that vague delight and confused expectancy. 

"How much of all this is coming to me? . . Everything, I guess, butsleep!"

A wisp of her hair fell on her nose, and she blew it back with avicious, "Pfew!"

CHAPTER III

Her first month in town was a season of shopping and of warmanticipations--and then came a sudden crash. Afterward it was hard toremember. For tragedy entered into these rooms, and it was not easy tolook back and see them clearly as they had been. That first monthbecame confused, the memories uneven; in some spots clear and vivid, inothers hazy and unreal. 

"I want you to be gay, my dear, " Amy told her at the start. "You'vebeen through such a lonely time. And what earthly good will it do poorDad to have you go about in black? You're here now and you've got tomake friends and a place for yourself. If he were alive I know he'dagree. He'd want you to have every chance. "

So they started in to shop. And though Ethel had her memories, hermoods of homesick longing for the old soldier who was gone, these soonbecame less frequent. There was little time to be lonely or sad. 

Amy herself felt new youth these days. Relieved of the first uneasinesswith which she had gone to Ohio to bring her young sister to New York, surprised and delighted at finding how the awkward girl she had knownhad developed since the last time they had met, Amy now took Ethel aboutto get her "clothes fit to be seen in. " And as with intent littleglances she kept studying "Ethel's type" in order to set off her charms, the slightly bored expression, the look of disillusionment left Amy'spretty countenance. For Ethel's freshness had given to Amy new zest andbelief in her own life, in its purpose and importance. To get Ethelclothes, to show her about, to find her friends, to give her a gaywinter in town and later to make a good match for her--these aims loomedlarge in Amy's mind. She felt her own youth returning, and sheprolonged this period. She wanted Ethel all to herself. She even shuther husband out. 

"You can rest up a bit, " she told him, "for what's coming later on. " AndJoe, with a good-natured groan at the prospect of late hours ahead, madethe most of the rest allowed to him. 

Each morning the two sisters fared forth in a taxi. And Amy began toreveal to her sister the dazzling world of shops in New York: shopslarge and small, American, French and English, shops for gowns and hatsand shoes, and furs and gloves and corsets. At numberless counters theystudied and counselled, and lunching at Sherry's they shopped on. Andthe shimmer and sheen of pretty things made life a glamourous mirage, inwhich Ethel could feel herself rapidly becoming a New Yorker, gainingassurance day by day, feeling "her type" emerge in the glass where shestudied herself with impatient delight. 

There were little reminders now and then of what she had left behindher. One day in a department store, as they stood before a counterlooking at silk stockings, all at once to Ethel's ears came the deeptones of an organ, and turning with a low cry of surprise she lookedover the bustling throngs of women to an organ loft above, where a girlwas singing a solo in a high sweet soprano voice. In a flash to Ethel'smind there came a vivid picture of the old yellow church at home. Andwith a queer expression looking about her at the crowds, she exclaimed, "How funny!" She was again reminded of church when one afternoon in alarge darkened chamber she sat with scores of women whose eyes werefixed as though in devotion upon a softly lighted stage where "models"kept appearing. What lovely figures some of them had. Others rathertook her breath, and gave her the feeling she'd had before in hersister's bedroom. But then as her eye was caught again by the raptfaces all about, she chuckled to herself and thought, "There ought to becandles and incense here!"

She was appalled at the prices. And as the exciting days wore on, uneasily in her room at night she would sit down with pencil and paperand ask, "How much did I spend today?" Her father had left her nothingbut the shabby old frame house. This she had sold to a friend of his, and the small fund thus secured she had resolved to husband. 

"Oh, Ethel, go slow, you little fool. This is every penny you have inthe world. "

But the adorable things she saw, and the growing hunger she felt as shebegan to notice with a more discerning eye the women in shops and on thestreets--just why they were so dashing and how they got this and thateffect--all swept aside her caution, the easier because of the fact thateverything she bought was charged. 

One evening in a large café she sat watching Amy who was dancing withher husband. It was at the time when the new style dances were justcoming into vogue. In Ohio they had been only a myth. But Amy was abeautiful dancer; and watching her now, Ethel reflected, "She expects meto be like that. If I'm not, she'll be disappointed, ashamed. And whyshouldn't I be! What do you ever get in this world if you're alwayssaving every cent? You miss your chance and then it's too late. I'llbe meeting her friends in a few weeks more. I've simply got to hurry!"And with Amy's dancing teacher she arranged for lessons--at a price thatmade her gasp. But the lessons were a decided success. 

"You've a wonderful figure for dancing, " the teacher said confidingly, "and a sense for rhythm that most of these women haven't any idea of. "He smiled down at her and she fairly beamed. 

"Oh, how nice!" sighed Ethel. Something in the little look whichflashed between them gave her a thrill of assurance. And this feelingcame again and again, in the shops and while she was seated at luncheonin some crowded restaurant, or on the streets or back at home, whereeven Joe was beginning to show his admiring surprise. 

"You're making a fine little job of it, " she heard him say to Amy onenight. 

She caught other remarks and glances from strangers, men and women. AndEthel now began to feel the whole vast bustling ardent town centred onwhat in her high-school club, as they read Bernard Shaw, they had quitefrankly and solemnly spoken of as "Sex. " All the work and the business, the scheming and planning and rush for money, were focussed on this. And for this she was attracting those swift admiring glances. What shewould be, what she wanted to be, what she now ardently longed to become, grew clearer to her day by day. For the picture was there before hereyes. Each day it grew more familiar, as at home in Amy's room shewatched her beautiful sister, a stranger no longer to her now, seated ather dressing table good-humouredly chatting, and meanwhile revealing bynumberless deft little things she was doing the secrets of clothes andof figure, and of cheeks and lips and eyes, with subtle hints behind itall of the ancient magic art of Pan. She felt Amy ceaselessly bringingher out. This gave her thrills of excitement. And looking at hersister she asked:

"Shall I ever be like that?"

And they kept talking, talking. And through it all the same feeling wasthere, the sense of this driving force of the town. 

With the sturdy independence which was so deep a part of her, Ethelstrove to hold up her end of these intent conversations and show thatshe had views of her own. She was no old-fashioned country girl, butmodern, something different! They had discussed things in her clubwhich would have shocked their mothers, discussed them long andseriously. They had spoken of marriage and divorce, of love and havingchildren, and then had gone eagerly on to suffrage, jobs and "mentalscience, " art, music and the rest of life. She had gathered there animage of New York as a glittering region of strong clever men andfascinating women, who not only loved to dance but held the mostbrilliant discussions at dinners livened by witty remarks--a place ofvistas opening into a world of great ideas. And now with her oldersister, she questioned her about it all, the art and all the"movements, " the "salons" and the clever talk. She asked:

"Do you know any suffragists? Do you know any men who write plays ornovels, or any musicians or painters--or actresses?" And again and againby an air of assurance Ethel tried to hide her dismay, as her sistersubtly made all this seem like a school-girl's fancies. 

"Yes, " Amy would say good-humouredly, "there are such people, Isuppose--plenty of them, all over town. And they talk and talk and holdmeetings, and they go to high-brow plays--and some women even work. Butit doesn't sound very thrilling, does it? I don't know. They neverseem to me quite real. "

And then Amy would go on to hint what did seem real to her in life. Andagain that picture of the town, all centred on what emerged from theshops and poured into the cafes to dance, was painted for her sister. 

But behind her smiling manner of one with an intimate knowledge of life, Amy would glance at the girl by her side in a curious, rather anxiousway. For vaguely she knew that years ago when she herself had come toNew York, she too had had dreams and imaginings of what her young sistercalled "the real thing. " And she knew that these had dropped away--atfirst in the struggle, which for her had been so intense and narrowing, to gain a foothold in the town; then through rebuffs from the cleverfriends of Joe Lanier when she married him; and later through a feelingof lazy acceptance of her lot. But Ethel's talk and Ethel's eyesrecalled what had been left behind. And Amy thought of her presentfriends, and again with a little uneasy pang she put off their meetingwith Ethel. For they did not seem good to her then, and the picture shefound herself painting of their lives and her own appeared a bit flatand trivial in the light of Ethel's eagerness. They dressed and wentshopping, they went to tea dances, they dined in cafés or in theirhomes, rushed off in taxis to musical plays, and had supper and danced. They loved and were loved, they "played the game. "

"My dear, " she said decisively, "it's not what you say that interestsmen; it's how you look and what you have on. "

But despite her air of assurance and her own liking of her life, shefelt the picture growing flat, and so she added quietly:

"Oh, my friends aren't all I'd like. They never are, if you've anythingin you. If you really want to be somebody--" and here her wholeexpression changed to one of resolute faith in herself--"you need justone thing, money. And you can't do anything about that, you have towait for your husband. Joe's a dear, of course, and he's working hard. And he's getting it, too, he's getting it!" A gleam of hunger almostfierce came into her clear violet eyes. "I want a largerapartment--I've picked out the very one. And I want a car, a limousine. I know just how I'll paint it a mauve body with white wheels. And Iwant a house on Long Island. I've picked out the very spot--just nextto Fanny Carr's new place. "

As her sister spoke of these ideals, again Ethel had that feeling ofchurch, but only for a moment. 

"Who's Fanny Carr?" she asked alertly. 

Amy was slowly combing her hair, and she smiled with kindly tolerance, for her little confession had brought back her faith in herself and herfuture. 

"Fanny was a writer once--"

"Oh, really!"

"Yes. She ran a department on one of the papers. " It had been the dresspattern page, but Amy did not mention that. Instead she yawnedcomplacently. "Oh, she dropped it quick enough--she thought it rathertiresome. She's one of the cleverest women I know. She'd have got along way up in the world, if it weren't for her second husband--"

"Her second?"

"Yes. The first one didn't do very well. She told me once, 'If youwant to get on, change your name at least once in every three years. 'Her second, as it happened, was no better than the first. But she wasclever enough by then to get an able lawyer; and when it came to thedivorce, Fanny succeeded in keeping the house, the one out on LongIsland. "

"Oh, " said Ethel tensely. Her sister shot a look at her. 

"I don't care especially for Fanny's ideas about husbands, " she said. "But at least she has a love of a home. " And Amy went on to explain toher sister the value and importance of being able to give "week ends. "Again the gleam came into her eyes. 

"It's money, my dear, it's money. They are the same women in Newportexactly--just like all the rest of us--only they are richer. That'sall--but it is everything. Put me in a big house out there, and myfriends wouldn't know me in a few years. "

A cloud came on her face as she looked in the glass. 

"But that's just the trouble. A few years more and I'll be too late. You've got to get there while you're young. And there's so little time. You lose your looks. It's all very well for some women to talk aboutideas and things--and travel and--and children. I did, too, I talked alot--oh, how I wanted everything! But one has to narrow down. Thankheaven, Ethel, you've years ahead. I've only got a few more left--I'malready thirty-one. And my type ages fast in this town, if you do thethings you're expected to do. But you--oh, Ethel, I want you to marrywell! Not a millionaire--that's rather hard, and besides he'd probablybe too fat--but the kind who will be a millionaire, who has it writtenall over his face and makes you feel it in his voice! Don't sellyourself too cheap, my dear! Don't go running about with men who'llkeep you poor for the rest of your days. They talk so well--some ofthem do; and it sounds so fine--ideas and books and pictures and--I knewone who was an architect. And it's all very well for later on, but whatyou've got to do right at the start--while you have the looks andyouth--is to find the man who can give you a house where all those otherpeople will be tumbling to get in--because you'll have the money--you'llbe able to entertain--and give them what they really want--in spite ofall their talking. "

Once more, with a weary sigh, she dropped the religious intensity, andsmiled as she wistfully added:

"That's where some man can put you. They do, you know, they do it. Some man does it every day. You can see his name in the papers. Dozensof wives get to Newport each year. And what do they do it on? Money!

"That's romance enough for me, my dear. And if you want work and acareer, the most fascinating kind I know is to study the man you'vemarried--find what's holding him back and take it away--what's pushinghim on and help it grow! You've got to narrow, narrow down! You maywant a lot of children. They're loves, of course, to have around. Butyou run a big risk in that. I could give you so many cases--mothers whohave just dropped out. If you want to really get on in this town, you've got to stick to your husband and make your husband stick to you!There are things about that you will learn soon enough. It comes sonaturally, once you are in it--married, I mean. And that's your hold. 

"And if you love him as I love Joe, " she added almost in a whisper, "youfind it so easy that often you forget what it is you're trying to do, what you're really doing it for. You're just happy and you shut youreyes. But then you wake up and use it all--everything--to drive him on. You can do that while you are still young and have what he wants--thelooks, I mean--and can make him see that any number of other men wouldbe glad to step into his shoes. But you give them only just enough tokeep your husband from feeling too safe. You hold them off, you makehim feel that he's everything to you if he'll work and give you what youought to have! And unless you're a fool you don't listen to this talkof women's rights and women doing the work of men. You keep on your ownground and play the game. And you keep making him get what youneed--before it's too late!" All at once she gave a sharp little laugh. "It's a kind of a race, you see, " she said. 

The night after this talk, Ethel lay in her bed, and tried to rememberand think it out. How new and queer and puzzling. So many vistas shehad dreamed of had been closed on every hand. 

"What's the matter with me?"

The matter was that her old ideals and standards were being torn up bythe roots, roots that went deep down into the soil of life in the townin Ohio. But Ethel did not think of that. She scowled and sighed. 

"Well, this is real! I was dreaming! And after all, this is much thesame, but different in the way you get it. This is New York. One thingis sure, " she added. "Amy needs every dollar Joe can make--and she mustnot have me on her hands. I've got to find what I really want--a job ora man--and be quick about it!"

It threw a tinge of uneasiness into those breathless shopping tours. And it changed her attitude toward Joe. He had not counted for much atfirst; he had been a mere man of business; and business men had hadlittle place in her dreams of friends in the city. But watching him nowshe changed her mind. 

Joe Lanier was what is called "a speculative builder. " He was anarchitect, building contractor and real estate gambler, all in one. Heput up apartment buildings "on spec, " buildings of the cheaper sort, most of them up in the Bronx, and sold them at a profit--or a loss, asthe case might be. He dealt in the rapidly shifting values ofneighbourhoods in the changing town. "The gamble in it is the fun, " heremarked to Ethel one evening. Joe was just the kind of a man, as Amyhad told her sister, to make a big sudden success of his work. Unfortunately he was tied to a partner, Nourse by name, who held himback. This man Amy keenly disliked. She said that Nourse was a perfectgrind, a heavy tiresome creature who thought business was everything inthe world. 

"Sometimes I really believe he forgets it's for making money, " Amydeclared. "He's as anxious about it as an old hen, and he wants itsteady as a cow. He detests me, as I do him. He has stopped cominghere, thank heaven. And the time is not so far away when I'll make Joesee that he's got to lose his partner. "

Joe's image gained steadily in importance to Ethel's awakening eyes. Ofhis force as a man, all that she saw made her more and more certain thatAmy was right. Joe was the kind who was bound to succeed. He not onlyworked hard, his work was a passion. At night and on Sunday mornings hecould sit for hours absorbed in the tiresome pages of real estate newsin his paper. He went out for strolls in the evenings; one night heasked Ethel to come along; and his talk to her about buildings, thegrowth of the city by leaps and bounds, now in this direction, now inthat, caught her imagination at once. Joe felt the town as a livingthing, as she had felt it that first night. Different? Yes, this wasbusiness. But even business, to her surprise, as Joe saw and felt it, had a strange thrilling romance of its own. 

And she soon noticed something else that drew her to Joe. Almost everyevening he would sit down at his piano and start playing idly. As arule he played dance music, popular songs from Broadway. But sometimesleaning back he would drift into other music. And though his hand wouldbungle and only sketch it, so to speak--in his black eyes, scowlingslightly over the smoke of his cigar, would come a look which Ethelliked. But vaguely she felt that Amy did not, that it even made heruneasy. For almost invariably at such times, Amy would come behind him, her plump softly rounded arm would find its way down over hisshoulder--and little by little the music would change and would comeback to Broadway. 

When Joe heard one evening that Ethel was "mad to learn to sing, " hetook her by the arm at once and marched her over to the piano. And theyhad quite a session together--till Amy suggested going out to a newcabaret she had heard of that day. Her voice sounded hurt and strained. And Ethel from that night on dropped all mention of singing. 

Her curiosity deepened toward this city love affair, this husband andwife who apparently had left so many things out of their lives, thingsvital in the Ohio town. The sober wee girl in the nursery kept just asquiet as before. Often Ethel opened that door and went in and tried tomake friends with its grave shy little inmate and the hostile nurse. And returning to her room she would frown and wonder for a time. Butthe pretty things piling in from the shops, and the gay anticipations, soon crowded such questioning out of her mind. Swiftly this householdwas growing more real, the rooms familiar, intimate; the day's routinewith its small events were becoming parts of her life. Her own room wasfamiliar now, for by many touches she'd made it her own. And thedining-room and the living room, where she grew acquainted with Joe, these too assumed an intimate air. Most of all, her sister's room grewmore and more vivid in her thoughts, though this was still far fromfamiliar, It held too much, it meant too much. 

"Shall I ever live with a man like that?"

The way they looked at each other at times! The way they seemed keepingwatch on each other. If Joe were out very late at night, Amy wouldalmost invariably grow uneasy and absentminded, and there would be achallenging note in the way she greeted him on his return. On one suchoccasion Ethel was in Amy's room. She went out when Joe came in; but aqueer little gasping sigh behind gave her a start and a swift thrill, for although she did not turn around she knew they were in each other'sarms. And again, late one afternoon when the sisters came home andfound Joe at work with a tired anxious look on his face, his wife cameup behind him. And the picture of her small gloved hand upon Joe'sheavy shoulder remained in Ethel's memory. It seemed so soft and yet sostrong. 

"She can do anything with him she likes. When I marry somebody how willit be?"

Upon the living-room mantel was a photograph of Amy. And on the smoothand pretty face with the lips slightly parting, and in the smilingviolet eyes, there was the expression of something which Ethel did notquite name to herself--for she had forgotten the night long ago in herhigh-school club when they had sturdily tackled the word "sensual" andwhat it meant. But the picture grew familiar and real, filled in by theliving presence here of this woman who so carefully tended her beautifulbody, her glossy hair, her cheeks and lips; this sister with so manymoods, now intent and watchful, now good-humoured, indolent, nowexpectant, hungry, now smilingly content and gay. 

And as the picture grew more real, warm and close and thrilling, itsymbolized for Ethel that mysterious force which she could feel on everyside, driving the throngs of humanity--in this city where so many thingsshe had once deemed important were fading rapidly away. That hungryhope of a singer's career, that craving for work and self-education, trips to Paris, London, Rome, books, art and clever people, "salons, "brilliant discussions of life; and deeper still, those mysterious dreamsabout having children and making a home--all began to drop behind, soquietly and easily that she barely noticed the change. 

For this was happening in a few weeks, in the first whirl and excitementof those dazzling streets and shops, those models, gowns, hats, glovesand shoes. "It's not what you say that interests men--it's how you lookand what you have on. " The image of her sister grew vivid in Ethel'seager mind. And with it came the question, now ardent though still alittle confused:

"Shall I ever be like that?"

CHAPTER IV

Ethel had been about four weeks in town, and now she was to meet Amy'sfriends. Amy was giving a dinner the next evening in her honour; and tolet the cook and the waitress have a rest on the preceding night, Joetook Amy and Ethel out to dine in a café. His business had gone wellthat week and Joe was a genial husband. They had a sea-food supper andlater he took them to a play. When they came home, Ethel went to herroom, for she felt very tired. It was not long before she was asleep. 

She was awakened by Joe, half dressed. 

"Amy is sick!" he said sharply. "Go in and help her, will you? I'lltry to get a doctor!"

On Amy's bed, a little later, Ethel saw a face so changed from the oneof a few hours before, that she felt her heart jump into her throat. Amy's face was ugly and queer, distorted by frequent spasms of pain. But worse was the terror in her eyes. 

"Ethel, I think I'm dying!" she cried. "Something I ate--it poisonedme!" There was a violent catch in her breath. 

"Amy! Why, you poor little darling!" Ethel held her sister tight, askedquick anxious questions and did things to relieve her, but with littleor no success. It seemed hours till Joe came back. With him was adoctor, who made an examination and then took Joe into the hall. Ethelfollowed anxiously. She heard the doctor questioning Joe, and she heardhim say:

"I'm afraid it's ptomaine. 

"What does _that_ mean?" Joe fiercely inquired. But before Ethel couldhear the reply she was called back into the bedroom, where on her bedwith both hands clenched Amy was saying:

"I can't bear this! Make him give me something--quick!"

The rest of the night was a blur and a haze, of which Joe was thecentre--Joe half crazed and impatient, making impossible demands. 

"You can't get a nurse in a minute, my friend, at five A. M. , " thedoctor cried. "I'm doing my best, if you'll give me a chance!"

The fight went on. The nurse arrived, and turning to Ethel the doctorsaid, "Get him out of this. " And she took Joe into the living-room. Butthere with a sudden curse and a groan he began to walk the floor. 

"This doctor--what do we know of him? He was all I could find! Wehaven't been to a doctor in years! . . . Ah--that's it!" And he wentto the telephone, where in a few moments she heard him saying tensely, "Bill, old man, I'm in trouble. " And she thought, "It's his partner. "

"What have you done?" she asked him. 

"Got Bill Nourse on the 'phone. He's bringing another doctor. "

"But Joe! You should have asked this one first!"

"Should I?" was his distracted reply. 

The second physician soon arrived, and was as surprised and annoyed asthe first one when he found how he had been summoned. In a moment withangry apologies he was backing out of the door. But Joe caught his arm. 

"You two and your etiquette be damned! Go in and look at that woman!"he cried. And with a glance into Joe's eyes, the second doctor turnedto the first, muttered, "Hold this man. He's crazy "--and went into thebedroom. 

It was long before Ethel forgot the look that appeared on Joe's facewhen the second physician came out and said:

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. "

She went in with Joe to Amy. And her sister looked so relieved, thelines of pain all smoothed away. Heavily drugged, she was nearlyasleep. Her hand felt for Joe's and closed on it, and with a littlenestling movement of her soft lovely body she murmured smiling:

"Oh, so tired and sleepy now. "

Again, in spite of her grief and fright, Ethel noticed how her sister'shand closed on that of her husband. In the months and years thatfollowed, she recalled it vividly so many times. 

Joe sat there long after Amy was dead. 

The doctor signed to Ethel to come into the living-room. 

"Are you to be in charge?" he asked. She looked at him and shivered. She felt a pang of such loneliness as she had never known before. 

"I know nobody--nothing--I don't know how you arrange, " she said. "I'veonly been a month in town. "

The doctor gave her a curious look of pity and uneasiness. It was asthough he had told her, "I'm sorry, but don't count on me for help. I'mbusy. This is New York, you know. " He said:

"I'll see to the undertaker. " She shivered again, and he added, "Don'tyou know some older woman here?"

This reminded her of the dinner which Amy was to have given that night. A lump rose in her throat. She waited a moment and then she said:

"Yes, I know of several. "

"That's good. You'd better send for them. " And soon afterward hehurried away. 

But just as Ethel was rising to go to the telephone, there was a ring atthe door. She opened it, and a tall man, rather stooped, with iron greyhair and moustache, a lean but rather heavy face and deep-set impassiveeyes, came in and said:

"I'm Joe's partner--Nourse, you know. How is it going? Better?"

"She's dead. "

"God!" With that low exclamation, she thought she saw a gleam of shockbut then of triumph come in his eyes. He went into Joe's room, andclosed the door; and with a mingling of relief and of sharp hostilityshe felt at once how she was shut out. Who was she but a stranger now?She thought of Amy, and with a quick cry Ethel began to walk up and downin a scared hunted fashion. She stopped with a sudden resoluteclenching of her teeth, and said, "Now I've got to do something! If Idon't, I'll go right out of my mind!" But what? She stared about her, then went to the windows and threw back the curtains. It was well alongtoward noon. Daylight flooded into the room, with one yellow path oflight which came down from the distant sun. 

"I'll go out and get her some flowers. "

When she came back a half hour later, Ethel still had that resolutelook. The door of Joe's room was still closed and she saw Nourse's hatin the hall. She turned and went to the telephone, stopped and frowned. 

"Yes, that's the next thing. "

She called up Amy's friend Fanny Carr. But at the sound of the woman'svoice which came back over the wire, Ethel gave a start of dismay. Forit had a jarring quality, and although it was prompt in its exclamationsof shocked surprise and sympathy and proffers of help--the words, "Youpoor child, I'll come over at once!"--made Ethel inwardly beseech her, "Oh, no, no! Please stay away!" Aloud she said, "Thank you, " put up thereceiver and stood staring at the wall. Was this Amy's best friend?

"I want some one I know!" She thought of Susette. She went at once tothe nursery, kissed the wee girl and sat down on the floor. And as theybuilt a house of blocks, Ethel could feel herself softening, thestrained tight sensation going. Suddenly in her hot dry eyes she feltin a moment the tears would come. 

"What's to become of me and this child?"

She turned with a start and met the unfriendly eyes of the nurse. Theyhad a jealous light in them. 

"You'll stay here, of course, " said Ethel. "Surely you are not thinkingof going--"

"No. Are you?"

A little cold sensation struck into her spine at the tone of thatquestion. 

"I haven't decided yet on my plans. Hadn't you better take Susette outto the Park?"

"All right. "

"And keep her there as much as you can--till it's over. "

"All right, " said the nurse again. 

Ethel went out of the room. Were there only strangers here?

Just after that Fanny Carr arrived, and Ethel had a feeling at once of ashrewd strong personality. A woman of about medium height, still youngbut rather over-developed, artificial and overdressed, with a full bustand thick red lips and lustrous eyes of greenish grey--her beauty was ofthe obtrusive type that is made to catch the eye on the street and innoisy crowded rooms. When Fanny kissed her, Ethel shrank. "I mustn'tdo that!" she exclaimed to herself. But the other woman had noticed itand shot a little look at her. 

"You poor girl. I can't tell you how sorry I feel, " she was saying. "It's horrible. Tell me about it. "

And Ethel in a lifeless voice recounted the tragedy of the night. 

"Where's Joe?"

"In there, with his partner. "

"Oh, Mr. Nourse. He would be. " Mrs. Carr threw a glance of dislike atthe door. "And you, my dear--I won't ask you now what are your plans. Just let me help you. What can I do? There's that dinner tonight, tobegin with. Have you let the people know?"

"Not yet--"

"Have you a list of the ones who were asked?"

"I think there's one on Amy's desk. "

"Then I'll attend to it. "

Soon Fanny was at the telephone. Her voice, hard and incisive, kepttalking, stopping, talking again, repeating it to friend after friend, and making it hard, abrupt and real, stripping it of its mystery, makingit naked and commonplace, like a newspaper item--Amy's death. And Ethelsat rigid, listening. 

"Amy's best friend! Oh, how strange!"

Suddenly she remembered things Amy had said about this friend--admiringthings. She bit her lips. 

"What a queer time for hating a person. But I hate you--oh, I hateyou!" She went to the window and frowned at the street and slowly againgot control of herself. "What's wrong with me? Why am I so dull Iought to be doing something. But what?" Again came the voice from thetelephone, and again she clenched her hands. "How did you make Amy takeyou for a friend? Oh, what difference does it make?"

But it did make a difference. The presence of Fanny got on her nerves;and when a little later two of the dinner guests arrived, to exclaim andpity and offer their help, she faced them and thought:

"You're all alike! You're all just hard and over-dressed! You'recheap! Oh, please--please go away!"

The two visitors seemed glad enough to find she did not want them here, that she was not going to cling to them and make this abyss she wasfacing a region they must face by her side. In their eyes again shecaught the look she had seen on the face of the doctor. "After all, this is not my affair. "

The two women left her. Fanny, too, soon went out on an errand. And noother woman came to her that day. How different from the Ohio town. Only once a girl came from the dressmaker's. 

But just after Fanny had gone out, Joe's partner came into theliving-room. In the last few hours several times she had heard hisvoice as he talked with Joe. Deep, heavy and gruff, it had yet revealeda tenderness that had given to Ethel a sudden thrill--which she hadforgotten the next moment, for her thoughts kept spinning so. But nowas he looked down at her she saw in his gaunt lean face a reflection ofthat tenderness; and there was a pity in his voice which set her lip toquivering. 

"The sooner we have this over, " he said, "the better it will be forJoe. "

"Yes. "

"Tomorrow!"

"Yes. "

"At four!"

"All right. "

"I'll see to it. "

"Thank you. " There was a pause. 

"Is there any special cemetery? You have any preference?" he asked. 

"I don't know any in New York. " And again there was a silence. 

"You haven't been here long, " he said. 

"You'll be going back now to your home, I suppose. "

"I haven't any. "

"Oh, " he said. She glanced up and saw a gleam of uneasiness in hissteady tired eyes. She shrank a little. 

"You have no relatives living?" he asked. 

"None that I care about, " she replied. She swallowed sharply. "They'rescattered--gone West. We lost track of them. "

"Oh. . . . Then do you intend to stay here?"

"For awhile--if Joe wants me. "

"I'll take care of Joe. " Though the voice was low, it had an anxiousjealous note which made her shiver slightly. 

"There's the child, " she reminded him sharply. "Why not take it away?"he asked. "Joe never cared for it, did he? Do you think it has beenhappy here?"

And at that she could have struck him. At her glare he turned away. 

"Forgive me. Of course I--should not have said that. " A pause. "Nortalked of your plans. I'm not myself. Sorry for Joe. Forgive me. " Heturned away from her, frowning. "I'll see to everything, " he said, andshe heard him leave the apartment. 

And all the rest of the day and the night and through the morning whichfollowed, no one else came but professional men, and Mrs. Carr. Shecame and went; and her voice grew familiar--hard, intrusive, naked. Andthe thought kept rising in Ethel's mind, like a flash of revelation inall the storm and blackness:

"This kind of a woman was Amy's best friend!"

The funeral was soon over, and of its ugly details only a few remainedin her mind. She had a glimpse of Amy's face down in the handsomecoffin, and at the sight she turned away with a swift pang ofself-reproach. "I shouldn't have let Fanny do that!" Fanny had dressedher sister. 

She remembered the low respectful voice of the building superintendent:"There's an afternoon tea on the floor below, so the casket and thefuneral guests had better go down by the freight elevator. "

She gave a strained little laugh at that and asked, "I wonder when I'llcry?"

The preacher, a tall kindly young man, came in and seemed about tospeak; but after a look at her face he stopped. He had come from achurch two blocks away. Joe and Amy had never been to his church, andit was Nourse who had brought him here. Nourse had learned of him fromthe undertaker. 

Several boxes of flowers came. 

Later from a milliner's shop two pretty autumn hats arrived. 

The guests began arriving--silent, awkward strangers--ten or twelve. 

She heard the nurse come in with Susette and take her back to thenursery. 

There was no music. Not a sound. 

At last the silence was broken by the minister's low voice. Thankheaven that was kindly. He was brief, and yet too long; for from theapartment one flight below, before he had finished, the festive throb ofa little orchestra was heard. 

He prayed just a minute or two. 

Then they followed the coffin out into the hall and back and down by thefreight elevator. 

A motor hearse was waiting below. 

When the burial was over, she came home alone with Joe. She sat in theliving-room watching his face, while the dusk grew mercifully deep. Then she made him eat some supper and take something to make him sleep. And later in her own small room she lay on her bed, dishevelled, tearless, her mind stunned, her feelings queer and uneven, now surgingup, now cold and still. 

"Where has she gone? What do I know? . . . What do I believe?Where is God? . . . What is life? What am I here for?"

With a pang she recalled the town in Ohio where she and Amy had beenborn, and her thoughts went drifting for awhile. Pictures floated inand out, pictures of her life at home. She was hungry for them now, theold stays and firm supports, the old frame house, her father and the Godin the yellow church, the quiet river, the high school and that friendlygroup of eager girl companions, with work, discussions, young ideals, plans and dreams of life and love. . . . All up by the roots in afew swift weeks!

"Shall I go back?" she asked herself. "Do I want to go--now that Dad isdead, and most of the girls have gone away, scattered all over thecountry?" Again she lapsed. "I'm too dull to think. " She let thepictures drift again. Church sociables, a Christmas tree, dances, suppers and buggy rides, picnics by the river. How small and veryfar-away and trivial they now appeared. All had pointed toward NewYork. "Go back and marry, settle down? Do I want to? No. And anyhow, there's Joe and Susette. My place is right here--and I'm going to stay. But what is it going to mean to me? What do I want in this city now?"

In the turmoil, startled, she looked about her for a purpose, someideal. But the old beliefs seemed dim; the new ones, garish andconfused. She recalled those faces of Amy's friends. "Yes, cheap andtough, for all their clothes!" Or was it just this ghastly time that hadmade them all appear so?

Again she thought of her sister dead. "Oh Amy--Amy! Where have yougone?" And at last, quite suddenly, the tears came, and she huddled andshook on her bed. 

CHAPTER V

She slept that night exhausted, woke up early the next morning and laymotionless on her bed: at first staring bewildered about the room, andthen, with a sharp contraction of her brows and a quick breath, lookingintently up at the ceiling. A vigilant look crept into her eyes, for atonce instinctively she was on guard against letting the feelings ofyesterday rise. 

"What a selfish little beast I've been. Did I help in the funeral? Nota bit. Did I comfort poor Joe? Not at all. I was occupied wholly withmy own morbid little soul. Now we're going to stiffen up, my love, andtry to be of some use to Joe, and do as Amy would have liked. " She beganto tremble suddenly. "No, we're not going to think of her! It'sdangerous! Be practical! To begin with, I must clear things up. I'llhave a little talk with Joe. Poor Joe--it's going to be prettydreadful. I'll stick by him, though, and I've got to learn how to keephim from going out of his mind. " More staring at the ceiling. "Onething I know. I shan't wear black. Amy detested mourning, and Joe willsee life black enough as it is. . . . Thank Heaven there's thehousekeeping to do. That shall run smoothly if it kills me! . . . All right, now suppose we get out of bed. "

About an hour later, from behind Amy's silver coffee pot, Ethel had hertalk with Joe. She felt ill, but she bit her lips and smiled. She haddressed her hair becomingly and had donned a blue silk waist, one of thecountless pretty things that she had bought with Amy. Her brown eyeshad a resolute brightness. 

"We'll have to help each other, " she said. "And there's Susette to bethought of. The best way, I guess, is not to try to do much planningahead just now. But I'd like to stay here if you want me, Joe. There'sno other place where I want to be. "

He gave her a grateful tired smile. His hair was a bit dishevelled, andover his blunt kindly face had come a haggard lost expression. Hisvoice was low:

"Thank you, Ethel--you're a brick. I want you here at first, God knows. Later I'll try to fix things so that you can feel more free. You'reonly a kid, with a life of your own. Big city, you know, and you'llfind your place. "

He stared over at the window, where the sun was streaming in. 

"Another cup of coffee, Joe?"

"No, thanks. " he rose slowly, and added, "Let's go now to--Amy'sdesk--and fix up the housekeeping part of it. "

Later he said, "I'll see the nurse and the other two maids and tell 'emthey're to take orders from you. " He paused a moment. "And Ethel--ifyou're to stay here, I want it to be as nearly like it was as I can. " hegave a wincing frown. "I mean on the money side, " he said. "I'll giveyou a check the first of each month. You'll need things of your own, ofcourse--as she did. I want it just like that. "

"Thank you, dear. " She saw a muscle in his cheek suddenly begin totwitch, and she thought, "It won't be easy. "

When Joe left for his office, she went with him to the door. 

She turned at once to the housekeeping. Her talks with the waitress andthe cook left her both a little relieved and a good deal disappointed. For there seemed to be nothing for her to do; she was made to feel thatthings would run best with the least possible interference. She learnedwith surprise that hitherto the cook had done all the ordering. 

"All I need to know is how many is coming, " said the cook. 

"There won't be any one for awhile. "

"Then it's very simple, ma'am. " On the woman's face was a look whichsaid, "Just you keep out of my kitchen. "

It was the same in her talk with the nurse. That tall gaunt creaturebriefly explained that, "Mrs. Lanier bought clothes Spring and Fall, and then she left the child to me. I go out every Thursday and everyother Sunday--afternoon and evening. Lucy the waitress takes my place. The rest of the time I've managed alone. " She looked around in a jealousway and asked, "I suppose you'll want things as before?"

"Yes, for the present, " Ethel said. She felt the woman glance at hersharply as she turned toward the door. 

She went into her sister's room, sat down and had a little cry. But thesunlight was streaming in through the pretty chintz curtains there; andits softness and its ease, its luxury and blithe content, stole into herspirit and quieted her. She sat looking about. 

"What is there for me to do?"

It came over her that the cook and the nurse could tell her just aboutwhat they pleased. She had no means of checking them up, for Amy hadnever talked of such things. It had all been pretty clothes and shops, in those brief exciting weeks, and shrewd counsel about men and what itwas they wanted of women. How appallingly shallow and meaningless thoseconversations now appeared. They gave no comfort or support. Theremembrance of the terror in Amy's eyes at the thought of death rosevividly in Ethel's mind, and she got up and walked the floor. 

"We'll fight this down--we'll fight this down, " she kept repeatingdeterminedly. And as soon as she was quiet again: "What is there for meto do? Why Joe, of course--and heaven knows he'll be enough. He's thehardest kind, he doesn't cry, he keeps it all inside of him. " She drew adeep breath. "How about this room?" She frowned and looked around her. "No, I don't think he wants anything changed. For the present at least, I'll leave it alone. But he ought not to be reminded of her by everylittle thing he sees. "

She looked into the closets. In Joe's she found some of Amy's things. She put them back in her sister's closet and then gently closed thedoor. As she stood there a moment longer, she had a curious feeling ofAmy's presence by her side. 

"Now, my dear, we'd better go out for a walk, " she told herself as sheturned away. But she threw a glance behind her. 

In the weeks that followed she and Joe were more intensely alonetogether than she could have imagined. 

At first a few of Amy's friends kept dropping in every now and then. But although their intentions were kindly enough, Ethel felt repelled bythem. She resented their having been Amy's friends. For swiftly andquite unconsciously, in her resolute groping in the dark for solidground on which to stand, she was building up an ideal of hersister--and these women jarred on that. They came to her direct from aworld, her sister's world, which she now vaguely felt to be cheap, shallow, disillusioning. And she needed her illusions. By nature frankto bluntness, she was not good at hiding dislikes; and her uneasyvisitors soon realized with relief that they were not wanted here. 

Fanny Carr still came for a time. For some reason that Ethel could notunderstand, this shrewd person seemed reluctant to let go her hold as afriend. She was most solicitous about Joe and tried to come when he wasat home. But as Ethel's dislike of the woman deepened in intensity, gradually Fanny's visits, too, grew less frequent and then ceased. 

During the first week or two, Joe's partner almost every night came homewith him to dinner and took him out for evening walks. But his talk wasall of business. It seemed to Ethel that purposely Nourse shut her outof the conversation. His manner to her, though not unkind, was likethat of the cook and the nurse. "The less you meddle here, " it said, "the better it will be for Joe. Leave him to me. "

Gleams of this feeling came in his eyes. It showed now and then soopenly that even Joe took notice. He stopped bringing his partner home, and he drew closer to Ethel now, as together they cherished the memoryof the woman who was gone. 

And slowly, in this companionship, this loneliness, this quiet, Joe grewvery real to her, and appealing in his grief. Everything else seemed soremote--but he was close. "He needs me. " It was a bright spot in thedark. At times this darkness had no end, it stretched away to eternity;but at least she did not face it alone. Of Joe's grief she could haveno doubt. Each week his blunt strong features displayed more lines ofsuffering; his high cheek-bones showed hard and grim. He was grateful, affectionate at times, but more often silent, and she saw in his eyeswhat frightened her. He had so few resources here. In his office washis work, just as it had always been; but at home there was nothing; hiswife was gone, and he seemed restless to get out. 

"Let's go somewhere, " he would mutter. 

She went with him for strolls in the evenings. Often they walked on andon till both were ready to drop with fatigue, but she stuck doggedly byhis side. One evening they passed the open door of a church. It waslighted, and the deep low rumble of an organ floated out. Joe stopped amoment irresolute, and then started to go inside. But a glance throughthe door revealed to him that the church was nearly empty; and he turnedaway as he would have turned from any show on Broadway which was soobviously "not a hit. "

"Sometimes on Sunday mornings I seem to hear 'em, preachers, droning andshouting all over the land, " he told her once. "What's in it? What dothey know about God or where you go when you are dead? Nothing, no morethan you or I!"

His voice was harsh and bitter then, but the next instant it was kind. With his arm about her he was saying:

"Don't, Ethel--please--don't take it like that! I was a brute! I won'tagain! I'll keep it inside! I'm sorry, dear!"

"Oh, Joe, " she whispered, "if we only knew!"

So these two faced eternity. 

But only at moments. They looked away. For she saw how good it was forJoe to have the distractions that he craved; and so on their long walksat night she took him to the noisy streets, or into the movies, wherehis mind appeared to stop and find some rest. Best of all, shediscovered, was to go with him in the small car which he used for hisbusiness. Driving this car through crowded streets amid a clamour andblare of horns and shouts and peals of laughter, the look on Joe's facemade Ethel see how this dulled his grief, how he lost himself and hisquestionings and became a mere part of the town. What a glamourousseething town! There was something terrific to her in its laugh. Ifyou stopped to think and ask yourself, "What are we all doing here?" howsoon it jostled you back into line!

So passed another fortnight. Then Joe grew quieter, and with relief shesaw he was ready to stay home. She herself felt tired and relaxed; andit was good to sit at home on these December evenings and feel that bothhad partly emerged from the sea of doubts in which they had beenplunged. He had come out of it, she soon learned, with an image of hiswife that even Ethel vaguely felt was swiftly becoming so ideal as tohave little or no resemblance to the woman who had died. But eagerlyshe helped him in this building of Amy's memory. She dwelt upon Amy'sappealing side, her lovable moods, her beauty and dash, her unerringinstinct for pretty things, her unselfishness, her anxious planning forEthel's good. 

And all this fitted in so well with the picture Joe was making of thewife who had been so true to him, who had never had a thought or a wishfor anything but his career. How cheerfully she had given up all sortsof pleasures, trips abroad, a house in the country, summer vacations. Year after year she had spent the hot months almost wholly in townbecause he could not afford to leave, although she herself had had manychances to go to friends in the mountains or up along the seashore. Instead she had stayed with him in town; and in the evenings always shehad been waiting, good-humoured and gay, ready to stay home or go out;with never a word of complaint for the delay of his prosperity, but onlyencouragement and praise. 

At times, as Joe talked on and on, in this mood of hungry wistful loveand humility and self-reproach, Ethel would bring herself back with ajerk to the Amy she had known; but again she would feel herself bornealong upon the tide of his belief, and she was glad that it was so. Sothe picture grew. Nor was it only when they talked. For often in longsilences, when she thought he was reading his paper, she would glance upfrom her book and find him staring into the past. And again at thepiano, smoking and playing idly, his music made her realize how his mindwas groping back through the years, picking and choosing here and therewhat he needed to build up his ideal. 

This music at times made her curious, wondering what kind of a man hehad been before Amy took him in hand. 

"Where did you learn to play like that, Joe?" He frowned a little. 

"Oh, long ago. "

He did not seem to care to go back of his marriage. So Ethel let himcontinue his building; and though at times she smiled a little at someof his fond recollections, still her own deep adoration of her oldersister, the whirl of happy memories of that vivid month in town, and thesense of all that Amy had been planning to do for her, combined now withher desperate loneliness to put Ethel in a mood where she gladly andloyally believed almost anything good of her sister. 

Christmas was only one example of many similar incidents. They had asmall Christmas tree for Susette, and they hung up her stocking as well, and went out Christmas Eve and bought candy canes and dogs and dolls andpicture books. And although this was Ethel's idea, it was made toappear as only the thing which Amy would have done had she lived. 

So in these two hungry souls, groping for something bright and deep andstrong upon which they could live, swiftly and unawares to them both thepicture of Amy was stamped deep, idealized and beautified. In life ithad been fascinating, but now it was almost heroic as well. It was asthough the small gloved hand, which Ethel had noticed so many times, indeath had increased the power of its light, firm, tenacious hold. 

Ethel began to feel more free, for Joe was no longer on her mind. Morethan once, in fact, she was surprised at the way he seemed to besettling down. She felt a deeper change in him, something she did notunderstand. The worn harassed expression she had so often seen on hisface while his wife had been alive, the look of a man driven and drainedof his vitality, was now gone; and in its place was an unconscious lookof content. He often stayed very late at the office; and more and morein his evenings at home he went to his desk and became absorbed indocuments and blue print plans. 

"What a refuge a man's business is, " she thought with a twinge of envy. 

And wistfully she began to look about for some resource for herself. She felt the youth within her rise, but the city seemed so vast andstrange. In her loneliness the big building of which her present homewas a part, seemed doubly huge, impersonal, hard; and so did every otherbuilding on that block appear. She felt lost, left out amid ceaselesstides of gaiety on every hand. She took long determined walks, and onthese walks she donned the smart attractive clothes that she had boughtwith Amy. She strove to keep her mind on the sights, the faces ofpeople afoot and in cars, the adorable things in shop windows. And shechatted busily to herself in order to keep on admiring. This old habitof hers, of soliloquy, had grown upon her unawares, as a refuge from herloneliness. Sometimes she even talked aloud. Sturdily she toldherself:

"You've only begun. You'll get up out of this, Ethel Knight--just wait. Can't you give a few months to Amy now?"

And scowling at her "morbidness" in feeling dreary and forlorn, sheresolutely scanned the papers for news of lectures, plays and concerts. She went to a few in the afternoons, and dressed for them as carefullyas though they were great social affairs. And in the intermissions whena buzz of talk would rise, she would begin with quick animation toconverse with herself and be gay, or alert and argumentative. Her lipswould move inaudibly. Now and then she would brightly smile and nodacross the house at some friend she pretended to have seen. Sheenrolled for a course of lectures upon "Mental Science. " She resumed herreading of magazines and books on all kinds of topics. It made herthink of high school days, and hungrily she reached back for that old. Zest and inquisitiveness about everything under the moon and stars. 

And through this searching she caught hints of the presence in the cityof a life wider and deeper than shops and yet not antagonistic--a lifeof gaiety, grace and ease, but with it all the brilliancy to which Amyhad been blind; the rich ferment of new ideas in women's lives, discussions, work of many kinds, art, music, "movements" all combinedinto one thrilling pulsing whole. And again she felt within herselfthat rising tide of youth and eager vitality. 

"Oh, what couldn't I do, my dear, if I only had a chance? Why doesn'tsomebody see it at once--notice me now, right here on the street? You, madam, in that limousine--look out and see me--don't go by! You'relosing the chance of a lifetime! You're missing me--me--Ethel Knight!"

As the dame in her car sped smoothly by, Ethel suddenly laughed aloud. But her laughter had a dangerous note, and she added fiercely, bitingher lip:

"Now, don't be silly and burst into tears!"

"Ma'am?" said a voice. 

She stopped with a jerk and looked up into the startled eyes of amassive young policeman. Her last remark had been spoken directly upinto his face, and the youth was blushing visibly. 

"Oh!" she gasped. "Excuse me!"

"Certainly, ma'am. "

And she hurried on. 

This loneliness lasted several weeks. Then Joe grew dimly aware of it, and came to her assistance with awkward efforts to comfort her. He wasat home more often at night. His gruff voice took on a kindlier tone, and in an offhand manner intended to seem casual he would ask where shehad been that day or what book she was reading. And they would discussit for a while. He took her to the theatre and to a concert now andthen. They went for rides at night in his car, and he talked to herabout his work. She could feel his anxious friendliness. "What a dearhe is to me, " she thought. 

As time went on this companionship grew so natural to them both thatmore than once Ethel felt in herself a content which made her a littleuneasy. As in his blunt kindly way Joe drew closer to her now, she hadan awkward consciousness of being in her sister's place. No, not thatexactly. Still, she did not care to think of it. She kept out of Amy'sroom. It had subtly changed and become Joe's room--to her mind atleast--though by little things he said and did she knew that Joe waskeeping that idealized image of his wife still warm and living in hismind. 

But was he--altogether? At times she would frown to herself a bit. Joeloyal? Yes, of course he was, she would indignantly declare. In anovel Ethel had once read, the hero who had lost his wife had taken hisgrief in this same silent way; and the author had laid it down as a lawthat all quiet widowers are the kind who never, never marry again. Thisthought had taken root in her mind; and she applied it now to Joe. 

Soon at his suggestion she began to use some of Amy's things. One nightwhen they were going out, he helped her slip into her sister's softluxurious sable cloak. And as she turned, she detected a queerlyuncertain look in Joe's eyes. But in an instant it was gone, and shesoon dismissed her uneasiness. For through the weeks that followed hebecame engrossed in his business and barely noticed her at all. 

CHAPTER VI

About this time a letter from home brought her a sharp disappointment. Ethel was not a good correspondent, but during the homesick wintermonths she had written several times to three of the girls she had knownin school. Two had gone west, but the other one was still in Ohio andwas planning to come to New York, to take a course of training as nursein one of the hospitals. In fact it had been all arranged. And Ethelhad not realized how much she had counted on this friend, until now aletter came announcing her engagement to a young doctor in Detroit. Shewas going there to live, and her letter was full of her happiness. Ethel was very blue that night. 

But only a few days after this she received another missive that hadquite a different effect. It was a long bulky epistle, a "round robin"from the members of the little high school club to which she hadbelonged at home. The girls had scattered far and wide. One wasteaching music in an Oklahoma town; another had gone to Cleveland andwas a stenographer in a broker's office there; a third was in Chicago, the wife of a young lawyer; and a fourth had married an engineer who wasworking a mine in Montana. It made an absorbing narrative, and she readit several times. At first it took her out of herself, far, far out allover the land. How good it was to get news of them all, how nice andgossipy and gay. It was almost as though they were here in the room;she seemed to be talking with each one; and as they chatted on and on, the feeling grew in Ethel that each was starting like herself and thatsome were having no easy time in unfamiliar places. She could readbetween the lines. 

But the part that struck her most was the contribution of their formerhistory "prof, " a little lame woman with snappy black eyes, who had beenthe leading spirit in their long discussions. She was an ardentsuffragist, and she it was who had brought so many modern books andplays and "movements" into their talk. Chained to her job in the smalltown, she had followed voraciously all the news of the seething changingworld outside, of the yeast at work in the cities. And to the lettersof some of the girls who seemed bent upon nothing but social success, the little teacher now replied by an appeal to all of them:

"Girls, some of these letters worry me. I don't want to preach--youwill lead your own lives. But I cannot help reminding you of the thingswe talked about--the splendid things, exciting things that are stirringin this land today. Oh, what a chance for women--what openings withnarrow doors--what fights to make the doorways wide for the girls whowill come after you! Keep yourselves strong and awake and alive--keepgrowing--remember that life is a school and for you it has only justbegun. Don't sit at your desks--in your homes, I mean--blinking with aman at your side. Keep yourselves free--don't marry for money--don'tlet yourselves get under the thumb of any husband, rich or poor, or ofsocial position or money or clothes or any such silly trumpery. Get thereal things! Oh, I'm preaching, I know, as I did in spite of myself athome. But girls--dear friends and comrades--be strong--and don't giveup the ship!"

Ethel read it many times. She could hear the voice of the little"prof, " now earnest, scornful, pleading, now obstinate and angry, again light-hearted, mocking. She recalled how their leader had warnedthem against the bribery of men. Most of the girls had smiled at herthen, for they had felt themselves so strong and clear in their aims anddesires. 

"Oh, Ethel--Ethel--Ethel Knight. How have the mighty fallen. One weekin New York and your eyes were glued to the windows of shops. You gotready to dance and find a man. "

The thought rose in her mind--"That was Amy's idea. " But she dismissedit with a frown. She turned back to the letters and read them allthrough over again. She rose and walked slowly up and down with herhands locked behind her. Then she went to her desk, and to the roundrobin she added this:

"I am in New York and have nothing to say. I have been a fool. I havespent nearly all my money on a lot of silly clothes. No, notsilly--fetching clothes--for they were meant to fetch a man. But ingetting them I got nothing else. I have had a shock--a terrible one. My sister Amy suddenly died. I am here now to care for her child. Butam I? Nothing of the kind. The nurse does that and I do nothing. Ijust sit or walk about and scowl at what I am missing. No more from me, girls, until the round robin--the dear splendid thrilling roundrobin--comes back here on its next yearly round. I swear I'll have ajob by then! Good luck and God bless us all! We're young!"

Quickly she crammed all the letters into a large envelope, licked it, pressed it firmly down, and addressed it to, "Miss Barbara Wells, Bismarck, North Dakota. " She stamped it, felt the tears come, kissed theletter a fierce good-bye, took it out and dropped it in the mail box inthe hall. Then she came back to her own room, and with swift, determined jerks took off the black cloth wrapping of a largeold-fashioned typewriter, one of the few belongings she had brought fromOhio. She had purchased it several years ago, and by typing sermons andother occasional documents she had earned almost money enough for theclothes that had cost so little at home. 

She sat down and began to pound the keys, but soon she stopped and shookher head. She had never been an expert. Self-taught, her work had beenlaboured and slow, and the lapse of months had thrown her out. "However! Something must be done!" And the pounding went on for daysand days, hour after hour; and when her fingers, wrists and arms feltlike "two long tooth-aches, " she exclaimed impatiently:

"Oh, for goodness sake stop being so soft! You're a new woman, EthelKnight, and you're going to earn your living!"

At times, however, stopping to rest and carefully scan her labour forfaults, her mind would rove far out into life. She was copying from twobooks the little "prof" had given her, the "Life and Letters of GeorgeSand"; and "The Work of Susan B. Anthony. " And as Ethel pounded on, eachbook in its own way revealed exciting vistas to her eyes of life ingreat cities both here and abroad, life earnest and inspiring, lifebright and thrilling, brilliant, free!

"Oh, your future life, my love, will be far from dull and blinking!"

And this mood lasted for two weeks. Then as her hand grew more expert, and she scanned the papers for information of employment bureaus, therecame some ugly hours when much pounding was required. She went out andtramped the streets, meeting the town with angry eyes that struggled forself-confidence. And twice, although she had dressed herself with akeen and vigilant eye to her own attractiveness and had gone to thebureau she had selected, with a sinking heart she turned back from thedoor. But the second time, after leaving, with a scowl she faced about, went back and marched into the office. And a little later when sheemerged, her face had a stunned and dazed expression. She still couldnot believe it! For the woman in charge, after one sharp look and anumber of questions, had remarked:

"Why, yes, I think we can place you. I've one position waiting rightnow. " There had been more questioning, but this had seemed ratherperfunctory. The woman had not appeared to care very much that Ethelhad only one reference--from the old minister back at home; and thebrief exhibition of her skill which Ethel gave upon a machine, with herfingers excited, cold and tense, had lasted but a minute or two when thewoman had said, "Yes, that will do. "

Ethel scowled as she tried to remember it all. There had been one flaw. What was it?

"Oh, yes, she warned me about men. " And here Ethel gave a sharp littlelaugh, with a lump of excitement in her throat. "Well, I think I canhandle myself on that point. " She recalled with assurancerecollections--and there had been not a few--of youths at home who hadtried to "get fresh, " and had soon been shown where they got off!

She was walking very rapidly toward a subway station, and soon she wason her way downtown. 

"Yes, my dear, I'm sorry to say that it isn't your skill, it is yourface that has got you this chance. All right, Face, thank you verymuch. If you'll just keep steady, eyes easy and cool, jaw firm but nottoo ugly. " . . . `

And when a few minutes later she was shown into the private office ofher future employer, she almost laughed in his fat round face--so absurdin that first moment did all her little qualms appear. 

"He's forty and he loves his meals. "

And she answered his questions so blithely, with such an anxiousfriendliness, that the dumpy man who sat at the desk was plainlyattracted and easily caught. In fact, in his heavy-lidded eyes andabout his thick lips came a look which repelled her a little. "Ishouldn't wonder if even you might get feeling young again, " she thoughtto herself disgustedly. "But I guess I can attend to that!"

"Yes, sir, fifteen dollars a week, " she was saying meanwhile in a firmbrisk tone of voice. "Of course I know it's just a trial, but I'll domy best, I promise you. "

"Vell, " said Mr. Greesheimer, "you be here tomorrow at nine und ve'llsee. " He sighed. "Ve'll see, my friend. " He turned back to his deskwith an abrupt and businesslike little gesture of dismissal. 

And this businesslike air he retained on the morrow. As he explainedher work to her, the tone of his voice was crisp and dry. Ladies'cloaks were Greesheimer's "line, " and though his business was still newhe was increasing it rapidly. He was eager, hungry, almost fierce inthe way he snapped off his letters at times; again he was a genial soul, boasting to her of his success and giving forth shrewd homely proverbsthat he had learned long ago as a child in some Galician village. Butnever in those weeks of work did she catch a suggestion of "freshness. "He was her boss, and at times her friend in a fatherly fashion--that wasall. She worked hard, overcame her awkwardness, was punctual, labouredto please him. And he was not slow to praise. 

"You're a smart young goil, " he said more than once. "Keep on--it'sgreat--it suits me fine. "

And despite the monotonous bleak detail of her life in that room, Ethelgrew steadily happier there. For she was gaining confidence fast, shewas living up to her ideals. Soon she would be ready to leave thisfunny little man and get a place of a different kind--as secretary, forinstance, to some clever woman novelist or noted suffrage leader. Shehad already put down her name at three employment bureaus, in each ofwhich the woman in charge seemed to look upon her with a favourable eye. 

Too bad poor Joe disliked it so. When she informed him of what she haddone, he had appeared quite taken back. 

"All right, Ethel, go ahead. I don't want to meddle, " he had replied. "Only--" he had scowled at her in an effort to smile--"I don't quitesee--well, go ahead. "

Plainly it had been a surprise. It was so utterly different from whatAmy would have done. It had set him thinking, hurt him. "She wants toget away, " he had thought. Ethel had caught his feeling and had pitiedhim for it. But mingled with this pity had been a vague resentment:

"The minute you show you've made up your mind to be a littleindependent, they treat it like a slap in the face. All right, Mr. Male Provider, your tender feelings will have to be hurt. There'snothing the matter, I mean to stay here. I'll stick by you just as longas you need me. Only, I propose to be free!"

Their relations had grown a little strained. He had stayed at theoffice more often at night. Very well, let him sulk in his masculineway. Only one remark of his had annoyed her. Like the woman in theemployment bureau, he had warned Ethel against men. 

"When it comes to looks, " he had ended, "you're one in a thousand. Andin this town--"

"Oh, Joe, for goodness sake hush up!" she had cried. A bright spot ofcolour had come in each cheek and her strong little mouth had setviciously. "You'll be telling me next that I got my position simply onmy pretty face! No brains behind it, of course, no mind!" And she hadtapped one foot on the floor in a way which made him look at her in acurious manner, startled and admiring. 

"Oh, no, I won't, " he had told her meekly. "You've got the makings ofmore real mind than any girl I've ever seen. "

"Thank you, " she had snapped at him, but she had liked him nevertheless. So long as one had to live with a man, even as his sister-in-law, it waswell to have him in his place. 

So her annoyance had died down, and had only risen a little again whenone day Joe came to her office. There was some excuse, of course, buthis real reason obviously was to have a look at her employer and at thesame time show the man that she had a male protector. Booh! . . . But Joe had smiled at Greesheimer and had withdrawn quite reassured, leaving her and her job in peace. 

As Ethel's business life went on, her self-confidence grew apace. Andnow that she had proved to herself that she had brains behind her face, she dropped her air of severity and even began to enjoy the glanceswhich she knew were cast her way, on the streets and in the office. Even on old Greesheimer, when he was in one of his genial moods, shewould bestow a winning smile. It was good to have both brains and face. She looked at the city with challenging eyes, a self-supporting woman. 

And this state of mind might have lasted some time, had it not happenedthat one sunny day toward the end of April Greesheimer opened a letterwith eager trembling fingers, read it swiftly and glared with joy, hisbig glistening eyes nearly leaving their sockets. Then he whirledaround in his chair, and as his eye lit on Ethel, he laughed, and in aharsh queer voice he cried, "Vell? Now you see? I'm rich alreatty, I'mvell off! I got the Zimmerman contract--see! I can do vot I like! Igot it! I got it!" He capered in triumphant glee, laughing again andseizing her arms. "Vell, vot you say! Vy don't you speak? By Gott, Iraise your salary!"

"Oh, Mr. Greesheimer!" she cried, half laughing. "It's simply toowonderful for words!"

"Ha--ha!" He still had her by the arms. "All you young goils could loveme now--eh?--you could take an old fehlah! Ha-ha-ha!" And the nextinstant, furious, she felt herself hugged violently, kissed! His lips!His fat soft body! Ugh! She dug her elbow into him with a stifled cryand wrenched away. A moment she turned on him eyes ablaze. 

"You dirty--beastly--" she gasped for breath, then turned, and seizingher hat and coat she rushed blindly from the room and through the outeroffice. In the elevator crowded with men she felt a queer taste in hermouth. "That's blood, " she thought. "Biting my lip, am I--well, biteon. I'm not going to cry--I'm not, I'm not--I'll reach that street ifit kills me!"

Meanwhile in his office Greesheimer was still staring, first at the doorand then at the window, and upon his pudgy countenance was a glare ofutter astonishment and honest indignation. 

"Mein Gott!" he exploded. "I give her a hug--a hug like a daughter--andoff like a rocket--off she goes!" And in Yiddish and in Hebrew andRussian and American, Greesheimer expressed himself as he strode swiftlyup and down. 

For seven years without a break he had "kept a goil" more fascinating tohis taste than any female in New York. Her name was Sadie, she was amodel in a dressmaker's shop uptown, and she owned him body and soul. Their marriage had only been put off until he had bridged the dangeroustime in the launching of his business. For Greesheimer had a mother, anold uncle and a sister and two small nephews to support. But thisZimmerman contract, "Gott sei danke!" would clear the way for marriageat once. And as that glorious vision, of relatives all radiant andSadie flushed and joyous leaping into his embrace, had burst upon hisdazzled soul, his glance had lit on his employé, and he had hugged herin his joy! And she--Again did Greesheimer swear! He felt hot angryblushes rise. And later at his telephone he was saying to a womanfriend who ran an employment bureau:

"I got to have a stenographer. See? Und I don't vant a goil, I vant aman--a smart young fellah, y'understand. . . . Jewish? Yes! Youbetcher! No more Christian goils in mine! Dey have rotten minds--plainrotten minds!"

But to Ethel, walking blindly, no such explanation occurred. She couldstill feel that body, those greedy lips and clutching hands, and out ofher disgust and rage emerged another feeling which grew like a load onher shoulders, sagging her spirit and crushing her down. 

"Joe was right. It was only my face. That beast was onlywaiting! . . . I wonder if they're all like that? Probably not. But how can I tell the sheep from the goats? I thought I could. Ithought I knew how to handle myself--I thought I knew how to get on inthis town! But I don't, it seems--I've done nothing at all! I've justbeen a little fool! . . . And New York is like that!"

She glared at the city around her, at its tall, hard unfriendly walls, the jangling trolleys down below, the trucks and drays and the crowdsrushing by her. For all their hurry, some of the men shot glances atEthel that made her burn. One tall thin man even stopped and turned andshe felt his look travel right down to her toes! She walked on and onwith her bare fists clenched. She had left her gloves in the office. Go back for them? No! Nor to any office, nor any man!

"Oh, yes, I will, I'll go back to Joe--and hear him say, 'I told youso. '"

She reached the apartment faint and sick. Joe had not come home, thankgoodness. She went to her room and to her bed, and had a good cry, which relieved her a little. And so, after an hour or two, lookingsteadily up at the ceiling, she decided that after a few days' rest shewould go to all three of those bureaus and say, "I'm in the marketstill, if you please, but only for a woman boss. "

But later, as she was dressing for dinner, her eye was caught by thephotograph of her sister Amy. And the face appeared to her suddenly sostrong and wise with its knowledge of life. She remembered Amy's smilesat all new "movements" and ideas and work for women. She seemed to besmiling now, with a good-humoured pitying air, and to be saying:

"Now will you believe me? It isn't what you say to men, it's how youlook and what you wear. "

And Ethel stared at it and frowned, in a disillusioned, questioning way. 

CHAPTER VII

Joe did not say, "I told you so. " It was after eight that evening whenhe came home from his office, and she was annoyed at the delay, for shewanted to have her confession of failure over and done with. As shewaited restlessly, she envied him his business life. How much simplereverything was for a man! Her nerves were on edge. Why didn't he come!At last she heard his key in the door and sharply pulled herselftogether. "How I detest him!" she thought to herself. 

"Hello, Ethel. " His voice from the hallway had a gruff and tired sound;but a moment later when he came in, it was with his usual friendlysmile. "Sorry I kept you waiting. I've had a mean day at the office. "

"So have I, " said Ethel, and with a frown she plunged right in. Thesooner this was over the better. But when she had finished and lookedup, she detected no triumph on his face. He was watching her soqueerly. 

"Well, " he said, "I ought to be sorry, I suppose--but I can't exactlysay I am. "

"Why not?" At her sharp challenge he grimly smiled. 

"Because this kind of puts us--in the same boat--two of a kind. "

"What on earth do you mean?" she demanded. And then with a ruefulgrimace he said:

"Because I too have bumped my head. " As at that she felt a swift littlethrill of surprise and liking for Joe, he continued, "I've been a fool. You're always a fool when you take a chance and aren't able to get awaywith it. You're a fool--because you missed out. I'm a fool--because Imissed out. We both of us took chances. And I got very badly stung. We've got to be poor for a little while. " Joe drew a deep breath andsmiled again. "I've dreaded this. I've put off telling you for aweek--I don't like eating humble pie. But it's all right now, God blessyou--we can eat it side by side. "

"Why, Joe, dear, how nice!" she sighed. "Go on and tell me. What willit mean?" He held up his hand. 

"Hold on a minute, can't you? Let me make my little speech. I've madeit so many times in my mind. "

"All right, you poor dear, just start right in. "

"Well, " said Joe, "it begins like this. " And his face grew a littleportentous, with humour and a deeper feeling mingled awkwardly together. "You've been about as good to me as one fellow could be to another. Iknow what a hell it must have been, and the stiff upper lip was all onyour side. I don't want to talk about it, but--when Amy died the lifewent out--of my business too. Later I got back my nerve, and because myjob was all I had left I tried to make it more worth while. I've got afew old dreams in me--I mean I've always wanted to build somethingbetter than flats in the Bronx. So I--well, I took a chance and failed. I'm in debt and my only chance to scrape through is to cut down here aslow as we can. I've figured out our expenses, and--"

He walked for a moment. She quickly rose, went to him and took his armand said:

"A very fine speech. We'll go in to our dinner now--and later we'll geta pencil and paper, and we won't stop until everything's right. "

There came for Ethel busy days. 

The next morning she went to the nursery and told the nurse she wouldhave to go. "I'm sorry, " she added and then stopped short, startled bythe woman's face. The way her eyes went to Susette made something leapin Ethel's breast. The nurse wheeled sharply:

"What have I done! What's the matter with me?" Her voice was strained. 

"Nothing. There has been nothing at all. " Ethel found it hard to speak. "You've been--quite wonderful with Susette. The trouble is that Mr. Lanier has found he must cut expenses. "

"Oh. Then why am I the one?" She broke off and grew rigid, but herthought struck into Ethel's mind: "Why am I the one? Why don't you go!What good are _you_ here?"

"I'm sorry, " Ethel repeated. "I wish I could keep you, but I can't. I'll have to take care of Susette myself--"

"You?"

"Yes, and you'll have to teach me how. "

"I won't!"

"You mean you'll let her suffer because you haven't shown me things?No, no, I'm sure you'll be sensible. You'll stay on a few days and helpme, and meanwhile I'll do all I can to find you a good position. I onlyhope I can get you back again in the autumn. You see it may only be fora time. " She went to the nurse, who now had her arms about the child. "I'm so sorry. Remember I want you back. "

There were tears in Ethel's eyes as she left the nursery. "Whew!" Shewent into her own small room. "I wonder if I'll ever feel like thatabout a child?" She stared a moment and added, "That was real enough, poor thing. " She drew a resolute breath. "Well, no use in feeling likea criminal, my dear. Now for the cook and the waitress. "

She rather took satisfaction in that, for she had disliked both of themkeenly. She gave them until the end of the week, and in the meantimetelegraphed for Emily Giles, who for over five years had helped her keephouse for her father at home. Of medium height, spare, thin chested andthin lipped, her hair already streaked with grey, Emily had been less aservant than a grimly devoted friend. Since Ethel's departure, she hadbeen head-waitress at the small hotel. 

"Emily will come, " thought Ethel, "unless she's dead or paralysed. "

And Emily came. 

"Well, Miss Ethel, here I am, " she said on her arrival. She said, "MissEthel" quite naturally, although she had always said "Ethel" before. But her tone made it sound like, "Well, kid, here I am. Now let's seewhat kind of a mess it is you want me to get you out of. "

With the aid of a book entitled, "How To Live Well On Little, " togetherthey puzzled and contrived. 

"The things that have gone on in this kitchen, " Emily muttered more thanonce, as her sharp grey eyes peered here and there, now into drawers andclosets, now at the many unpaid bills. "When that cook of yours wasn'tgrafting she must have been getting drunk on your wine. " As the recordwas unfolded of years of careless extravagance, Ethel would frown andturn away, for it seemed disloyal to pry so deep. Poor Amy was dead andburied. 

With Emily she went marketing, and they beat down and bullied mankind. Emily was so good at that. And at home they worked out a schedule ofhousekeeping on a rigidly economical scale, dividing the work betweenthem. All this was rather pleasant. The trouble came in the nursery, where more than once the face of the stricken woman there made it hardto keep one's mind keen and clear for all the intricate details of thecareful mothering in this room, from which barely a sound had evergone out to disturb the peace of Amy's home. 

But it was soon over. The nurse had taken her departure and Ethel hadmoved to the nursery. And now the routine of her day brought such achange in Ethel's life as deeply affected her future course--though atfirst she had but little time to stop for self-analysis. At five in themorning she was roused by the low, sweet chirrup of Susette, who waspeering over the edge of the crib. And her day from that time on wasfilled with a succession of little tasks, which at first puzzled andwearied her, made her often anxious and cross, but then attracted hermore and more. What a change from the month before, from Mr. Greesheimer to Susette! She became engrossed in the washing anddressing and feeding of her tiny charge. Anxiously she watched Susettefor the slightest sign of illness; and in this watching she grew to knowthe meaning of certain looks and gestures, baby talk. Susette became aperson, wee but very intimate. 

In the park on those lovely days of May, Ethel liked to feel herself apart of the small world of nurses and mothers who chatted or sewed whilechildren played and motor cars went purring by. There were littledistractions; for Susette was a sociable creature, and the small friendsshe discovered brought Ethel into conversation with the women who hadthem in charge. Several of the mothers were French--very French in theway they dressed, in the way they sewed, in their quick gestures, shrugsand smiles and their pretty, broken English. They lent a piquantnovelty to motherhood in Ethel's eyes. 

At times she thought of Amy. Why had Amy missed all this! How had shebeen able to keep away from this adorable child of hers! Ethel saw inthe windows of shops the most tempting garments for small girls. AndAmy had had money to spend! Susette's wardrobe was "simply pathetic!"And often, sitting in the Park and watching on the road nearby theendless procession of automobiles and the women like Amy so daintilyclad, and puzzling and remembering innumerable little things from herfirst gay month in town--in Ethel's mind the picture of the sister shehad adored began to change a little, and to lose its hold upon her. Amybeautiful, indolent toward Susette and the household; Amy tense, with ajealous, vigilant light in her eyes, when it was a matter of Joe and herlove or the money so passionately desired. 

But these recollections she would dismiss with excuses for her sister. "There are two kinds of women, " Ethel sagely told herself. "Mothers andwives. And she was a wife. It may be I'm a mother. " And little bylittle, in spite of herself, her worship of her sister changed to apitying tolerance. The question, "Shall I ever be like that? "--onceso full of eagerness--had already been answered unconsciously. "PoorAmy, she's dead. She lived her life. I'm going to live another. "

Just what life it was to be was as unsettled as before. For as she grewused to this mothering, the old adventurous hunger for life welled upagain within her. For long periods she forgot the child and satfrowning into space, her mind groping restlessly for ways and means tofind herself and get friends of her own, independence, work and gaiety, a chance to grow and "be somebody here!" She had her angry, baffledmoods. 

But from these Susette would bring her back. "What's your life to be, you poor little dear? And if you don't worry, why should I!" Andresolutely she would turn to the small, absorbing life of the child. 

This went on for many months. It changed her feeling toward the town, for now she had a foothold here. It changed her feeling toward Amy, whose picture had begun to blur. But that queer sensation of intimacy, of being in her sister's place, was even deeper than before. For nowshe was mothering Amy's child--her child and her husband. 

CHAPTER VIII

For a time she had seen little of Joe. She had been absorbed in her newwork; and Joe, in his business troubles. But as he began to see lightahead, again he took notice of things at home; and rather to his ownsurprise he enjoyed the change that had been made. The simpler waysappealed to him. He and Emily got on famously. And he began to noticeSusette, to come home early now and then, in time to see her take herbath or to sit on the floor and build houses of blocks, he knew aboutbuilding houses, and he could do fascinating things which made his smalldaughter stare at him in grave admiration. 

"How dear he is with her, " Ethel thought. Although she was barely awareof the fact, her own new tenderness for the child had tightened thebonds between her and its father. His blunt, affectionate kindlinessappealed to her often in a way that even brought little qualms of doubt. She would look at Joe occasionally in a thoughtful, questioning manner. 

He stayed home again in the evenings now; and while she sat at hersewing, often he would look up from his paper or his work to make somebrief remark to her; and the conversation thus begun would somehowramble on and on while his work lay forgotten. But almost always, unknown to them both, the spirit of Amy was in the room, and theinfluence of her memory was shown in Joe's attitude toward his home. For in spite of his enjoyment of the simpler régime, he revealed afeeling of guiltiness at not being able to give to Ethel the easy lot hehind given his wife. As business improved he began to suggest gettingback a nurse and a waitress. And it was all that Ethel could do todissuade him. 

"His idea of being nice to a woman, " she told herself impatiently, "isto give her expensive things, and above all keep her idle. " She did notadd, "Amy taught him that. " But it was in the back of her mind. 

He often talked of his business, he tried to explain to her the detailsof speculative building, real estate values and the like. And listeningand watching his face, she felt his force and vitality, his doggedness, the fight in him. She recalled Amy's eager faith in Joe as a man whowas "simply bound to make money. " And at times she said to herself, "What a pity. " Still, it was all rather puzzling. For his talk of thegrowth of the city, his view of its mighty pulsing life, restless, heaving, leaping on, gripped her more than ever before. And moreover, now that Amy was dead, Ethel soon began to feel another Joe emerging outof some period long ago. With a new and curious eagerness to find inhim what her sister had never known (an eagerness she would havedisclaimed with the utmost indignation), she began to probe into Joe'spast. And in answer to her questions he threw out hints of old idealsin which the making of money had played only a second part. He hadmeant to be an architect, a builder of another kind. Instead of puttingup "junk in the Bronx, " he had meant to do something big and new, something bold and very French, "to make these infernal New Yorkers situp and open their cold grey eyes. " At times he rather thrilled her withhints of his early bachelor life in New York and Paris, his studentdays. 

About this time, one evening, he brought his partner home to dinner, butthe experiment proved even more of a failure than it had in the past. Nourse made Ethel feel as before his surly, jealous dislike of herpresence in Joe's home. And Ethel's hostility redoubled. She recalledwhat Amy had told her of his tiresome worship of work, its routine andits dull detail. No wonder Joe's ideals had died, with such a man inhis office. 

"What a pity you're his partner, " her manner plainly said to him, forshe was not good at hiding dislikes. And to that his gloomy eyesrejoined, "What a damned shame it you were his wife. "

But Nourse did not come again. And with business dropped out of theirtalk, she and Joe turned to other things--small happenings of thehousehold, amusing incidents of the day, and little problems to besolved. They were well into the summer by now, and Susette ought to goto the seashore. They began to discuss seaside hotels, and chose aplace along the Sound. It was decided that Emily should stay here tolook after Joe, and that he should run up for his week-ends. In themeantime, as his business improved, he began to bring Ethel littlesurprises, candy or spring flowers, and to take her out in his car atnight. They went to the theatre several times. And everything whichwas said or done upon such occasions gave Ethel food for thinking. 

At the seashore, with Susette on the beach, hour after hour, she thoughtabout Joe and about herself. This thinking was long and curious. Itwas confused, barely conscious at times, all mingled with the longbright waves that came rolling in from the shining sea. The picture ofher sister's face kept rising up before her there--of Amy in her bedroomgood-humouredly talking and smiling, and teaching Ethel how to get on;of Amy with her husband, throwing swift, vigilant glances at him, kissing him, nestling in his arms. In her thinking Ethel grew hot andcold, with jealousy, swift self-reproach and a new, alarming tenderness. She thought of Joe, of his every look, his smile and the tones of hisgruff voice; of Joe grief-stricken and half crazed, of Joe awakening, coming back. Again with a warm rush of feelings, not unmingled withdismay, she would go over in her mind their talks and the queer, almostguilty expression that had often come in his eyes. For Amy had alwaysbeen in the room. 

For this thinking, fresh fuel was given by Joe's weekly visits here. There was not much talk of Amy now, her name had subtly dropped away, but Ethel could feel it behind the talk. "It would always be there!"she would cry to herself. "Well, and why not?" she would demand. "Whybe such a jealous cat? Would you let that hold you back?" It was all soinvolved, this Amy part, with Ethel's own earlier visions of happinessand a love of her own. Was this really love--this queer, leapingfeeling, up and down, hot and cold, uncertain, tense, unhappy, hungry, undecided?

"Oh, if I could only make up my mind!"

When with Joe, she had many moods. In some she grew resentful towardhim for forcing this upon her. But soon she would grow repentant. Hermanner, from cool friendliness, would change in a few moments; and hereyes would grow absorbed, attentive, now to Joe and now to herself, grave, wistful, sad, and then suddenly gay--though they only talked oflittle things, of Susette, the beach, the city, the coming winter, household plans, his work, half spoken aspirations. Any one watchingthem in these talks might have thought she was his wife. 

Again came that disturbing sense of intimate relationship to her sisterwho was dead. "I'm stepping into Amy's shoes. " But this feeling beganto be left behind. It was back in the past; she was looking on. Oneday, when Susette had bumped her head and her aunt was comforting her, suddenly in a revealing flash came the thought, "I love you, oh, sohard, my sweet! But I want another one all my own!"

When in September she and Susette went back to Joe in the city, all thisgrew more intense and clear. For he would not give her much longer now;she saw that he had made up his mind. She felt his strength andtenderness, his hunger for her growing. Sometimes it was frightening, the power he was gaining. A touch of his hand and she would grow cold. One evening when she had a headache, Joe bent over and kissed her. 

"Good-night, " he said, and left the room--left her burning, trembling. She pressed both hands tight to her cheeks, pressed the hot tears fromher eyes. 

At other times, she told herself, "Yes, I'm going to marry him. Butthere's nothing to be so excited about--or scared like this. I know himnow, I know just what he is and what he is not. He is not a good manythings I had dreamed of, but he's so dear and kind and safe. And I wantto have children. " Gravely wondering, she would look ahead. "You're nolonger a child, my dear. Be strong and sensible. This isreal. . . . It's getting rather cold tonight. I must run in andsee if Susette is warm. "

She still felt Amy's presence. Out of the various rooms certainpictures, chairs and vases forced themselves upon her attention. Forsome time past she had disliked them. It seemed to her at moments asthough she could not have them here. 

She knew what they were waiting for now. It was nearly the end ofOctober, and the day which both dreaded was nearly at hand, theanniversary of her death. They spoke not a word to each other about it, except once when Joe said gruffly:

"There's a bad time coming for both of us. Let's try not to be morbidabout it. " As it drew nearer she felt, she must speak. She felt howthis unspoken name of her sister would keep rising, rising, between themfor the rest of their lives. It was uncanny, it was like a spell, theforce of this unspoken name; and she thought, "I must break it!"

And yet she did not speak. She had little opportunity, for she saw verylittle of Joe that week. When the dreaded night arrived, he did notcome home until very late. From her room she heard him come in, andpresently by the silence she knew he had settled himself to work. Shebarely slept, rose early and dressed herself with a resolute air. Butalready Joe had gone. 

It was a beautiful morning. With Susette she went to a florist's shopand had the child pick out some flowers. Then they went out to Amy'sgrave. And a moment came to Ethel there, an overwhelming moment, whensomething seemed bursting up in herself and crying passionately:

"I can't!"

But a little miracle happened. For Susette, who was only three yearsold and understood nothing of all this, took half the purple asters fromAmy's grave, and turning back confidingly she put the rest in Ethel'shand--and then saw a sparrow and chased it, and laughed merrily as itflew away. 

At night when Joe came home, although he did not speak of the flowers, she knew that he too had been at the grave. He appeared relieved, thetension gone. 

"Now is the time to speak of her. " And Ethel looked up with a resolutefrown. . . . But once again she put it off. Soon they were talkingnaturally. 

Weeks passed, and the memory of that day dropped swiftly back behindthem. And there came a night when Joe, close by her side, had beentalking slowly for some time, his voice husky, strained and low, and shehad been sitting very still. She turned at last with a quick littlesmile, said:

"Yes, Joe, I'll--marry you--and--oh, I'm very happy! Please go now, dear! Please go--go!"

And when he had gone she still sat very still. 

From that night the name of her sister was not spoken between them--wasnot spoken for nearly two years. 

She grew used to being held in Joe's arms, to his kisses and to hisvoice that had changed, to the things he said and the way his eyeslooked into hers. That hunger, it was always there, and growing, alwaysgrowing! The feeling she'd never had before, that--"We're to be partsof one another!"--deepened, thrilled her with its depth, dazzled andconfused her mind. 

One day she went to Amy's room, and slowly began looking over theclothes. From the closet and the drawers, in a careful, tender way shetook the shimmering little gowns and dainty hats and slippers, silkstockings, filmy night-gowns--and packed them into boxes. All were tobe given away. "I couldn't!" Her throat contracting, she turned awaywith a sharp pang of pity and of jealousy and of a deep, deeptenderness. 

She lavished her love upon Amy's child. What adorable little garmentsshe bought for Susette, those autumn days. And at night, bending overher cradle, Ethel would whisper to her, "Oh, I'm dreaming, dreaming, dear!" And to Susette this was a huge joke, and they would laugh at itlike mad. "Oh, my precious loved one! What a fine, happy life we'lllead!"

CHAPTER IX

They were married early in December. There were no preparations to bemade, for a wedding is nothing without friends, and they had none butAmy's and though Joe said nothing to Ethel about it, she knew he had notsent them word. "It's better, " she thought. She herself wrote to a fewgirl friends, but they were scattered all over the country. No one ofthem would be coming East. And at times she felt very lonely. Withmemories of weddings at home and of her dreams for one of her own, whichshe had planned so often, she begged Joe to let her be married inchurch, and Joe gave in good-naturedly. He did not go to the ministerwho had buried Amy a year before, but to one who had a smallPresbyterian church on the next street. There he soon arranged to bemarried. But then, in his ignorance of such matters, Joe said, in hisblunt, off-hand way:

"I like to settle these things ahead. So if you'll just name theamount--" he stopped. For the clergyman straightened up as though at aninsult. Joe reddened. "Look here, " he blurted, "I didn't mean--"

"Oh, that's all right. " The other man was smiling queerly. "How longhave you been in New York?" he asked. 

"Nine years. "

"Ever been inside of a church?"

"No, I can't say that I have. "

"Then why do you want to get married here?"

Joe smiled frankly. "The bride's idea. "

"I thought so, " said the preacher. A glint of humour came into hiseyes. "You asked me what it would cost to get married. If you'll godown to City Hall, it will cost you exactly two dollars. But if youcare to be married here--well, there's an old scrub-woman I know who fornine years every Sunday has come to this church and put a quarter in theplate to keep this institution going for you. And if you care to use itnow it will cost you just what it has cost her. Figure it out and sendme a check, or else go down to City Hall. "

"I'll pay up, " was the prompt reply. 

At home he told Ethel about it with keen relish at the joke on himself. And Ethel smiled rather tensely and said:

"Don't let's make a joke of it, dear. Let's make it as much of a one aswe can. "

But there was little or nothing to do. And the next afternoon in churchit felt so queer and unreal to her as she stood with Joe in front of thepulpit. Behind her in the shadowy place were only Susette and Emily andthe building superintendent's wife. No long rows of faces--caring. Only the hard murmur of the busy street outside. No excited whispershere, no music and no flowers, no bridesmaids and no wedding gown. 

"I pronounce you man and wife. "

Then what?

She took Susette tight in her arms for a moment. Then Emily--thank Godfor her!--was whispering fiercely in her ear:

"It's going to be all right, my dear! In a minute you're going to laughor cry! Laugh! It's better! Laugh! . . . That's right!"

Joe had his small car waiting outside; and waving good-bye to Emily, whowas taking Susette to the park, they sped away to the river and off intothe country. Soon they were talking excitedly. 

It was after dark when they returned, and as had been already plannedthey went to a café to dine, a gay place crowded full of people, musicthrobbing, voices humming. Ethel wanted it like that. She wanted to belifted through. Joe alarmed her now. "Oh, don't--don't be soconsiderate!" she wanted to exclaim to him. "What good does it do?" Asthey smiled at each other, again and again she had to fight down animpulse to cry--or shiver. She would bite her lips and turn away andwatch people, then turn quickly back and start talking rapidly. 

At home, alone in Amy's room, she sat at the dressing table there, hermovements swift and feverish. She had often looked at herself of latein her mirror in the nursery, but now she did not look into the glass. Her hands were cold. In a very few minutes she called to Joe. 

And a little later, on her old bed by the cradle in the nursery, she layviolently trembling and staring intently up at the ceiling. 

"What has happened?" she asked. "Whose fault was it? Mine?" With astrange thrill of fear and repulsion, she clenched her teeth and heldherself until the fit of trembling passed. "Is this real, Ethel Knight?Do you mean to say this is what love is--just this, just this?" Sheshook her head and bit her lips. She asked, "Am I tied to this man forlife? I am not! I can't be! This isn't real--it isn't me!"

The night was a blur, like a bad dream. Once she remembered jumping upand quickly locking the nursery door. But that was the beginning of areturn to her senses. "I needn't have done that, " she thought. "Itwasn't fair. It was even rather insulting. " This thought made herquieter. And later, as the night wore on, a feeling of having beenunjust and foolish little by little emerged from the chaos and began tosteady her. But again the old dismay and dread and loathing would comeback with a rush. All at once her body from head to foot would growcold and rigid. And the power which a year ago with her sister she hadexcitedly sensed as the driving force of this whole town, now loomedbrutal, savage! The thought rose suddenly in her mind, "Amy. She washis wife! Five years!" And then in a revealing flash, "Her love waslike that! She taught him!"

With a bound that feeling of intimacy with her sister leaped to aclimax--burned!

It was long till she could quiet herself. She had to do it by walkingthe floor. . . . Thank heaven for the daylight and the small, roundface of Susette peering over the edge of the crib. Soon she had thechild in her bed and they were looking at pictures. 

Later she went back to her husband. It cost her no slight effort ofwill, and it was a relief to find him gone. On her dresser he had lefta note:

"I am sorry, dear--it was all my fault. I was a fool--a clumsy fool. But remember there is plenty of time--and be certain absolutely thateverything will be all right. "

She read it more than once that day, and it helped her prepare for theevening. When Joe came home and took her in his arms, she knew at oncethat he meant her to feel there was nothing to be afraid of. 

"I've got to be down at the office tonight, " was all he said. But inhis voice, low, kind and reassuring, like that of a big brother, therewas a promise which gave her a thrill of gratitude and deep relief. With it came some self-reproach, which caused her again to struggle, alone, and then go to Amy's room to sleep. She lay listening there forhours, carefully holding herself in check. When she heard his key inthe hall door, she sharply stiffened, held her breath. . . . Sheheard him go into the small guest room which had been hers a yearbefore. . . . And then she cried softly to herself. With theblessed relief of it, her love for Joe was coming back. 

CHAPTER X

One evening about two months later Ethel was dressing for dinner. Asusual they were dining alone, but long ago she had taken the habit ofdressing each night as though there were people coming. Amy had taughther to do that; and after the death of her sister she had always made apoint of "keeping up" for Joe's sake, although often it had been aneffort. But it was no effort now. She had been here for nearly anhour, absorbed in this pleasant, leisurely art that had such a newmeaning and delight. To keep being different, revealing her beauty innew ways, to see if he'd notice, to laugh in his arms and feel her powerover Joe, had brought back her old zest for pretty clothes, and she hadbeen wearing all the things she had bought when she first came to town. Last year's clothes, for they still smilingly called themselves "poor, "although Joe was doing much better now. Last year's clothes, and thestyles had changed, but in ways which Joe, poor dear, was too blind tonotice. 

The room in which she was dressing had somehow assumed a different air. Although in the main it was the same as when Amy had been here, and herpicture was still on Joe's chiffonier--still subtly by degrees it hadchanged. Some of Ethel's clothes were lying about, her work-bag and abook or two; the dressing table at which she was sitting had beencovered in fresh chintz, and Ethel's things were on it. Joe's pictureand Susette's were here, and a droll little painted bird was perchedabove the mirror. 

As she glanced into the glass, gaily she thanked herself for the charmswhich she was deftly enhancing--in the glossy black hair, smooth andsleek, in the flushed cheeks and the red of her lips and the gleaminglights in her brown eyes. She nodded approvingly at herself. "You're agreat help to me, Mrs. Lanier. "

In the glass she could see her husband; she felt his glances from timeto time. This evening after dinner they were going out somewhere. Towhat, he would not tell her. There had been many of these smallsurprises. . . . Now her pulse beat faster, for he had come behindher. A sudden bending, a quick laugh, a murmur and a silence. Then atlast he let her go; but as she drew a deep, full breath and shot a sidelook up at him, he laughed again, low, tensely, and bent over as before. 

Left alone, she smiled again into the glass. It was hard tobelieve--too wonderful--this amazingly intimate feeling, this livingwith somebody, body and soul. And what a child she had been before, achild in that solemn young resolve to marry Joe, this good, safe man, and raise a large family carefully. It had been like a small girlthinking of dolls. And like a small girl she had been in her panic onthe night of her wedding, she thought. How silly, ignorant, funny!No--she frowned--it had been real, pretty ugly while it lasted. Butlike a bug-a-boo it had gone. And this good, safe man had becometransformed in this amazing intimacy and had become a wild delight: aman to laugh at, tease, provoke, and cling to, silent, in a flame; a manto mother, study out, probe into deep with questions; a man to plan andplan with. 

"This love is to be the love of his life! It's to make us work andgrow, make us fine and awake and alive to everything worth living for!No laziness for you, my dear, no soft, cosy kitten life! You're to be awoman, a real one! Don't let there be any mistake about that!"

In the other room Joe was at his piano, and the music he was playing hadnothing to do with--any one else. She did not say, "with Amy. " Shefrowned a little and cut herself short, as she so often did in herthinking, these days, when it touched upon her sister. She could feelAmy here at so many points, and she did not want to be jealous. 

"I wonder where we're going tonight. "

What was it Joe was playing? Music she had heard before. She did notlike to ask him and so betray her ignorance. "I ought to know this!What is it?" she asked herself impatiently. "Why, of course! It's from'Bohęme'!" She smiled as she felt he was playing to her. With thethrill now so familiar, she felt her power over him. She rememberedlittle tussles in which she had been victorious. They had all been overhis business. Joe, the poor darling, had formed the idea (she did notsay from his first wife) that if a man is in love with a woman he mustexpress it by loading her down with things which cost a lot of money, that he must work for her, slave for her! But Ethel was putting an endto that. They had taken back Susette's old nurse, for it was unfair toone's husband to be a child's slave if there was no need. But she hadrefused to get other servants. Emily Giles was still in charge, andthough Emily of her own accord had gone to a shop on Fifth Avenue andpurchased caps and aprons, "the nattiest things this side of France, "she wore them with a genial air and spoke of them as "my uniform. " Etheltook care of her own room and helped Emily with the cleaning. She hadkept expenses firmly down, and she had refused to be loaded with gifts. When Joe had urged that his affairs were going so much better now, shehad said in her new decisive voice:

"I'm so glad to hear it, my love, for it simply means you've no earthlyexcuse for staying late at your office. I don't mean I want you toloaf, you know, " she had gone on more earnestly. "I want you to workand do, oh, so much, all the things you dreamed of doing--over there inParis. But I'm not going to have you make your business a mere rush fora lot of money we don't need!" She had gone to him suddenly. "And justnow I want you so. "

By these talks she had already worked a change. No more hastybreakfasts to let him be off by eight o'clock. They had breakfastedlater and later each day; she had made an affair of breakfast. And asat last he kissed her and tore himself away from his home, she hadsmiled to herself delightedly at the guilty look in his eyes. This kindof thing would cause a decided coolness, no doubt, between Joe and hispartner. So much the better, she had thought, for she detested that manNourse, and in his case she could quite openly admit, "I'm jealous ofyou and your business devotion! Your time is coming soon, friend Bill!"The office was half way uptown, and several times in the last few weeksshe had gone there for Joe at five o'clock, and once at four-thirty, asthough by appointment. She chuckled now as she recalled the black lookof his partner that day. Yes, four-thirty had been a blow!

"Where are we going this evening?"

It was delightful to be so free, she told herself repeatedly. Friends?They didn't need any friends. For the present they had eachother--enough! "Yes, and for some time to come!" But there always cameto her a little qualm of uneasiness when her thinking reached thispoint. How were friends to be found in this city?

"Oh, later--later--later!"

And rising impatiently with a shrug, she went into the nursery. Thenurse had been so glad to get back that most of her old hostility towardEthel had vanished. Still there were signs now and then of a sneerwhich said, "You'll soon be paying no more attention to this poor bairnthan her mother did before you. " And it was as well to show the womanhow blind and ignorant she was--to make her see the difference. 

"Bohęme" was the surprise that night. It was Ethel's first night at theopera. And looking up at the boxes, at the women she had read about, the gorgeous gowns and the jewels they wore, and watching them laugh andchatter; or looking far above them to the dim tiers of galleriesreaching up into the dark; or again with eyes glued on the stagefeasting upon Paris, art, "Bohemia, " youth and romance; squeezing hercompanion's hand and in flashes recollecting dazzling little incidentsof the fortnight just gone by--her mind went roving into the future, finding friends and wide rich lives shimmering and sparkling like thesunlight on the sea. As that Italian music rose, all at once she wantedto give herself, "To give and give and give him all!" The tears welledup in her happy eyes. 

"However! To be very gay!"

Later that evening in a café she leaned across the table and askedexcited questions about "Bohęme" and Paris. What was Paris really like?The Latin Quarter, the Beaux Arts? What did he do there, how did helive? In what queer and funny old rooms? Did he live alone or withsomebody else? Something was clutching now at her breast. (Farrar hadsung "Mimi" that night). "Don't be silly!" she told herself. "Oh, Joe!" she said, and she looked down at the fork in her hand which shewas fingering nervously. Then she looked quickly up and smiled. "Whatman did you room with? Any one?" He was smiling across the table still. "You inquisitive woman, " said his eyes. 

"No, I lived alone, " he replied. "And I sat at a drafting board--with asweater on--it used to be cold. "

"Oh, you poor dear!"

"And I worked, " he continued, "like a bull pup. And along towardmorning I tied a wet towel around my head--"

"Oh, Joe!" Ethel's foot pressed his, and they laughed at each other. "But there must have been, " she cried, "so much besides! Joe Lanier, you are lying! There were cafés--and student balls and fancy dress--andsinging--and queer streets at night!"

"That's so, " he answered solemnly, "the city of Paris did have streets. You walked on them--from place to place. "

"Joe Lanier--"

"First you put the right foot forward, then the left--you moved along. "

"Joe! For goodness sakes!"

"Look here. Do you know what I want to do with you?"

"No. " And Ethel shook her head. She did know, precisely, and it was hermotive for all this talk. 

"Take you there--and get rooms in the Quarter--not too far from theLuxembourg--"

"Oh, Joe, you perfect darling!"

He went on describing all they would do, in the cafés and on thestreets, in old churches and at plays and at the Opera Comique, whereshe must surely see "Louise. " They began excitedly planning ways andmeans, expenses, his business and when he could get away. He sobered atthat, and she cried to herself, "Now he's thinking of his friend Bill!Oh, what a detestable, tiresome worm!"

Then a man who was passing their table stopped in surprise as herecognized Joe, bowed, smiled and said something and went on, and joineda hilarious group down the room. And Ethel saw him speak to them andshe felt their glances turned her way. Joe had grown suddenly awkward, his face wore a forced, unnatural smile, and he was talking rapidly--butshe heard nothing that he said. The whole atmosphere had changed in aninstant. 

For those people over there were some of Amy's friends, no doubt, amusedat Joe and his young second wife, amused that Joe had not had the nerveto ask them to his wedding. Ethel could feel herself burning inside. Amistake not to have asked them? No! What had they to do with it? Whatright had they, what hold on Joe? They had been a mighty poor lot offriends, with empty minds and money hearts, just clothes and food, late hours and wine! They had been decidedly bad for him, had drawn himoff from his real work and plunged him into the rush to be rich! Avoice within her, from underneath, was asking, "Or was it Amy?" But shepaid no heed to that. It asked, "Are you sure they are all so bad?Have you taken the trouble to find out?" But angrily she answered thatshe wanted friends of her own, that she couldn't be just a second wife. "I've got to be all different, new! I've got to be--and I will, Iwill!" She swallowed fiercely. Besides, it was what Joe needed, exactly! He showed already what it had meant to be rid of such friends!Had he ever talked of Paris before, or his dreams and ambitions oranything real? But the voice retorted sharp and clear:

"Why hide it then? Why let this foolish dangerous habit of nevermentioning Amy's name keep growing up between you and your husband? Itmay do a lot of harm, you know. What are you afraid of?"

Nothing whatever, she replied. She decided to speak of it then andthere. She would be perfectly natural, and ask him, "Who are yourfriends over there? Some people Amy used to know?" And she grew rigidall at once. Her throat contracted and felt dry. Angrily she bit herlip . . . But the habit of silence was too strong. . . . Soon, with a carefully pleasant smile, she was attending to his talk and byher questions drawing out more and more of his life abroad. 

"His work, " she thought, "that's the strongest thing to hold his mindaway from those people. " And soon she had him talking of the Beaux Arts, architecture, plans and "periods" and "styles, " things she was quitevague about, but she did not have to listen now. That was always sosafe, she told herself. She was even a little jealous of this puzzling, engrossing work, which could so hold her husband's mind. She frowned. That was as it should be; a man's work was his own concern. But hisliving, his home, what he did at night?

"This can't go on, " she decided. "There will have to be friends forboth of us. I need them, too. Oh, how I need one woman friend! Andwhere shall I find her? Somewhere in this city there must be just thepeople I want--if only I could reach them!"

And presently she was saying aloud in a lazy careless tone of voice:

"Sometimes I get wondering, Joe, if there isn't a Paris in New York. "

CHAPTER XI

It was a few weeks later. A doctor had been there and gone, andreturning into the living-room Ethel sank down on a chair with a quietintensity in her eyes. For some time she had not been feeling herself, but she did not want to worry Joe, and so at last she had telephoned tothe clergyman who had married her. 

"You may not remember me, " she had said, "but you married me inDecember. Perhaps you'll recall it if I say there were only threefriends at the church. "

"Oh, yes, I remember it--perfectly. "

"Thank you. I'm not quite well and I have no friends to turn to, so I'mwondering if you could recommend a good doctor I could see. "

The doctor recommended had just paid his visit. And now as the duskdeepened she had the strangest feelings. Her year and a half in thecity seemed hurried and feverish as a dream. Her mind ran back into thepast and on into the future. Only a few days before, the round robinletter had come again. In it the girl who had married the miningengineer out West had told of having a baby in a little town in Montana. Ethel had thought of the doctor then. 

She rose now and got the letter and re-read it slowly. Presently sheput it down and began crying softly, though she felt neither sad norfrightened. Her life had so completely changed. All those girlfriends, so scattered; all those years, so far behind. It was likegetting on a ship, she thought, to start across the ocean. "You can'tget off, you must go across. Oh, Ethel Lanier, how happy you'll be. "But the happiness seemed a long way off. 

How quiet it was. The nurse came in with Susette from the park. Ethelwent into the nursery and kneeling down she began to unbutton Susette'slittle jacket. The child's plump face was so rosy and cold. She kissedit suddenly. 

"Martha, " she said, "I'll need you here for a long time now. I'm goingto have a baby. "

She reddened then and held her breath. Queer, how she had blurted itout! She had not meant to tell any one yet. But the look of dawningjoy and relief in Martha's eyes made her glad she had spoken. Plainlythe nurse had been dreading the time so fast approaching when she wouldhave to leave Susette, who was now nearly four years old. But all shesaid to Ethel was this:

"I'm glad to hear it, Mrs. Lanier. I hope you'll be very careful now. "She shot a look as keen as a knife, which asked, "Do you really want achild? Or are you like her? Was it a mistake?"

And Ethel went quickly out of the room. In the living-room her eye wascaught by Amy's photograph on the table. She had always kept it there. In her cleaning she had put it back. Emily, too, had put it back. Theyhad never spoken Amy's name. But Ethel faced the picture now for somemoments steadily. Somehow it had lost its beauty, it looked weak andsoul-less, without power any longer over Ethel's future. "Poor Amy. Oh, how much you missed. " And she added, "I'll never be like that. " Foran instant she let her mind dwell on the past, on how Susette's comingmust have been--unwelcomed by her mother. 

"But this one will be welcomed! Our love is so--so different! Thiswill bind us, oh, so close! It's done now, you're tied for life!" Shehad never felt it so before. The months of her marriage had been soexciting, and even in the long summer's thinking her love had seemedalways a little unreal. "But this is real--inside of me!" Her fancywent careering ahead, with joy and wonder, a thrill of dismay. "I wasso free, with my life to choose! I could have been almost anything!But now it is settled. This is my life. We talk and we talk aboutbeing free--and then all at once--a baby. "

In the days which followed and grew into weeks and months, the feelingof quiet remained with her. The pang of uneasiness as to how she was tofind friends for Joe and herself, was allayed and put off to the future. He would not expect anything of her just now. And because it waspressing upon her no longer, it became a pleasure to dream and plan forherself and Joe and the children. 

She was only twenty-four, and although Joe was thirty-six he lookedyears younger. They could grow. Now she began asking him to read aloudin the evenings, nor was the reading all "mere fluff. " Though she pickedout amusing things to vary the monotony, she insisted on magazines andbooks which had been recommended by the little history "prof" at home, to whom Ethel wrote long letters. The books rather appalled her husbandat times; but using her new hold on him, she said:

"Go on, dear, now begin. " And she picked up her sewing with a look whichsaid, "We've got to grow, you know, if we're ever to get friends worthwhile or have a life worth living. "

But again she would shut out all that, and smile to herself and growabsorbed. And this habit grew to such a degree that by the beginning ofsummer their reading bees had come to an end. In June she took Marthaand Susette and went to the seashore for three months. She came back inSeptember, and now the time was drawing near. Her husband's love grewanxious and there came troubled gleams in his eyes. 

The trained nurse had arrived. The doctor kept coming. Martha wasplainly "in a state. " And Emily Giles, for all her grim ways, hadmoments almost tender. All centering, swiftly centering, as the longvoyage neared its end. 

CHAPTER XII

What deep relief and blessed peace. She lay on her bed, now smiling, now inert, eyes closed, weak and relaxed, but already aware from time totime of the beginnings within herself of new vitality, food for herchild. Her body felt profoundly changed, and so it was with her spirit. Again the thought rose in her mind that this had settled and sealed herlife. But she was glad of the certainty. Slowly, as her strengthreturned, all the vague desires and dreams of the last few months cameback, grew clear; and she planned and planned for the small boy whom thenurse kept bringing to her bed. At such moments the new love within herrose like sonic fresh bursting spring. 

The city, though so vast, complex, came to be like a place full ofmiracles. The voices of its ceaseless life came into her window day andnight, the hoots and distant bellows of ships, the rattle of wheels, therush of cars, the long swift thunder of the "L, " and bursts of laughterfrom the streets, and animated voices. She remembered her first nightin New York; she recalled her earlier visions of the city as a place ofthrilling aspirations, wide, sparkling, abundant lives. And Ethelsmiled and told herself:

"All the glory I dreamed of is here. "

The thought came to her clearly that Amy it was who had hidden it all, who had stood smilingly in the way and had said, "All this is nothing. "But she felt a rush of pity now for the woman who was left behind, cutoff so completely by the birth of this small son. The nurse wasbringing him into the room, and Ethel smiled at her and said:

"Ask Susette if she doesn't want to come, too. "

It was only a day or two later that her husband broke his news. He hadbeen so dear to her, his visits had been such a joy, and although behindhis tenderness vaguely she had sensed some change, some new excitementin his mind, in her own absorption in their boy she had attributed it tothat. But early one evening he came in with a sheaf of roses in hisarms, and when she had exclaimed at them and breathed deep of their dewyfragrance, Joe bent over and kissed her, and said a little huskily:

"I've got some big news for you, little wife. It's big. It's going tomean so much. "

"What is it, Joe?"

She stared up intently into his eyes. He was telling her he had mademoney. He was telling how the approaching birth of their small son hadmade him feel he must put an end to these ups and downs, and how he hadworked and racked his brains. He told of heavy borrowing, of anxiousweeks, of a wonderful stroke of luck at last which not only made himrich for the moment but opened the way to wealth ahead. He was speakingof what this would mean to them here. He knew how hard it had been forher and how pluckily she had come through without ever asking foranything. But all that was over now. He had made money! What was thematter? She heard it all in fragments, topsy turvy. What was wrong?"Here is a Joe I've never known!" Still staring up into his eyes, shesaw their strange exultant light; the excitement in his husky voicestruck into her sensitive ear and jarred; and she nearly shrank from theclutch of his hand. She lay wondering why she was not glad, tillsuddenly she saw in his face his sharp disappointment at the way she wastaking his news. With a pang of alarm she roused herself and said:

"Oh, Joe, it's too wonderful! It's so sudden it strikes me all of aheap!" And she laughed unsteadily, seized his hand and kissed it, talking rapidly, her eyes glistening all the while with foolish tears. Fiercely then she asked herself, "Why can't you enter in and be gay?"But though she was doing better now and had him talking as before, againand again she felt he was thinking how different Amy would havebeen--how in an instant, laughing and crying, she would have thrownherself into his arms!

Yes, indeed, a Joe she had never known, shaped and moulded by the wifewho had had him in those early years when a woman can do so much with aman, can do what sets him in a groove in work and living, tastes, ideals. "And I thought I had done so much!" But Amy's hand had stillbeen there; he had been her husband, all the time!

It was a relief to have him gone. Alone she could think more clearly. "What are you so frightened about? Of being rich, you little fool?" No, she had always wanted that, money enough to forget it existed, money toopen all the doors. "But this money is coming too soon! I'm not ready. I'm too young! And he'll expect so much of me now. There'll be noexcuse for holding back, for going slow till I find what I want. He'llexpect me to find friends at once! But where shall I find them all of asudden? It isn't as though we were millionaires, really big ones, allin a minute. The newspapers won't be very excited; the town will takeit quite calmly, quite! And for the life of me I don't see any friendsrushing at us! And yet he'll expect it! So much he'll expect! He'llgive and give and give me things and then wonder why I don't getanywhere!" The angry tears leaped in her eyes. "Because he's differentnow, he's changed! All bursting with his big success, his 'strike, ' hisbusiness--money mad! Oh, how I hate his business--and that detestablepartner, too!"

A wave of rebellion swept over her at the way she had been caught, tangled into the life of a man and the fortunes of his business. Butthen she thought of the son she had borne him, and this brought quickremorse and tears, from which she fell into a deep sleep. And when sheawoke she found the nurse was waiting with the baby. 

And the days which followed with their peace, their slow return ofhealth and strength, brought assurance, too, and she laughed at herselffor having been such a foolish child. She recalled her panic on herwedding night. Then, too, she had found a Joe unknown. But had thatturned out so dreadful? He came often to her bedside now; and althoughshe could feel how changed he was, it no longer frightened her. She hadher wee boy; and Emily Giles and Susette and her nurse kept coming in;and the room grew very gay, as they had little parties there. 

"Who needs friends so all of a sudden!"

But one day Emily came in and grimly remarked, "There's a woman outsidewho owns this apartment. "

"What?"

"She acts that way. She's walking 'round that sitting-room--pickingthings up and putting things down-" Emily's voice was rising in wrath. 

"Emily! Sh-h! She'll hear you! Who is she? Didn't she give hername?"

"Here's her name!" And Emily poked out a card, at which Ethel looked ina startled way. 

"Fanny Carr! Now why has she come here?"

"Will you see her or shall I tell her the flat is already rented?"

"No, no! Emily--don't be rude! She's a friend of my--my husband's!"

And a few moments later, propped up in bed with a pretty lace cap on herhead, Ethel was smiling affably at her visitor, who was exclaiming:

"My dear girl, I'm so glad to see you again! So good of you, letting mein like this! I didn't have the least idea! I didn't know of yourbaby--I hadn't even heard you were married! I've been abroad for over ayear. I got back to New York only last week and heard from one of Joe'smen friends of the luck he has had--how his business is simply boomingalong! It's perfectly gorgeous, Ethel dear, and I'm so glad for you, mychild! When I heard the news--"

She talked on vivaciously. And Ethel lay back, her gaze intent onFanny's handsome features, on her rich lips, pearl earrings, her eyeswith their curious color, grey green, that were so sparkling and alive. And Ethel thought to herself in dismay: "How much more attractive sheis! Was my first feeling about her all wrong, or is it that I'm gettingused to these New Yorkers? I thought she was just hard--all brass! Sheisn't! She's--she's dangerous! What is she poking 'round here for?What does she want? Is she married again? No, her name was the same onher card. Still single--yes, and looking around--for somebody withmoney!"

By the questions Fanny was asking, plainly she was trying to find whatfriends Ethel had made in New York. And although the girl on the bedtalked of the town in glowing terms, in a few moments Fanny was saying:

"I'm afraid you've been rather lonely here. "

"Oh, no!" And Ethel laughed merrily. "If you knew how my time isfilled--every hour! My small boy--" and she went eagerly on to show howfull her life had become. 

"Oh, you darling!" Fanny laughed. And then with an envious sigh shesaid, "You make me feel so old and forlorn. With all your beauty, EthelLanier, and youth--your whole life starting--well, you've just got tolet me in and take you about. Oh, I know, I know, it's so wonderfulhere, and fresh and new, and you're quite contented and all that. Butafter all, it's a city, you know--a perfectly good one, full oflife--and people you'll like--old friends of Joe's. " She went on in acrisp gay tone to paint the pleasures of the town. And meanwhileglancing at Ethel she thought, "What a perfect devil she thinks me, poorchild, a bold bad creature on Joe's trail--when all I want is to takeher around and help her spend her money. I need it badly enough, Godknows!"

At last she rose. 

"I mustn't tire you. Good-bye, dear. You'll let me come again, ofcourse. "

"Oh, yes, do. " At Ethel's tone, Fanny smiled to herself, as deftly sheadjusted her furs. She turned to look in the mirror and her eye wascaught by the photograph of Amy over on Joe's chiffonier. She moved astep toward it, paused, turned back, and with a good-bye to Ethel wentout. 

Ethel's eyes went back to the photograph. How strong and alarming, allin an hour, Amy's picture had become. As she looked, it seemed to takeon life, to be saying, "Money! Money at last!" And with dismay she toldherself:

"Now they'll come in a perfect horde!"

CHAPTER XIII

"Shall I tell Joe! Most certainly. "

But she did not tell him all, that night. She did not say, "One ofAmy's friends was here today, and she's coming again, and more arecoming--and I hate them, every one!" She simply remarked:

"Oh, Joe, dear--Fanny Carr was here today. "

"She was, eh?" he gave a slight start. "Where has she been all thistime?"

"Abroad. " And Ethel answered his questions. "She'll be here a gooddeal, I fancy, " she ended. Joe looked annoyed and uneasy. But he didnot speak, that evening, of the memories rising in his mind. For onboth the old spell of silence was strong. Subtly the spirit of thefirst wife came stealing back into the room, pervaded it and made it herown. But her name was still unspoken. 

The next day brought an exquisite baby's cap with Fanny's card tuckedinside. And in the fortnight after that, Fanny herself came severaltimes. She talked in such a natural way, and her smile and the look inher clever grey eyes was so good-humoured and friendly. "She's doing itbeautifully, " Ethel thought. But she pulled herself up. "Doing whatbeautifully? What do I mean? One would think we were millionaires, andJoe a perfect Adonis! Is she trying to eat us? And aren't you rather asnob, my love, to be so sure you hate the woman before you even knowher?"

At such moments Ethel would relax and grow pleasantly interested inFanny's talk of Paris and Rome, or of New York. In each city Fannyseemed to have led very much the same existence. In each there had beenAmericans, and hotels, cafés and dances, motor trips and lunches, gossipand scandal without end. But she told of it all in a humorous way thatmade it quite amusing. And it was a good deal the same with the twowomen, Amy's friends, whom Fanny brought to tea a bit later. Theirgossip and their laughter, their voices breaking into each other andmaking a perfect hubbub at times, their smart suits and hats and daintyboots, their plump faces, lively eyes, all were quite exciting to Ethel, when she threw off her hostility and the uneasiness they aroused. Itfelt good to be gossipy once more. 

But how they chattered! How they stayed! Joe would be coming home soonnow, and she wanted them to go. But they did not go, and Ethel guessedthat it was Joe they were waiting for. She was sure of it when heappeared. The way they all rushed at him with little shrieks oflaughter, talking together, excited as girls! "Though they're all yearsolder than I am!" Ethel angrily exclaimed, as she sat there matronly andsevere. She eyed her husband narrowly, and at first with keensatisfaction she saw how annoyed and embarrassed he was. But themoments passed, and he grew relieved, more easy and more natural, hisvoice taking on its usual tone, blunt and genial. And she thought, "He's going to like it!" For a moment she detested him then. "They'llflatter him, make a tin god of him! No, I mean a money god! That'swhat they want, his money!" She positively snorted, but no one seemed tonotice it. Now they were turning back to her and she was in the hubbub, too. And how amiably she smiled!

When they were gone, there fell a silence which was like a sudden pall. "He can break it! I--won't!" she decided viciously. He had gone totheir room, she had followed him there, and he was not having an easytime. He washed and dressed without a word. But at last he came toher. 

"Look here. " His arm was about her, she jerked away, but he would notrelease her. 

"You're the most adorable little wife that ever made a man happy, " hesaid. "But you're young, you know--"

"Is that a crime?"

"No, it's something those other women would all give their eye-teethfor. "

"Go on. "

"But you're human, you know, and you've got to grow older--and as you doyou'll find, my dear, that it takes all kinds to make a world. "

"How original!" He went on unabashed:

"And if you are to get any friends, you've got to get out and meet allkinds--many you don't like at all--and then little by little take yourchoice. " He paused, and although he did not add, "After all, they'reAmy's friends, and you might at least give 'em a chance"--Ethel knew hewas thinking that, though he only ended gently, "But I guess I'll leaveit all to you. Do as you like. I'll be satisfied. "

"He won't be, though, " she told herself. She knew he would bedistinctly annoyed if she did not enter in. "No, I've simply got to benice to them. There's no keeping them away!"

And in this she was right. Flowers and gifts for the baby came, andseveral more women friends; and one of them brought her husband. Nearlyalways they stayed until Joe came home; and in his manner, with dismay, she saw the hold they were getting. It was not only flattery theyused, they appealed to his loyalty to his first wife. "Don't drop usnow, " they seemed to say. "We were your friends when you werepoor--when she was poor. If she had lived, just think how welcome weshould be. "

Early one evening when Ethel and Joe were dressing for dinner, EmilyGiles came in with a long box of roses. Ethel thought they were forherself. 

"No, " said Emily, "they're for your husband. "

"For me?" Joe laughed. "There's some mistake. "

"No--there's no mistake, " said Ethel, in a low unnatural voice. In aninstant she had grown cold. What a fool, to have forgotten that thiswas Amy's birthday! Inside the box was Fanny's card and on it she hadwritten, "In memory of the many times I helped you buy a birthday gift. "

Ethel went quickly out of the room. It was an awkward evening. 

Fanny gave a dinner soon after that to celebrate Ethel's recovery. Itwas in a hotel grill room, and it was large and noisy--and noisier andnoisier--till even above the boisterous hubbub at the tables all about, the noise of their party could be heard. At least so it seemed toEthel's ears. And what were they saying? Anything really witty, sparkling? No--just chatter, peals of laughter! They were just plaincheap and tough! how red were their faces, warm and moist their lipsand eyes!

"You're not vivid enough, that's the trouble with you! You've got to bevivider!" she thought. "You ought to have taken that cocktail!" Shedrank wine now, a whole glass of it, and tried to be very boisterouswith the man on her right, who was smiling back as though he couldbarely hear her voice. "He has had too much!" she told herself. "Oh, how I loathe you--loathe you all!"

But later, when they began to dance, she found with a little glow ofrelief that she could do this rather well. Thank Heaven she had takenthose dancing lessons a year ago; and she was younger than most of thesecreatures, and more lithe and supple. The men were noticing, crowding around her. She caught a glare from one of their wives. And that glarehelped tremendously, it came like a gleam of light in the dark. Shecaught Joe's admiring glances. She danced with him, then turned himdown for somebody else, kept turning him down. She threw into herdancing an angry vim; but joy was coming into it, too. This was not sobad, after all. "You may even grow to like all this!" But most of herthinking was a whirl. 

She went home in a taxi, in Joe's arms. She thought, "This is how heand Amy came home. Never mind, I'm not half so weak as I thought. Ican play this game--"

And play it she did. 

The next morning they slept very late. They had breakfast in bed, andwhen Joe had gone she lay thinking. Her mind was marvellously clear. It went swiftly over the night before. Yes, most of it had been simplydisgusting, the eating and drinking, those warm moist eyes. "The waythe men looked at you, held you! This is no life for you, EthelLanier!" The dancing was all she cared about. She wanted that, but withother men whom she would like to be friends with--"men who would treatyou as something more than a, than a--I don't know what!" Yes, she mustget away from these creatures, and get Joe away, too; but to do it shemust show him first that she was really willing to do her best to likethem all. The next thing was to ask them here. "It's the only way tobreak their hold. Show him you're no jealous cat. And how do I knowthat among them all, as I go about, I won't find a few that aren't sotough? And through them I'll find others. "

But she put off entertaining Joe's friends, for she had her hands fullnow in managing just Joe alone. Amy's husband was coming to life inhim. Of that there could be no mistake. Under the spell of hissuccess, and still more perhaps through his pride and delight in hishandsome young wife, Joe was showing his love for her as Amy had taughthim long ago. He showered gifts upon her. He delighted in surprises. One was a smart little town car, and this was a very pleasant surprise. But in it he insisted upon her shopping busily. No more wearing lastyear's clothes! And when she was a bit slow to move, to her dismay hewent himself with Fanny Carr, and bought for Ethel's birthday a costlyset of furs and a brooch. He nearly bought pearl earrings, too, butEthel took them back at once. "Fanny knows as well as I do myself thatI can't wear pearls!" she thought angrily. She exchanged them for opalpendants. And then, in order to put a stop to Fanny's detestableattempts "to make me look like a perfect fright, " Ethel did start in andshop. And as soon as she got well into it, what a fever it became!Sternly eyeing herself in the mirrors of shops, she studied and mademistakes by the score, and corrected and went on and on. "I'll lookright if kills me!"

One night she learned what Fanny Carr had had in mind when she came"poking into our lives!" For Fanny was poor--she had long guessed that;and Fanny had a house on Long Island, and only by a hair's--breadth nowdid Ethel keep her from selling it to Joe as a surprise for his wife. 

"Well, Fanny, what next?" thought Ethel that night. She had been awakefor hours, perfectly still and motionless, not to disturb her husband. "For you are not through yet, Mrs. Carr. So long as we're rich and youare poor and have no immediate husband, you're going to act like aravening wolf--aren't you, my own precious. You mean to break my holdon him by keeping him thinking of her, of her! Now what am I to doabout it?" She frowned. She knew that she ought to talk frankly to Joe, and get over this silly habit of never mentioning Amy's name! She grewdetermined, but then weak. For what could she say to him about Amy?What did she really want to say? "Do I know poor Amy was anything bad?Wasn't she good to me? Would I care to try to talk against her? No. And even if I did, you see, it would only hurt me with Joe--as itshould. "

So she went on in different moods. And now she saw her sister's facesmiling out of clear violet eyes, and again she felt a small gloved handon her husband drawing him gently back--back and back into the past. Why was Amy so much stronger now? "Because Fanny Carr has been cleverenough to take me out of the life I was making and pitch me into Amy'slife, where her hold on Joe was strongest. I'm in her setting. That'sthe trouble!"

But she had Amy's friends to dine one night, as in her calmer moods sheknew was the only sensible course. And as they began arriving, by swiftdegrees amid the buzz of talk which rose, Ethel could feel the room eachmoment change and become Amy's home. And it was Amy's dinner, too. Nocooking of Emily's that night, for Joe had suggested a caterer. "Theone we've always used, " he had said. And so the cocktails and the winesand the food in many courses, the two waiters in evening clothes, andthe talk and the shrieks of mirth, were just as they must have beenbefore so many, many times in this room. Ethel sat affably rigid there. 

And later at the piano Joe was not Ethel's husband. Nor was it her roomwhen they stripped up the rugs and began to dance, nor her photographtheir eyes kept seeking from time to time! She even thought she couldhear them whisper about the hostess who was dead!

And when very late they had departed, and last of all Joe had gone withFanny downstairs to put her in her taxi, Ethel, left alone in the room, turned to her sister's photograph. 

"I won't be like you, " she tensely declared. "I won't live in yourhome--with your husband--"

The picture smiled good-naturedly back

"All right, " it seemed to answer, "then what do you expect to do?"

CHAPTER XIV

By the next day she had made up her mind to look for another apartment. The move had several points in its favour. It would not only take heraway from this place where she felt the spell so strong; it would alsogive her something to do. "And I need it, heaven knows!" she thought. And besides it would provide an excuse for not seeing Amy's friends. "I'll be worn out every evening, " she decided with grim satisfaction. 

She found Joe more than ready for the change. He himself had suggestedit, some weeks before, and Ethel made the most of that. "I've beenthinking over your idea of moving, " she began one night. And in thetalk which followed, the intent little glances she threw at him made hersure that in her husband's mind was a half conscious deep relief at theidea of getting away from these rooms and their memories. 

"Poor dear, " she reflected tenderly, "what a place for a tired businessman--a home with two assorted wives waiting for him every night. "

But when it came to looking about, to her surprise Ethel found it hard, on her own account, to make the move. For with all its faults anddrawbacks, this was the place where she had struggled, groped anddreamed, had married Joe and discovered him in hours she would neverforget, and here her baby had been born. The place had grown familiar. Even the huge building, for all its appearance of being exactly likeevery other on the street, had in some curious fashion taken on forEthel a special atmosphere of its own; and coming back from a bleaksuccession of apartments she had inspected, this did at least seem morelike a home. 

Joe came to her rescue. He was a part owner here, and with delight shelearned from him that a large and sunny apartment at the top of thebuilding was to be free the first of May. Ethel went up to see it atonce. And the arrangement of the rooms, and the way the sun floodedinto each one, made her exclaim with pleasure. 

The present tenants were a young widow and her companion, a mostrespectable elderly dame. The widow was about Ethel's age andexcessively pretty and stylish, and in her low sweet voice and hermanner was a peculiar attractiveness that Ethel could not analyse. Sheexplained that she was going abroad, possibly to be gone a year, orshe never would have given up this gem of an apartment. She seemed morethan glad to show Ethel about, and displayed a friendly interest in hervisitor's eager planning. When Ethel left at the end of an hour, thewidow smiled at her and said, with a charming little hesitation:

"I don't think you have my name. It's Mrs. Grewe. I do hope you'llcome up whenever you like, and let me help you all I can. I shall solove to feel when I go that you and your kiddies will be here. I'venoticed them so often, down-stairs and in the elevator. And they'reboth such darlings. "

And at that, with a thrill of pride, Ethel felt almost as though she hadfound a friend in the city at last. 

They saw each other frequently, for Ethel was always running in to lookthrough the various rooms and puzzle and decide on curtains, rugs andportieres. In this she was aided more than she knew by the tastedisplayed in the furnishings, rich, subdued and yet so gay, that youngMrs. Grewe had collected here. The two had animated talks, and oncewhen her new acquaintance suggested, "I'd be so glad if I could be ofsome help in your shopping, " Ethel replied, "Oh, you could! I'd love tohave you!" And they started in that day. 

And yet how curious, even here. For whenever Ethel endeavoured to getthe conversation upon a little more intimate terms, Mrs. Grewe wouldalmost instantly become evasive and remote. And once when Ethel askedher to "drop down and have dinner with us some night, " she declinedalmost with a start, as though she were saying, "Ha! Look out! I'm indanger of letting you be a real friend!" And thinking this over, Ethelreflected, "The only New Yorker I've met so far, whom I'd like to know, is nice to me simply because she is going abroad in a month and so it'ssafe! Has she offered to introduce me to a single friend of hers?Well, then, don't! Keep your old friends! I don't want to eat them!"And for days together she would leave the young widow alone. 

But the latter would make pleasant advances, and soon they would beshopping again. This acquaintance was one of the few bright spots in aseason which for Ethel was full of anxious worries. For it was by nomeans easy. Amy had been a shopper who simply could not resist prettythings, and so her apartment was crowded with furniture and bric-a-brac. "How much can I get rid of without offending Joe?" asked Ethel. He wasthe kind of man who says nothing. He would not object, but he wouldfeel hurt. It took the most careful probing to find how far she couldsafely go. And she was tempted by the shops. In her smart town car, with plenty of money and with young Mrs. Grewe at her side, it wasalmost impossible to resist the adorable things she discovered. "Nowonder Amy bought too much. " But there they were, all Amy'sbelongings, and to be rid of each table, each chair, each rug, meantthe most careful thinking. 

"Nevertheless, " she told herself. "That apartment upstairs is to be myown home. "

In the meantime her new occupation was working out wonderfully as anexcuse for not going about in the evenings. She was so dead tired everynight. No need to feign fatigue, it was real. She even had to call inher physician, in the first "draggy" days of Spring; and he warned herthat she was doing too much, it was too soon after the birth of herchild. She was glad when Joe happened to come in and overhear thedoctor. He became the same old dear to her that he had I been a yearago. And with eagerness, tired though she was, she took pains everyevening to dress in ways that she knew he liked. And at times it wasalmost like a second honeymoon they were having. She used the baby, too, and Susette; she often persuaded Joe to come home in time forSusette's supper, or better still for the baby's bath. And all this wasso successful that even when her spring fever was gone she still stayedat home in the evenings. 

But in the meantime, what about friends? "I'm lazy, " she thought, "I'mnot facing it! I'm just putting it off--and it's dangerous!" For Joewas out so much at night. Over half the time he did not get home untilthe children were in bed, and often after a hurried dinner he wouldleave by eight o'clock--for business appointments, he told her, at someclub or some café. He was putting through another big deal. At times, despite her efforts, angry suspicions would arise. He was dealing withsome men from the West. No doubt they had to be entertained. She hadheard a little of such entertaining from travelling men she had known athome. "Oh, Ethel Lanier, don't be so disgusting!" But after all, a manso tense all day in his office needed some gaiety at night. 

She began to suggest going out in the evenings. They went to"Butterfly" and "Louise, " and each evening was a great success. Butwithin a few days Fanny Carr called up and asked them to dinner and theplay. Ethel made some excuse and declined. She did not mention it toJoe, but that night he said gruffly, "Sorry you turned Fanny down. " AndEthel looked at him with a start. So Joe was seeing her these days!

"I haven't been feeling very strong, Joe, " she said in an unnaturaltone. 

"You've been to the opera twice this week, " was her husband's grimrejoinder. 

And this was only one little instance of many that made Ethel sure thatFanny Carr was still about. She was getting at Joe through his businessside, going to his office. She had asked him to sell her house on LongIsland, and through this transaction she had tangled him into heraffairs. A lone woman, defenceless in business, needing the aid andadvice of a man. "Oh, I can almost hear her lay it on--herhelplessness!" And Ethel fairly ground her teeth. For Fanny, only theday before, having called and noticed that a sofa and a rug weremissing, had asked to what dealer Ethel had sold them. "Now, " thoughtEthel, "she'll buy them herself, and then she'll ask Joe to drop in fortea at her hotel apartment--'on business, ' of course-but the rug andsofa will be there! Poor Amy's things! Oh, yes, indeed, Fanny isclever enough! If only she would take his money--and get out and leaveus alone!" Ethel had some lonely grapples with life. She was right, sheangrily told herself, in wanting to go slowly until she could discoverreal friends; but on the other hand she admitted that Joe had reason forbeing impatient. At thirty-seven it is hard for a man to change hishabits, and Amy had accustomed Joe to crave excitement every night. Even Ethel herself, in some of her moods, felt restless to go about andbe gay. And again and again the youth in her rebelled against the trapinto which she had fallen. 

"The minute I even propose a play, I show him I'm well enough to go out. And then he asks, 'Why not Amy's friends?' And he remembers the meanlittle things that Fanny Carr must have told him--the beast!--and so hesays, 'I see it all. Ethel is only bluffing. Now that I'm rich she'strying to make me drop the friends and the memory of the wife who stoodby me when I was poor. '"

Ethel even went out twice to their detestable parties, in the faint hopeof finding one woman at least she would care to know. But if there hadbeen any such, Fanny was careful to leave them out. 

Friends, friends, friends of her own! Where to find them? On thestreets, as she went about at her shopping, she saw so many attractivepeople, and she drew their glances, too. She had developed since hermarriage; she had a distinctive beauty, and she had learned how tofoster that. Almost always she felt the hungry eyes of men, good, badand indifferent, rich men, beggars, Christians, Jews. But that ofcourse was only annoying. Ethel wanted women friends. On the street, from her elegant little car, she could see women who were walking glanceat her with envy, just as she herself had done in her first year in thecity. The thought brought a humorous smile to her lips. And looking atthe constant stream of motors passing, she inquired, "How many of us arethere, in this imposing procession, who haven't a single friend intown?" How they all passed on. How coolly indifferent, self-absorbed!Was there no entering wedge to their lives?

But her youth would rise with a sudden rush in her warm body, so smartlydressed, so tingling with ardent health, and glancing into the glass inher car and making a little face at herself, she would exclaim:

"Oh, fiddlesticks! All this is going to have a nice fine happy ending!Nothing awful is to happen to me!"

At one such time, as though interrupted, she leaned quickly andgraciously forward, as she had seen women do in the Park, and bowed witha cordial little smile--to a vacant lot--and then turning back to theimagined friend at her side, she said sweetly, "Excuse me, dear. Whatwere you saying? Why yes, we'd love to. Thursday night? What time doyou dine?" A lump rose in her throat. "Now, Ethel, Ethel, you softlittle fool--you're only twenty-five, you know. And of all the adorablebabies waiting in a nursery--"

One day she found Fifth Avenue crammed and jammed with a huge parade. She had her chauffeur get as close as he could, and with intent andcurious eyes she watched the suffragists march by. What hosts and hostsof women, how jolly and how friendly. Oh, what a lark they were havingtogether! Why not join them, then and there? For an instant shethought of leaving her car and falling right in with some marchinggroup. "But how do I know they won't turn me down?" She waited and lostcourage. Soon she saw marching ahead of one section a smartly dressedwoman whose photograph she had often seen in the papers. At thisEthel's courage oozed again, and with a pang of envy she thought:

"Oh, yes, this is all very fine for you! You're so safe and settledhere; you've got position--everything!"

In a moment she felt this was small and mean. The envy and thebitterness passed. She watched other women, such confident, easy, bright-looking creatures--not at all like Amy's set--who looked asthough they could preside at big meetings or at their own tables athome, and be gracious and say witty things to the clever men at theirsides. Behind them came whole regiments of women and girls of a simplerkind. Some of them earned their own living, no doubt--yes, and had towork hard to do it. 

"Wouldn't they do? Look at that one! Wouldn't I like her for afriend?"

In a flash Ethel remembered the little history "prof" at home, who hadbegged her girls to live and grow. 

"Now, Ethel Lanier, you're going to get right out of this car and fallinto line--friends or no friends!"

In a moment, scowling to keep up her nerve, she was pushing through thestanders-by right out into the Avenue; and feeling like a public sight, she tried quickly to get into line. 

"You can't march here! Our line is full!" a voice said sharply. Ethelgasped and reddened, turned blindly to the file behind. 

"Do you want to march with us?" somebody asked. 

"Yes! Oh, thank you!"

"Fall right in. That's right, my dear--here, take one of my flags. "

"You're awfully kind!"

"Hooray for the vote!"

Through eyes a little misty Ethel saw striding along at her side asturdy little old lady in black. And she blessed her fervently. It wasa thrilling marvellous time. In less than ten minutes she felt herselfboon companions with every one in her line. But then, before sherealized what it was that had happened, her group had reached the end oftheir march and had melted suddenly into a throng of chattering laughingwomen. Ethel stared about her blindly. 

"Never mind, " she decided, "I'm going to see more of this!"

And the next day she presented herself at suffrage headquarters. 

"I want to work, " she said to a girl at a desk. The girl looked up ather busily. 

"All right, go to that table, " she answered. And at a long oak table, one of a dozen women and girls, Ethel folded envelopes and addressedthem for about three hours. Down at the end, two girl companionschatted and laughed at their labour. But the rest were just busy. "Hand me those envelopes, if you please. " And so it was all through theroom. She came back the next morning and the next; and as she worked, her expression was grim. "It isn't their fault, " she decided. "Theywant the vote, they don't want me. "

And she turned forlornly back to the work of moving up to her newapartment. 

The first of May was drawing near, and she saw signs of restlessness, asthousands of New Yorkers prepared to change their quarters. Moving, always moving. Did they never stop in one place and make it a home?The big building in which Ethel lived took on an impersonal air, asthough saying, "What do I care? I'm all concrete, with good hard steelinside of that. " What a queer place for people's homes! People movingin and out! Curiously she probed into its life. She had long ago madefriends with the wife of the superintendent, and through her Ethelcollected bits about these many families so close together and yet soapart; all troubles kept strictly out of sight, with the freightelevator for funerals, cool looks and never a word of greeting. "Keepoff, " writ clear on every face. 

"It isn't real, this living! It can't last!" she exclaimed to herself. "They'll have to work out something better than this--something, oh, much homier!" She thought of the old frame house in Ohio. "That'sgone, " she declared, with a swallow. 

Her acquaintance with young Mrs. Grewe was still the one bright spot atsuch times. When Ethel felt blue she would go upstairs to the sunny newhome that was to be hers; and there the blithe welcome she receivedrestored her own belief in herself. Mrs. Grewe would often lead her totalk of her home in Ohio, the eager dreams and plans of her girlhood;and on her side, the young widow gave pictures of life in London andParis as she had seen it so many times. They still shopped togetheroccasionally. 

But one afternoon about six o'clock, as Ethel's car drew up at the doorand she and her one friend got out, Joe came along--and with one quickangry look he hurried into the building. Quite furious and ashamed forhim, Ethel turned to her companion--but Mrs. Grewe smiled queerly andheld out her small gloved hand. 

"Good-bye, my dear, it has been so nice--this afternoon and all theothers. " Her tone was a curious mixture of amused defiance and realregret. Ethel stammered something, but in a moment her friend was gone. 

Upstairs she met Joe with an angry frown, but to her indignantreproaches he replied by a quizzical smile. 

"Look here, Ethel. " He took her arm, in a kind protecting sort of waywhich made her fairly boil. "Look here. I can't let you go about witha shady little person like that. I didn't know you'd picked her up. Now, now--I understand, of course--you met her up there in the newapartment. What a fool I was not to have thought of it. "

"Thought of what? For goodness sake!"

"She won't do, that's all. "

"Why won't she?" Ethel's colour was suddenly high and her brown eyes hada dangerous gleam. Joe looked at her, hesitating. 

"Yes, " he said, "you're the kind of a girl who has to be told the truthnow and then. She's the mistress of one of our big millionaires. "

Ethel stared at him blankly. 

"I don't believe it!" she cried. "Her taste! The way she dresses!Her--her voice--the things she says!"

"I know, I know, " he answered. "That sort is rare and they come high. I've talked to her--"

"Oh, you have, have you! Then why shouldn't I?"

"Because, my dear, I'm one of the owners of this building. My talkswere brief--just business. "

"What business had you letting her in?"

"Because times were bad three years ago and tenants weren't so easy tofind. What harm has she done? This isn't a social club, you know--"

"I know it isn't! Nobody speaks--or even smiles!" A lump rose inEthel's throat. "And she was so nice and friendly!"

"I'll bet she was--"

"I won't believe it!" Now her face was reddening withself-mortification. "Do you mean to tell me--living like that--with acompanion, even--a prim old maid who looks as though she had left Bostononly last night--"

A twinkle came into her husband's eyes: "My dear, the friend of a bigmillionaire always keeps some one from Boston close by. " His arm wentaround her. "Poor little girl. I guess I won't have to say any more--"

"Perhaps you will and perhaps you won't!" Now again she was nearlychoking with rage and with hurt vanity. Her one and only companion!The only woman she had been clever enough to find! That kind! Oh-h!Suddenly she turned to Joe to tell him that if he could give her nofriends she'd pick and choose just where she liked! But quickly sheremembered that he would answer, "Haven't I tried?" She turned away, broke into tears and left the room. 

Out of the little storm that followed, she emerged at last with thethought, "Well, I must see her, anyway, in the work of moving into herapartment. And am I sorry? Not at all! She was good to me--at leastshe was that! And besides, " reflected Ethel, with the same caution andrelief which she had so despised in New Yorkers, "she's going soon. It's safe enough. "

The talk occurred the next morning, up in the new apartment. There wereno awkward preliminaries, for Mrs. Grewe's whole manner had changed. Quite a bit of its careful refinement was gone, and in its place was arather bitter frankness. 

"I quite understand--you needn't explain, " she said at once. "Yourhusband has made a fuss, hasn't he? And this is good-bye. Too bad, isn't it?"

"Yes--it is. " Ethel hesitated, then all at once she beamed onher friend. "I want you to know, " she stoutly declared, "that neitheris my husband my boss nor am I a prig! Back in school, we girls--weused to talk--and read and discuss things--Bernard Shaw--" Her hostesssmiled:

"Oh, Shaw, my dear, is a dear, witty man--and he's so funny and so fair. But to live with him--ugh!--rather icy!" She laughed. "See here. Nomatter what you have read, you've never met me until now. I mean thebig Me that thrills all girls--who speak about me in whispers. Well, then, just for a minute, meet me--look at me and see what I am. " On herpiquante little face was a look of friendly challenge. "We've had suchfine little shopping bees, and I'd like you not to be sorry. And what Iwant to say is this:

"I was just like you. I came from a small town--I had my dreams--Ireached New York--I married. " She smiled. "Not once but twice. I wasdivorced. And my second was a love of a man, and we had such a blissfulhoneymoon. It lasted a year and a half, and then--he got takingthings--dope--and that made it hard. It ended in another divorce. Thenext man didn't marry me. Meant to, you know, but hadn't time. Then hepassed on--" with a wave of her hand--"and now I'm here. " A humoroussmile came over her face. "And for the life of me I can't see howchanged it is from when I was married. The same sort of apartment, onlyit's nicer--the same ocean liners and hotels--the same cafés where onecan dance exactly as one did before. " Again she wrinkled up her brows. "The only real difference I can see is that when I was married like you, my husband only told me the truth once in a while--as yours did lastnight--while now they tell it all the time. Oh, I'm wise, I'm wise, mydear--for one so young. I'm twenty-eight. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-five. "

"Three years behind. Well, on the whole I guess I'd stay married if Iwere you. It's so nice, if he's still in love with you. But the minutehe isn't, or makes any fuss, or gets ugly or mean, remember this. " Andher sweet, clear voice grew impressive. "Remember then you can never besure what he's really doing in this town. I know--because they tellme--and most of them are married men. And second, and last andalways--remember, my dear, that with your figure and your face and yourlovely hair which you do so well, you don't have to put up with any man!You can get right out whenever you please! And the only trouble will beto choose your next from all the others who will come crowding aboutyou! And whether you make him marry you--well--I honestly think there'snot much choice. " She rose and said, with a strange little smile. 

"Now that I've had my little revenge on your beast of a husband forspoiling it all, when I wasn't doing the least bit of harm and wasleaving anyhow this week--let's say good-bye and each get to ourpacking. "

"She was once like me. I could be like her, " thought Ethel late thatnight. She had been lying awake for hours. "I could be--but I won't!"she declared. "She had read Shaw. How funny! . . . I think it's amighty big mistake to let young girls read Bernard Shaw. Susettecertainly shan't!" Her lips compressed. In a moment she was frowning. 

"How easily Joe changed about from loving Amy to loving me. Here helies asleep at my side. Where was he today? What do I know? . . . Oh, Ethel Lanier, don't be a fool and let every cheap little woman youmeet get you thinking things! Such silly things! . . . I do wishthat odious Fanny Carr would get out of my life and stay out! . . . You'd better be very careful, Joe. " She had risen on her elbow now, andby the dim light from the window she could just see her husband's face. "Because if you're not very good to me--remember that a person whom youyourself consider one of the very best of her kind--told me that I--"

She dropped back. All at once her face was burning. 

"Oh, how I loathe all this!" she thought. "And how silly and untrue!Do you want to know where you and I are different, little Mrs. Grewe?I'll tell you! I have a baby! And when he grows up he's going to havethis same man still for a father! So there! I'm not sure aboutanything, even God, any more in this town--it's all a whirl! But I'vegot a baby, and Susette, and for them I'm going to have a realhome--keep wide awake, make friends I'll love--and grow and learn andmarch in parades--and go to the opera in a box--and go to concerts, goabroad, shop in Paris--love my husband--be very gay--make friends, friends--I will, I will--I won't be downed--I'll beat this cat of acity--

"However. Now I'll go to sleep-. "

CHAPTER XV

She did not see Mrs. Grewe again, she did not want to see her. It wasnot until from the telephone girl she learned that the charming youngwidow was gone, that Ethel went up to her new home. In a little whileher furniture would begin to pour in, but as yet the rooms were empty, flooded with warm sunshine. She looked about and thought of the lifewhich had been here, and then of Mrs. Grewe's advice and her lastsmiling admonition. She could almost hear the voice. 

"Is every place I live in to be haunted?" Ethel asked herself. And thenwith a humorous little scowl: "Now see here, young woman, the sooner youlearn that every apartment in this city has a complete equipment ofghosts, the better it will be for you. I don't care who lived here, norhow she lived nor what she said. I don't need her advice, and her lifeis not to affect mine in the slightest!" She stopped short. Of whom wasshe speaking, Mrs. Grewe or Amy? There were two of them now! Both hadgiven her advice, and in each case the life portrayed had been very muchalike, so much so as to be rather disturbing. Things were certainlyqueer in this town!

"Very well, my dears, " she said amiably, "if I must be haunted, it'smuch more gay and sociable to have two instead of one. Remember teawill be served at five, and from the present outlook there's littlechance of our being disturbed by the intrusion of any live woman in NewYork. "

"At least the ghosts are friendly. " She suddenly compressed her lips andlooked about: "However!" She went to the telephone in the hall: "Pleasehurry up those porters! I'm up here waiting to begin!"

And in the days that followed, she was far too engrossed in "settling"to spare any time for brooding on phantoms. "A home of my own and alife of my own, to be lived with my own husband!" But when at last theywere settled, and Joe in a dear, genial mood had gone about admiring, and taking no notice apparently of the scarcity of Amy's things--heturned to Ethel with an air which was meant to be easy and natural:

"Well, now that we're taking a fresh start, the time has come for alittle talk. "

"What about?" she asked, endeavouring to make her smile as easy as his. 

"It will take about one minute. " His gruff voice was low and kind. "I'mnot going to force my friends on you. If you want to make friends ofyour own, go ahead. And when you get them let me know--and they'll bemine, too, if I have to break a leg in the effort. I'll dance in frontof them, so to speak, until they're all enchanted. But in the meantime, on your side, I want you to let me down easy with these people I onceknew. I don't want to hurt them or be a cad. A few I may keep in touchwith for years. "

"Fanny!" flashed into Ethel's mind. 

"And all I ask of you is this. You'll soon be going away for thesummer. Let's do the decent thing--just once--and have a little partyhere. I give you my word we won't do it again. "

"All right, Joe--that's fair, of course--and I'll do my best to make itexactly what you want. "

And in the dinner that she gave, Ethel lived up to her bargain. Thedinner was large; there were twenty guests. The caterer was as before, and so were the food and the flowers. And all through the evening Ethelwas gracious and affable. But behind her affability, hidden but subtlyconveyed to each guest, was a serene good-bye to them. This was theirdismissal. Did they all feel it, every one? To her at least it seemedso. Again and again she caught the men throwing looks of regret at Joe, and the women glancing about the rooms as though in search of what wasgone. Amy's things! Oh, more than that. The whole atmosphere wasgone. This was the home of the second wife. 

"Well, dear, did I live up to our bargain?" she asked her husband whenthey were alone. 

"You did, " said Joe. He looked at her then in such a puzzled, masculinefashion. What she had done and how she had done it was plainly such amystery to him. "You did, " he repeated loyally. She slipped her armsabout his neck. 

"Thank you, love, " she answered. And in a moment or two she murmured, "Have them again in the Fall if you like. "

"No, " said Joe. "Once was enough. "

"Now, " she asked herself the next day, "let's try to see what all thismeans. " She was almost speaking aloud. She was growing so accustomed tothese sociable little chats with herself. "It means that I am gettingon. But Fanny Carr will still be about. She won't come here exceptjust enough to keep up appearances, but she'll still have her businessdealings with Joe in the management of her property. He means to keepin touch, he said, 'with a few of them'--meaning her, of course--and histone conveyed quite plainly that I am to leave him alone in that until Ican produce friends of my own. Whereupon, my dear, " she threw up herhands, "we come back to exactly the same point at which we have been allalong. Where am I going to find friends?" And she gave an angry, baffled sigh. "Oh, damn New York!"

As she glared viciously about the pretty, sunny living room, the imageof its former tenant rose up in her memory. And Ethel's expressionchanged at once, became intent and thoughtful. How much more attractivewas Mrs. Grewe than were any of Amy's set. Immoral? Yes, decidedly. But what did "immoral" mean in this town? Who was moral? Fanny Carr?Did these wives and divorcees do any good with their "moral" lives? Sherecalled what Mrs. Grewe had said: "And whether you marry or whetheryou don't, for the life of me I can't see any difference. " And again:"With your face and figure, my dear, you don't have to put up with anyone man. " Ethel sat frowning straight before her. 

"What kind of a life am I going to find? I'm going to stay with myhusband--that's sure. I'm in love with him and he with me. That muchis decided. "

She rose abruptly, and walking the floor she firmly resolved to "bewholesome" and look on the bright side of things. In the next few weeksshe busied herself with the small affairs of her household. There wasplenty to occupy her mind. There were finishing touches to give to therooms; there were Spring clothes to buy for Susette; and the baby wasready for short dresses and a baby carriage. There was the life in thenursery, a cheerful little world in itself. There was Martha, grownmore friendly now, and Emily and the new waitress, Anne, and thetelephone girl and the chauffeur and the clerks in various shops who hadbecome acquaintances--altogether quite a circle of people who greetedEthel on her rounds. One day as she passed a laundry shop she spiedthis sign in the window: "Fine linen respectfully treated. " And Ethelchuckled at the thought that she herself was treated like that. On thewhole it was rather pleasant, though, and she made the most of it. Shewas being carefully "wholesome. "

Now it was well along in June, time for the children to go to theseashore, so she began to hunt for a place. At the traveller's bureausshe visited she found the clerks more than ready to give advice by thehour to this gracious young creature so stylishly clad. And she hadsoon selected a quiet little resort in Rhode Island. 

But what was Joe doing all this time? She did not mean to keep prying, but for the life of her she could not help throwing out casualinquiries. His reply was always, "Business"; and he would go on to giveher details--all of which were tiresome. How much was he seeing ofFanny Carr and her detestable money affairs? His manner, engrossed asit had grown, and even irritable at times, made Ethel feel he wasputting her further and further out of that part of his existence whichnow interested him most, the part that lay outside his home. Was it allbusiness, all of it? "And when I go to the seashore, he'll be here fivenights a week!" Sometimes he came in so late at night! Business? Atsuch an hour? "Now carefully, carefully, Ethel Lanier. " But in spite ofherself the smiling words of young Mrs. Grewe recurred to her mind:"Most of them are married men. "

Ethel's doubts, however, were all ended late one night, when at thesound of his key in the door she got out of bed and came into thedoorway of her room. Joe was standing in the hall. He did not see her. In fact, his eyes, when he switched on the light, seemed to see nothingin the world but the package of business papers he took from hisovercoat. His face was haggard but intent. He turned and went into hisstudy to work. And any suspicion of Fanny Carr, or of any other friendof Joe's, was swept at once from Ethel's mind. Her rival was hisbusiness. 

And later at the seashore, where she had so many hours alone, shethought about this work of his with deepening hostility. Her mind wentback into the past. How his office had always absorbed him. What arefuge it had been in the months that followed Amy's death. "I wasn'tthe one who first made him forget. Oh, no, it was his business!" Andnow, as it had weaned him once from his grief for the woman who haddied, it was at him again to draw him away from the woman who wasliving. 

There had been a time when it was not so, when she could keep him lateat breakfast and make him come home early at night, still fresh enoughto read and talk, discuss things, go to the opera, take up his music, plan a trip to Paris. "Oh, yes! Then we were making a start!" But nowthis wretched work of his had got him worse than ever before--and sheblamed his partner for that. She recalled how Nourse had disliked her, she remembered what Amy used to say about the man's worship of business. Yes, with his detestable greed for money, only money, Nourse wasdoubtless driving Joe. "You're making him just a business man, withouta thought or a wish in his head for anything beautiful, really fine, ambition, things he dreamed of and told me about when he wasmine--things that would have led us both to everything I wanted--"

She set her lips and whispered:

"All right, friend Bill, then it's you or it's me!" And all the rest ofthe summer she set herself determinedly to breaking up the partnership. 

"Joe, dear, " she said pleasantly, when he had come out for the week end, "why don't you ever bring your partner with you over Sunday?" And at hisquick look of surprise, "It seems too bad, I think, " she added, "neverto have him with us. "

"I thought you didn't like him, " he said. Ethel gave a frank littlesmile. 

"I didn't--but that was a year ago. And besides, he didn't like me, yousee. But people do change, I suppose--and as long as he means so muchto you, I should so like to be friendly. "

It turned out just as she had expected. Nourse declined the invitation. "I'm sorry, " she said when her husband told her. She felt her positionstrengthened a bit. At another time she suggested that Joe's partner beasked to spend the rest of the summer with him in the apartment back intown. It was doubtless so much cooler at night than Nourse's bachelorquarters. And Emily Giles could take care of them both. But thisoverture, too, Bill Nourse declined. She could just imagine him doingit, the surly, ungracious tone of his voice, the very worst side of theman shown up. Joe often now looked troubled when Ethel talked of hispartner. 

But toward the end of the summer in one such talk he gave her a shock. It was after Nourse had again refused an invitation to come to theseashore. 

"He's queer, " said Joe, "and he can be ugly. Being polite is not inBill's line. I told him so myself today--and we had quite a session. 

"Oh, Joe, I'm sorry, " Ethel said. 

"You needn't be. Bill Nourse and I will stick together as long as welive. " Ethel looked at him sharply, but he did not notice. "Because, "he said, "with all his faults, his queerness and his grouches, Bill hasdone more than any man living to--well, to keep something alive inme--in my work, I mean--that I want later on--as soon as I've made moneyenough. " She stared at him. 

"You mean that he--your partner--wants something more than money?" Itwas a slip, but she was stunned. He turned and looked at her and asked, in a voice rather strained and husky:

"Do you think Bill cares about money alone?"

"Why, yes!"

"That's funny. " But Joe's laugh was grim. "If Bill had had his way withme, I'd have had a name as an architect that would have been known allover the country--instead of being what I am, a gambler in cheap realestate. "

She questioned him further, her manner alert, her eyes with a startled, thoughtful look. But he did not seem to want to talk. 

"Then why, " she asked herself in a daze, "if Bill is so against thisbusiness, does he keep at it day and night? Oh, yes, we'll have to lookinto this--as soon as I get back to town! You've got to come and seeme, and explain yourself, friend Bill. " She frowned in such a puzzledway. "You, a friend? How funny!"

CHAPTER XVI

The week after Ethel's return to town, she was surprised one afternoonwhen in response to a note she had sent him her husband's partner cameto see her. She had thought it would be more difficult. 

"Joe won't interrupt us, " he said. "I put work in his way. He'll behome late. "

Tall, gaunt and angular, somewhat stooped, Nourse stood looking down ather; and as, perplexed and excited, Ethel scanned his visage, so heavyin spite of its narrow lines, she saw an expression in which contemptwas tempered by a sort of regret and weariness. And of course he wasawkward, too. She said to herself, "Be careful now. "

"Won't you sit down?" she asked him. 

"Thank you. " And he took a seat. 

"I wanted to see you, " she began, but Nourse interrupted her. 

"Would you object, " he asked her, "if I do the talking for a while?I've got it fairly clear in mind, just what I want to say to you. "

"Why, yes, of course, if you prefer, " she said, a little breathlessly. 

"Well, Mrs. Lanier, I think I know about what you want--and I'm here tosay that I'll help you to get it--if in return you will leave us alone. "He stopped for a moment, and went on: "In the last few months, it hasseemed to me, you've been doing your best to bring on a clash between meand your husband. Every week in the office is worse than the last. Idon't blame you for that, from your point of view. You felt I wastrying to make him eat and sleep in his office. I was--and I am. Butmy point to you is that it won't be for long, and I'm doing this reallyon your account--to get money enough to satisfy you. " She looked up in astartled way, but he went on unheeding. "You and I must understand eachother. Tell me how much you really need--and we'll get it, Joe and I. And then I'll give him back to you nights--and in the daytime you leavehim to me. "

He glanced at her with a weary dislike which gave her an impulse to sayto him, "Isn't this rather insulting?" But she did not speak. Forlooking at him sharply, she caught in the man's heavy eyes a certaingrim, deep wistfulness which drew her a little in spite of his speech. And she felt very curious, too. 

"What do you think I really want?" she asked him, then. Her voice waslow. 

"Money, " he said. 

"Where did you get that idea?"

"From your sister, " he replied. "She sent for me, too--long ago. "

"What for?"

"Money. She told me that we were not making enough--that I was holdingher husband back--from 'his career' she called it. She said that if Ikept him out of a certain job that meant money quick, she would break upour partnership. She said she could do it, and she was right. My holdon Joe wasn't in it with hers. "

"What was your hold on him? What do you mean?" asked Ethel. Again hervoice was low. Nourse looked down at his big hands and answered veryquietly:

"I'm afraid you wouldn't understand. " She bit her lip. 

"But until I do learn what you want of Joe, " she retorted sharply, "I'mafraid that I can't tell you how much money I shall need. " He glanced upat her, puzzled. "Suppose you try me, " she went on. And as the manstill frowned at her, "I learned the other day, " she said, "that youknew Joe long before he was married. I want you to tell me about that. "

Little by little she drew him out. And as in a reluctant way, insentences abrupt and bald, he answered all her questions, again andagain did Ethel feel a little wave of excitement. For Nourse wasspeaking of Joe's youth--of college and later of Paris, and then of agroup of young men in New York, would--be architects, painters andwriters who had lived near Washington Square; of long talks, discussions, plans, and of all night work in the architect's officewhere he and Joe had worked side by side. Joe had been a "designer"there; he had been the brilliant one of the two, and the moreimpassioned and intense and bold in his conceptions. There was afeeling almost of reverence in the low, rough voice of Joe's friend. Hetold how Joe had risen, until in a few years he became the chiefdesigner for his firm; and of how from other firms offers had come. Tokeep him his employers had been forced to raise his salary, and to domuch more than that, for money didn't appeal to him then. They hadgiven him more important work--"job after job, and Joe made good. " Theclimax of this rising had come one night in the rooms they shared, whenJoe told his friend he had made up his mind to set up an office of hisown, though he was only twenty-nine. 

"And he offered me a partnership. " The big man's voice was husky now, as, in a little outburst with a good deal of bitterness in it, he spokeof the glory of the work of which he and Joe had once been a part. Heseemed appealing to Joe's wife to see, for God's sake, what it was inJoe that had been lost. Then he stopped and frowned and stared at her. "Oh, what's the use?" he muttered. But Ethel's voice was sharp andclear:

"Oh, if you only knew, " she cried, "how much good this is doing! Iwon't stop to explain but--please--go on!" Her brown eyes threw him afierce appeal. And again she had him talking. He told of a plan forapartment buildings Joe had conceived in those early days. "I don't sayit was practicable, I give it just to show you what the man had in him, "he said. "Big ideas that strike in deep, the kind that change wholecities. " Instead of a street like a canyon with sheer walls on eitherside, the front of each building was to recede in narrow terraces, floorby floor, so letting floods of sunlight down into the street below andgiving to each apartment a small terrace garden. As she listened, Ethelgrew intent. It was not the mere plan that excited her, she was givingsmall heed to the details. But this had in it what she had craved eversince she had come to the city--beauty and creative work--and this hadbeen in Joe's "business"!

"There was only one point against it, " she heard Nourse sayingpresently. "Those terraces took a lot of space. Each one meant so muchrent was lost. For years, till the plan took hold of the town, it was amoney loser. . . . And Joe met your sister then. " The voice hadchanged, and its hostile tone brought Ethel back with a sharp turn. Theman, as though uneasy at the revelations he had made, was looking at heras at first, with suspicion and dislike. "I won't go into details ofhow she got her hold on Joe. You know how that's done, I suppose. I'mspeaking of the effect on his work. He soon put off that plan ofhis--and any others of the kind. For now he had to have money. And hehas been putting it off ever since--not dropping it, he'll tell you, only putting it off till he's rich. But if he isn't rich enough soon, it'll be too late. For that part of him is nearly dead. 

"But to go back to your sister. It was not only his money, it was histime she needed. First it was a wedding trip, and after that latehours--a short day in his office. And he wasn't half the man he hadbeen. He was thinking of the night before, and then of the night thatwas coming. She came for him at five o'clock. " He saw Ethel start, andhe added, "Just as you did later on. 

"And when he did wake up to work, it was different--it was for moneyalone. He began to throw over his ideals, and very soon there was onlyme to hold him back. You see, he had had so many friends before he metyour sister, men and even women, too, who had been a spur to him. Butwhen he brought his wife around, they wouldn't have her, turned herdown--and that made her bitter against them all and she kept Joe fromthem. All but me. I stayed in the office, and now and then I got someof his friends and we would take him out to lunch. But then even thatstopped. Joe hadn't time. He was too busy getting the cash. 

"He had dropped all pretence of any work that was really worth while, and had turned his art into a business. He became a real estate gamblerand an architect, all in one. He got to speculating in land--and whathe built on it he didn't care, so long as it produced the cash. Oh, itwasn't all at once, you know, you can't strangle the soul of a man in ahurry--but by the time your sister died, the buildings Joe was puttingup were just about as common and cheap as the average play onBroadway--crowd pleasers. He had lost his nerve. Everything had to bepopular. Play safe each time, on the same old flats that every womanseems to love. A woman is conservative. To have and to hold, to getand keep, to stand pat with both eyes shut--that's the average woman inthis town. And Joe had to play her. 

"And because he still had a soul in him--and a stomach that turned--hebegan to vary the dulness of it by becoming sensational. He did daringthings, cheap daring things--no real originality in it, but it took onand caught the eye. Pictures of his buildings got into the real estatepages of the Sunday papers. He hired a press agent then and went afterthe publicity. And all I need to tell you of that, is that just theother day the press agent came into the office with a scheme for astring of buildings up on the new part of the Drive. They were to bepatriotic--see?--named after the presidents of our country--cheap andshowy terra-cotta--main effect red, white and blue. " Ethel leaned backwith a little gasp. But Nourse added relentlessly, "And Joe didn't turnhim down. "

She stiffened sharply in her chair and looked at Nourse with indignanteyes, as though he alone were to blame. 

"You mean to say my husband could even consider such a plan?"

"Why not? There's money in it--big--the publicity value would beimmense. It would make his name a joke of course, with every architectin town--but think of all the talk, free ads! And that means tenantspouring in--and money! Don't you like it? She would have--your sisterwould, I mean. It was just such a scheme on a smaller scale that madeher send for me one day and tell me I could keep hands off or else getout of the office. I gave in because I couldn't go--I couldn't quitemake up my mind to the fact that Joe was done for. So I stuck--and shetried to break me--again and again. But Joe, for all the change in him, had a loyal streak not only for me but for all he had once meant to do. Even still he kept saying he'd just put it off, and that when he'd gotthe money he'd turn back and we'd begin. 

"And when his wife died, I began to have hope. The only blot on herfuneral was the fact that you were there--and you told me you intendedto stay. Her sister--the same story. I soon shook that off, however--for I saw the way he turned to his work as a refuge from hisgrief for her. I had my chance and I took it. When his mind was dulland numb I began to slip in changes. And each change meant better workand less easy money. And soon I was making headway fast; for Joe hadnever cared for money for himself, but only for her--and she was dead. So he let our profits go down and down, while what we did got more worthdoing. It even began to take hold of him--of the old Joe that was stillthere. 

"But after nearly a year of that, I had to laugh at myself for a fool. For Joe began wanting money again, and I knew he was thinking ofmarrying you. I fought, of course, and for a time I had some hope ofbeating you. I remembered you as you had been at the time of yoursister's funeral. You had seemed so young and weak to me. But later, when you were his wife and began taking half his time, keeping latehours, draining him--for you women can drain a man, you know--then Iknew that you were strong, your sister's sister. I gave in. Or Ishould say I took the only chance that was left. I threw over thethings we had dreamed of and got him to work for money hard--harder thanhe'd ever done. I drove him! Why? Because I got him back that way. By making him work for money for you I began to get him away from you. In time I even got him to stay in the office late at night. I got himto keep away from you nights. And there was more than that in myscheme. For now we're making money enough to satisfy even you, I think. I'm not sure--I'm never sure--your sister taught me never to be. Perhaps you can't be satisfied. But if you can, I see a chance. Tellme how much you really need. We'll get it. And then for the love ofGod leave us alone before it's too late--before what's in the man isdead!"

Nourse finished and rose, looking down at her. She sat rigid, keepingherself in hand. Again and again she had been on the point of burstingout, for the sheer brutality of so much he had told her had made it veryhard to sit still. But then as he had spoken of Amy, Ethel had keptsilent, watching his face intensely. How much Amy must have done tohave aroused such bitterness! A sense of reality in his talk, a clearand sudden consciousness of having the real Amy held up here before hereyes, had gripped Ethel like a vise. Till now she had no clear idea ofhow much Joe had sacrificed. But all that finer side of him, that earlylife, those dreams, those friends, had all been known to Amy. And Amyhad been willing to lose them all, to crush them out, for money, onlymoney, and money for such an empty life! Ethel shivered a little. Hersister's picture was complete. 

"No, " she said, looking up at Nourse, "I'm not going to leave you alone. What I've got to do now is to try my best to make you feel what I reallywant, and what a mistake you've been making. Please listen, while I tryto be clear. " Her expression was strained as she looked at him. Shesmiled a little. "I am not like my sister. I'd rather not say muchabout her now. She--had her good points, too--she's dead. And all youneed to know is this. You were wrong about me in those first months--Iwas trying to get away from Joe. I had my own dreams and I wished to befree. I even tried to earn my living. I worked for a while. But theman I worked for--frightened me--and that threw me back on Joe. He waspoor then, so I nursed his child and ran his home on very little. And Iliked that. Believe me--please! I liked that! And I think the mainreason for it was that I was falling in love, not with her husband butwith the man whom you were bringing back to life. It was that in him, that kind of ambition and that kind of life and friends, that Iwanted--oh, so hard! I was groping about to get them--but it's not easyin New York. And meanwhile we were married, and about that part of ityou were right. I was selfish, I did want him all. I let everythinggo, kept everything out--especially his business. I was jealous of youas I was of his wife--of everything past--I wanted him new!

"Then my baby came, and it was a time when I did a good deal ofthinking. I--thought out my sister. I saw how different we were. Whatshe wanted I didn't want at all. So I set to work to change him--and Ithought I was doing it all by myself--just as you thought you were doingit. Each of us was working alone--and we thought we were working inspite of each other--against each other. I was against you in hisoffice, you were against me in his home. And because you hadn't anyidea of what I was trying, you made him work for money for me--to buy meoff! But I don't want money--alone, I mean! And when he came and saidhe was rich, it frightened me--I wasn't ready--I had no friends! And sothe money only brought back my sister's friends in a perfect horde--andwith them her memory--her influence--her husband!

"Oh, can't you understand what I mean--and how I'm placed and what it'slike? Can't you believe that I want in him exactly what you wantyourself? But it hasn't been easy! Don't you see? I am only a secondwife! She's here--she has been--all the time--like a ghost--and wenever speak her name! But if you will only work with me--"

She stopped with a quick turn of her head. They listened, and heardJoe's key in the door. In a moment he had entered the hall. 

"Hello. Who's here?" he asked at once. 

"It's I, " said his partner, quietly, going out to meet him. And sittingthere rigid, she heard him continue in gruff low tones, "Something I'dforgotten--a point in those Taggert specifications. I want to clear itup tonight. "

CHAPTER XVII

What impression had she made? How far had she overcome the heavy weightof dislike and suspicion Amy had rolled up in his mind? As Ethel'sthoughts went rapidly back over the things Nourse had told her, againand again with excitement she felt what a help he could be if he would. Here lay the gate to her husband's youth. 

"If only he'll believe in me! Shall I send for him? No, " she decided. "If there's any hope, he'll come again. "

She waited three days. Then he telephoned, "Can I see you today at fouro'clock?" She answered, "Yes, I'll be very glad. " And she felt a littlefaint with relief as she hung up the receiver. 

When he came in, that afternoon, one glance at him made her exclaim toherself, "He half believes! He's puzzled!"

"Well, Mrs. Lanier, " he began at once, with more friendliness now inhis heavy voice, "if I've made any mistake about you, I'm sorry. Butyou must show me first. If you're real about this, you look to me likea woman who would have thought it all out in the last few days andformed a plan. What is it?"

His abruptness rather took her breath for a moment. Then she said, "Yes, I have a plan, but so have you. What is it?" At her quick retortshe saw a smile of grim relish come over his large features. 

"My plan is simple, " he replied. "Leave Joe to me. Keep him quiet atnight so he can work, and I'll show you another husband. " She shook herhead. 

"He'd only make more money. "

"Tell him you don't want it, then!" She smiled at him. 

"Too simple, " she said. He looked at her. 

"I thought it would be too simple for a woman, " was his answer. 

"It's worse than that, " she replied. "It's blind. You've never beenmarried--apparently--not even to one woman--while Joe, you see, has beenmarried twice. To you a man's life is all in his office--but half ofJoe's is in his home--and you'll have to change that half of him, too. I told you her friends are about--and they have her memory on theirside--and so I can't get rid of them until I get some friends of myown. "

"Then get them. "

"How? Go out on any street and call up, 'Heigh there' at the windows?"She leaned forward quickly and sternly: "The friends I want are thepeople he knew--the ones you told me of. That's my plan. Put me intouch with some of them, and let me bring them in touch with Joe. AndI'll show you a different partner. " He looked at her. 

"Well, that's too simple, too, " he said. 

"Why is it?" she demanded. 

"Because in those first years of his marriage I went to them so often, in just the way you're thinking of. I got some of the men he used toknow to come to his office and take him to lunch. And it did so littlegood they quit. They all got sick of it--and they're through. "

Ethel leaned forward intensely:

"But it will be different now! Before, they had Amy here workingagainst them! I'm here now, and I'll be on their side!" He frowned, andshe cried impatiently, "You don't believe me, do you! You don't believeI can do anything--or even that I want to!"

He looked at her for a moment. 

"Yes, " he said, "I almost do. "

"Then please give me a chance, " she said, very low. And by her eagerquestions she began to draw out of Nourse the information she wanted. It did not come easy, for the past seemed buried deep in his memory. Asone by one he spoke of Joe's friends he would add, "But he's dead, " or, "He's gone West. " He had kept track of them, after a fashion, but he hadseen them little of late. What a lonely life he had led, she thought. She wondered if he had grown too old and hopeless to be of any help. She fought down her discouragement. 

"There was Crothers, " he was saying. "He's an architect, and he's doinggood work. He never had Joe's boldness, but he always had a fine senseof things, and at least he has stuck to his ideals. He could do more tobring Joe back than any other man I know. "

"Then we must get him!"

"That will be hard. "

"Why will it?"

"Because some years ago I tried to get Crothers into our firm. The twoof us together might have kept Joe from the mere money jobs and made ita firm to be proud of. Crothers was ready to come in, and I had nearlysucceeded in bringing Joe to agree to it. "

"Then what was the matter?"

"Your sister. Joe had told her he was thinking of some move in hisbusiness which would keep him poor awhile. And she flew into quite arage. That was another time she sent for me. " Nourse leaned grimly backin his chair. "She told me that if I ruined her husband's 'career, ' asshe called it, she'd break us apart once and for all. She wouldn't haveCrothers in the firm--not only because it meant money lost, but becauseCrothers' wife had turned her down. " Ethel looked at him sharply. 

"Oh--he has a wife, " she said. 

"Yes, and she wasn't your sister's kind. She was a college woman whowanted to be a great painter--and when the painting petered out, sheshut her jaw and said, 'Never mind. If I can't paint landscapes I canmake them. ' And she took up landscape gardening. She married BurtCrothers soon after that, but she stuck to her work and in course oftime it fitted in with her husband's. He and Sally have struggled alongup-hill, and though they've never made much money they've had a lot offun out of life. "

"She sounds so nice, " Ethel hungrily murmured. 

"Oh, yes, she's nice enough, " he said, "until you go against her. ThenSally gets mad, and stays that way. And she got that way, " he added, "when we turned her husband down. She hadn't liked your sister. Infact, when Joe married and brought his wife and the Crothers together, it wasn't a go. She called your sister 'hopeless. ' And when Joe's wifecame back at her by keeping Crothers out of our firm, then war wasdeclared. "

Nourse broke off and looked at Ethel. 

"So you see what you're up against, " he said. "Yes, I see, " said Ethel. At every door to her husband's youth, Amy seemed to be barring the way. She gave an impatient little shrug. "If I could only show them!"

"What?"

"That I'm different! And the hole I'm in! And what it is I want inJoe! . . . Can't you go and talk to them?" There was impatience again inher eyes. He saw it and smiled wearily. 

"You think I'm mighty weak, " he said, "with not much fight left in me. You're right, I guess. But you don't know what I've been through in thelast seven years. I stuck to Joe--and they didn't like that. Sallysaid I had knuckled down to Joe's wife. So she hasn't asked me there inyears. And if I were to go to her now, I'm afraid my opinion of youwouldn't count. "

There was another silence. Again that dull weight of discouragementfell, and again she shook it from her. 

"Nevertheless, " she said quietly, looking him full in the face, "I meanto have Crothers in our firm. " She saw the mingled liking andcompassion which came in his eyes, and she bit her lip to keep down thewave of self-pity which arose in her. 

"Perhaps you will, " she heard him say. His voice sounded a long wayoff. She brought herself back to him with a jerk. 

"Of course I will! We will, I mean! You and I are to work together, you know. Now will you please tell me, " she continued grimly, "oneperson who knew my husband and who will be so very kind as not to callfor the police the minute I come into view?" A moment later she startedforward. "Oh, please!" she cried. "Do that again! You chuckled!Don't deny it! Go on and really laugh with me!" Her voice, unsteady andquivering, broke into a merry laugh, and in this Joe's partner joined. Then she said sternly. "You give me a friend!"

Nourse thought for a moment. "There's only one left on the list, " hereplied. 

"His name, please--"

"Dwight. "

"Business?"

"Music. He shows rich girls how to sing. She stared at him. 

"But look here, " she said emphatically. "I'm a rich girl--I'm very welloff--and I certainly propose to sing! I used to, in the choir athome--and I was told I had quite a voice! And I meant to take lessonsin New York--of a tall dark man with curly hair--"

"Dwight, " said Nourse, "is fair and fat. "

"Never mind. Then he probably has blue eyes. And they twinkle atyou--in the friendliest way--"

"Young woman, I'm your husband's friend. "

"Never mind if you are. You're not enough. I want more of his friends. Now tell me--where did the fat man study? Abroad?"

"In Paris. "

"Oh!" she cried. "Were he and Joe together there?"

"They were, for a while--"

"Oh, how nice!" She laughed at him. "What a dear you've been to me, "she said. "You like me, don't you!"

"Yes--I do. "

"Quite a good deal!"

"All right, " he said. She was watching his face. "This is new to him, "she was thinking. 

"You believe I don't want money!"

"Yes--"

"Nor friends like Amy's!"

"You don't seem to. "

"And I don't. I want friends like you and this Mr. Dwight--and thatodious Sally Crothers who won't even let me in at her door. And herhusband--yes, he'll do. Why how the circle widens!"

"So far, " Nourse reminded her, "I'm the only circle you've got. "

"Yes, and a very nice one. And now you're going to be a dear, and go tothis man Dwight and say what a remarkable voice I have--and tell him allmy other points, and the hole I'm in and the money I have. Don't forgetthat--the money I have--for my acquaintance with Mr. Dwight leads me tobelieve that wealth is a great inducement with him. It makes his blueeyes twinkle so. "

"Very well, " Nourse answered grimly. "But when you get them twinkling, what are you going to do with him?"

"Sing with him, " was her firm reply. "And between songs _talk_ withhim--of Paris and my husband, and the great ideals I have--and thedelicious dinners I have--for he's fat, you know, and he loves hismeals--and then ask him to come to dinner, of course. " She scowled. "That, " she said severely, "is all I can tell you at present. My plansfor resurrecting Joe will have to be made as I go along--step by stepand friend by friend. " All at once she turned on him fiercely. "There'sthat pity again in your eyes! 'Oh, how young, ' you are thinking. Thenlet me tell you, Mr. Bill Nourse, that you are not to pity me! If youdo, " she cried, "the time will come when you will be pityingyourself--for being cast off like an old leather shoe--from one of themost brilliant and attractive circles in this town! Do you know whatyou almost do to me--you, the one friend I have in New York? You makeme feel you've almost lost your faith and hope in everything--thatyou're nearly old! You make me wonder if I'm too late--whether myhusband is nearly old, and the dreams he had in him cold and gone! Youscare me--and you've got to stop! You've got to be just exactly asyoung as I am--this very minute! You've got to borrow some youth fromme--for I have plenty to go around--and help me make this fight forfriends! It may not come to anything--for the soul of this city is hardas nails! This music man may turn me down--or be perfectly fat anduseless! Who knows? But how can I tell till I meet the man? And whenwill you go and see him? Today or tomorrow? I haven't very much time, you know, for any more shilly-shallying! I want some action out ofyou--"

She faced him flushed and menacing, and he took her hand and said:

"You'll get it. Where's your telephone!"

"Right there in the hall!"

"I'll call up Dwight. "

"Wait! Is he married?"

"No. "

"Thank God!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The next morning at eleven o'clock she met Dwight in his studio, and ina brisk pleasant businesslike way she began to tell him of hervoice--what singing she had done at home and how she had always meant totake lessons when she should come to New York to live. 

"To find out how much of a voice I really have, you know, " she said. Her manner was more affable now. "But my husband and my baby have keptme rather busy, you see, and so I've put it off and off--until justlately I began to look about and make inquiries. And then by good luckI learned of you--from my husband's partner. "

"You're Joe Lanier's wife, aren't you?" he asked. 

"His second, " she said with emphasis. And a moment later she toldherself, "Yes, his eyes do twinkle, and he seems to be quite nice. Heisn't so excessively fat, and he has a big wide generous mouth, and Ilike his eyes. But he thinks my coming like this a bit queer, and he'swondering what's behind it. " She downed her excitement and went on inthe same resolute tone she had used with such success on Nourse. Nopersonal conversation just yet, she would show him she meant business. And so she stuck to the lessons. 

"If you'll take me as a pupil, " she said, "I'd like to beginimmediately. "

"Let me try your voice, " he proposed. He went to the piano, and therehis manner had soon changed. From genial and curious it grewinterested. He spoke rather sharply, asking her to do this and that, and she felt as though she were being probed. "You have a voice, " hesaid, at the end. "Not a world shaker, " he added, smiling, "but onethat interests me a lot. " She beamed on him. 

"You'll take me, then?"

"Assuredly. "

"Oh, that's so nice. " They decided on the time for her lessons. Thenshe glanced at her wrist watch. "Will you see if my car is waiting!"she asked. "I had him take the nurse and baby up to the Park--and heought to be back by now, I think. " But as Dwight went to the telephone, she added excitedly to herself, "Now if that idiot of a chauffeur is aslate as I told him to be, you and I will have quite a talk, Mr. Dwight. "

"It isn't here yet, " he informed her. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll have to walk. " She smiled and held out her handto him. "Will you send the chauffeur home!"

"If you like, " he replied good-humouredly. "But I'd much rather you'dwait here--if you have nothing pressing. " And as she hesitated, "It'snot only your voice, you know--I used to be quite a friend of Joe's. "

"Oh, yes, I remember his telling me. Over in Paris, wasn't it?"

Soon they were talking easily. Dwight had lit a cigarette, and Ethelcould see he was studying her. She tried to look unconscious. 

"I've wanted to go to Paris all my life, " she told him. "How long is itsince you left?"

"Only a year. " She looked at him. 

"Is there a Paris in New York?"

"I'm not sure yet--I'm new, you see. "

"So am I, " she confided frankly. And at that he gave her a swift glancewhich made Ethel add to herself, "Yes, he could be very personal. "

She asked him what he had found in New York as a contrast, coming fromabroad. She spoke of the high buildings here, and from that she passedquite naturally to her husband's business. 

"It isn't the work I'd like for him, " she said with a regretful sigh. "Joe is getting to be like all the rest--he's making too much money. "She waited a moment and added, "I should so like him to be as he waswhen you knew him. "

"I'll be curious to see how he has changed. You must let me see him, "Dwight replied. 

"Why yes, of course. "

"Over in Paris he had so much. He was such a wonderful lad fordreams--with the most exuberant fancy in the way he used to talk of NewYork and what he wanted to do back here--to use the backyards and theroofs and turn them into gardens. This town, when Joe got through withit--well, from an aeroplane it was to look more or less like a bed ofroses--or a hill town in Italy. But that was only his lighter vein. When his fancy was really, working hard, he took department stores, hotels and huge railroad terminals and jammed them all together into onebig building. How deep in the earth it was to have gone I really can'tremember, nor how far up into the skies. But there was a garden at thetop--or a meadow or prairie or something. "

"Yes, " thought Ethel, "I'm going to like him. "

"Joe could talk of his plans all night, " Dwight went on good-naturedly. "And keep a poor lazy musician like me from my piano where I belonged. "

"Was it you who taught him to play?" she asked. 

"On the piano? It was, " he replied. "Isn't his touch amazing? And sothoroughly Christian, too. "

"Christian?"

"Yes. He doesn't let his right hand know what his left hand is doing. "They laughed. And from that laugh she emerged with eagerness in herbrown eyes. 

"Oh, please go on, " she begged him. "I had no idea you knew him sowell. Did he do nothing but talk over there?"

"He did--he worked like a tiger. Joe could stand more hard labour inone consecutive day and night than any fellow I ever met. And he coulddo it night after night. I remember dropping in on him for coffee androlls one morning. A chap named Crothers and myself--" Ethel started atthe name--"had just come home from the 'Quatres Arts Ball. ' We found Joein his room with the curtains drawn--he didn't know it was morning yet. He had a towel bound round his head and was building an opera house forChicago--or Kansas City--I'm not sure which. And he wasn't justdreaming of building it in his successful middle age--he was building itnow, in a terrible rush, as though Kansas City were pushing him hard. Joe didn't live in the future, you see--he took the future and made itthe present, and then lived in the present like mad. "

Dwight tossed away his cigarette. 

"But you say it's money now. "

"Yes, " she replied. "It's money. " He smiled at her dejected tone. 

"I wouldn't be so sad, " he remarked. "Money isn't as bad as it seems. "

"Oh, yes, and I want it, " Ethel declared. "But I want the others somuch more!"

When her car had come, she rose and said, "You and Joe must get togethersome time. Couldn't you call him up some day and get him to lunch withyou?"

"Gladly. " They went to the door. 

"But don't be disappointed, " she said, "if you find him changed evenmore than you think. Money has such a pull on a man. "

"I know, but I rather like it. "

"What?"

"Oh, don't be so indignant, please. I am an artist--honestly. But someof these men I've met over here--well, they fascinate me. Suchboundless energy and drive ought to go into a symphony. Plenty of drumsand crashing brass. Good-bye, Mrs. Lanier, " he added. "This has beena lucky day for me. "

"Thank you. Don't forget about Joe. And meanwhile--till next Tuesday. "

As she settled back in her car she thought, "All right, Ethel, very good. "

Twice a week, that autumn, she went to Dwight for lessons. But untilsome time had passed, she did not mention it to Joe. 

"When you meet him, " she said to Dwight, "I'd rather you wouldn't speakof my lessons. I want my singing to be a surprise. And besides, I'd somuch rather that any old friends of my husband's come to him through hispartner. It seems so much more natural. "

"I see, " said Dwight. "But he doesn't, " she thought, "and I'll have toexplain. "

"Later, of course, I'll tell him, " she said, "But just now, in the statehe's in, if you or any one else of his friends who knew him as he usedto be should come and say, 'Sent by your wife, with her compliments andfervent hopes of your speedy resurrection '--oh, no, it wouldn't do atall. " Dwight was watching her curiously. 

"How many of us are there!" he asked. She looked at him in aquestioning way. 

"Of us, " he explained, "Joe's old friends, who are to dig him up, youknow. "

"Only you, at present--and of course his partner. He smiled:

"Bill Nourse is not a very brisk digger. "

"Well, " she remarked, in a casual tone, "if you know of brisker diggersabout--people who knew him--"

"Say no more. I'll search the town. " Their eyes had met for an instant. "Yes, " she thought, "I'm getting on. "

Dwight lunched with Joe soon after that, and later in the studio he andEthel had a talk. 

"In a good many ways, " he assured her, "he struck me as the same oldJoe--friendly and hospitable--he insisted on ordering quite a meal. Butwe didn't eat much of it. We talked. "

"Of Paris!"

"Very much so. There's a lot of Paris in him yet. " And he told of theirlong conversation. 

"Now, " she said, when she rose to leave, "if you'll just keep at himoccasionally--while his partner does the same at the office, and I dowhat I can at home--"

"You insist on his being home every night?"

"That depends, " said Ethel gravely. 

"Suppose I take him some night to my club. We have quite a number ofarchitects there. "

"Oh, wonderful! How good of you!"

"Mrs. Lanier, " said her teacher, "I'm under your orders--digging forgold. "

He took Joe to his club on the following night, and later several timesfor lunch. 

"Joe likes it, " he reported. "And he has already met some chaps whoknew of him and his earlier work, not only in Paris but over here, hewas one of the most brilliant designers in the city, I find--and a goodmany men were disappointed when he threw over his true profession andwent after ready cash. How would you like me to put up his name?"

"For club membership?"

"Precisely. "

"I'd like it, sir. 

"And I obey. "

"This is getting rather intimate, " Ethel told herself that night. "Never mind, my love, you've been perfectly honest. He knows very wellwhat you're after. And if he likes you and wants to help, so much thebetter. "

Some days in the studio she stuck severely to her voice and showed himshe meant business. She was practising quite hard, and her progress wasby no means slow. But on other days half the hour at least was spent inlearning from her new friend about "a Paris in New York. " Dwight wasalready finding one, although he had been here less than a year. Inthis teeming city of endless change he had found a deep joy of creation, of newness, youth and boldness that made even Paris seem far behind. "It's all so amazingly big, " he said, "with such revealing chancesopening up on every side!" How simple it was for him, she thought, witha little pang of envy. A young musician with plenty of talent, easymanners, single, free. As he spoke of his club friends and some oftheir homes that were open to him, the glimpses exasperated her. Herewere the people she wanted to know, a little world of artists, architects and writers, and goodness only knew what else. She was stillrather vague about them. To her surprise she discovered that many wereafter money, too. "Decidedly, " her teacher said. "Excessively, " headded. 

"But at least, " she rejoined, defending them, "when they get the moneythey know how to spend it on something better than food and clothes!They really live--I'm sure they do--and have ideas and really grow!" Shecaught her breath. What an idiot, to have said so much! "I'm so glad, "she added lamely, "that you got my husband into your club. It's boundto do so much for him. " She threw a sharp little glance at Dwight, andscowled, for she thought she detected a smile. 

"He's doing something for the club, " Dwight was saying cheerfully. "Some of those chaps are a bit too refined and remote for this raw crudecity of ours. And Joe is getting back enough of his old vim andpassion, his wild radical ideas of what may still be done with the town, so that he jars on such sensitive souls--makes 'em frown and bite theirmoustaches like the husbands in French plays. On the other hand someare decidedly for him. I hear them discuss him now and then. "

"Oh, how nice!" sighed Ethel. 

At times she grew so impatient to get Joe into this other world. Butshe had to be very careful. Repeatedly she warned herself that Dwight, for all his Paris past and his present friendliness, was very fastbecoming a New Yorker like the rest: making his way and climbing hisclimb, and wanting no climbers who had to be carried. "Ethel Lanier, the first thing you know you'll be dropped like a hot potato, " shethought. "There's nothing unselfish about this man. Don't make himfeel he has you on his hands. " And she would grow studiously abstractand detached in her talk about the town. But it kept cropping up inspite of her, this warm eagerness to "really live. "

"It's funny, " she said to Dwight one day. "I had thought of music andall that I wanted as being so different from Joe's work. But now inthis city that you seem to know, I find that what I've wanted most isjust what he ought to want in his work! The two go together!"

"Exactly!"

"The city Joe once lived in. " She frowned. "There are so many cities inNew York. But I don't want to try to get into his, until I can do itthrough Joe himself. People will have to want me because I'm the wifeof Joe Lanier. "

"I think they'll want you more than that. " His tone was most reassuring. "But I like the way you are going about it. It's so delightfully novel, you see--conspiring to make your husband find his friends all byhimself--so that when he has found them he'll come to you with a beamingsmile and say, 'Woman, I bring you wealth and fame and friends inabundance. Take them, love, and bless me--for I have done all this foryou. '"

Ethel smiled. "I don't like you to joke about it, " she said. 

"Very well, " he agreed, "let's get back to the serious work of hisresurrection. You asked me to recruit other brisk diggers, and I'vehunted about quite a bit. There's that chap Crothers and his wife, butso far they're the best I can do--and the Crothers pair seem ratherblind. They can't see the old Joe for the new. "

"You mean they think he's hopeless, " Ethel scornfully put in. 

"Oh, we'll make them open their eyes in time. I drop in on them everynow and then. I had Crothers to the club last week, and let him hearsome of the gossip about the emerging Joe Lanier. "

Often he talked of the early group of students over in Paris, of theirideas, ambitions, and their youthful views of life, which for all theirgaiety had been so fervid and intense. But to Ethel, because sheherself was still young, their dreams seemed very wonderful. Some shehad hungrily read about long ago with the history "prof" at home. Butthe world which the little suffragist had revealed to her pupils hadbeen more heroic and severe. This was warmer, dazzling, this hadbeauty, this was art! And yet not weak nor tame nor old--this wasgloriously new in the way it jabbed deep into life and talked of reallychanging it all. This was youth! And her own youth responded and shemade it all her own. She was reading now voraciously, with a sparkleand gleam of hope in her eyes. She was coming so very close to hergoal, or rather the gate of her promised land. 

At times she grew impatient at her teacher's calm, and the good-naturedeasy smile with which he looked upon all this. "Oh, why not getexcited!" she thought. She felt the old dreams a bit cold in him, asthey had been in her husband. And in dismay she would ask herself:

"Are they all too old? Is just the fact that I'm ten years younger thanJoe and his friends going to mean that I'm too late--to bring back whatwas in him!"

CHAPTER XIX

But all this was as nothing compared to the intensity, the ups anddown, in her relations with Joe himself. He often looked tired andharassed. "What's the matter with me?" he seemed to ask. And she felthis two sides combatting each other. On the one hand were theinfluences of Nourse and Dwight and the men at the club, to which hewent nearly every day. He took part in discussions there, longrambling talks and arguments. And his old ideals were rising hungrilywithin him. But meanwhile the business man in Joe kept savagely puttingthe dreamer down, and for days he would plunge into his work and thefever of the money game. Joe had been so successful of late; and sheknew that in his office that odious press agent was for ever at him. From Nourse she learned that her husband was even still considering thescheme for a row of buildings named after the presidents. And Ethel hada sinking of heart. 

"If he does that, I'm lost, " she decided. But she would shake off suchfears, as she felt again the old Joe emerge, the Joe of dreams andstartling plans. And she grew excited as she thought:

"Oh, if he'll only let himself go! I don't want him just nice and tameand refined! I don't want only friends like that! I want--I want--"

What she wanted was still exceedingly vague, and Ethel could not put itin words. It had something to do with the teachings of the littlehistory "prof" at home. She wanted the artist in him to rise, thecreative soul of him! Cautiously she probed his thoughts--now tenderand maternal toward him in his tired moods, now alive and interested asshe got him talking. Bits came out. Joe was so plainly tortured by thestruggle going on inside. She felt at once pity and admiration, and wasdeeper in love with him than she had ever been before. She felt theexcitement of a fight with hope of victory close ahead. She took carein her dress and manner to give him little surprises at night, and byher cheery comradeship and her warm beauty of body and soul, Ethel drewhim on and on. At such times she would often lose all memory of herscheming and would give up to her love, which had become a passion now. 

But always she came back to her plan. Not openly, for she had to becareful; she worked at him in little ways. She stirred his youth andhis cast-off dreams by her own youth and zest for it all. She got himto tell her of Nourse and Dwight, the old friends she herself had put onhis trail, and of new friends he had met in his club--"the club Ielected you to, " she exulted. But the next instant she would add, "Oh, Ethel, you're so ignorant! If you only knew about his work!" Andknitting her brows she would listen hard while he talked of steelconstruction. As with her encouragement he talked on rapidly, absorbed, Ethel would clutch at this and that. She learned of books and magazineson architecture here and abroad. Stealthily she noted them down, andthose she could not purchase she hunted up in libraries. Nourse was agreat help to her here. He came to see her now and then; and though hestill had his discouraging moods, at other times he was friendly andkind. Enjoying this conspiracy with the charming young Mrs. Lanier, heexpressed his gallantry by bringing her books of appalling size. Butsome had beautiful illustrations that set her to imagining. Eagerly shegroped her way deep into the history of the building of cathedrals andpalaces in times gone by. And the long majestic story of man's buildingon the earth thrilled her to the very soul. Joe must make his place init all!

When on coming home at night he dumped a pile of work on the table, shewould unobtrusively slip some book beside it. She grew to know whichones tempted him most. He had been surprised and amused at first at herinterest in architecture--and secretly a little disturbed, suspectingwhat lay behind it. But as autumn drew on he read more and more of thebooks she kept putting in his way. While he read she would sit with anovel or sew. She would glance up with some remark, and they would talkand then read on. Subtly she made the atmosphere. She often broughtParis into their talks. She spoke longingly of the shops and plays, andall she wanted to see over there. And she almost succeeded in makinghim promise to take her over the following spring. 

Joe was happy at such times, when she could make him leave businessalone. And although he had many relapses, when night after night hewould sit by the table planning more horrible "junk for the Bronx, " withan inner smile she saw how often her husband scowled at such labour now. She heard of changes in the office. 

"We 're still building junk, " Nourse confided one day, "but it isn'tquite as bad as before. Joe wants the money just as hard, but he'splainly jarred by some of the jobs. He even fought his press agent lastweek!"

One night Joe suggested awkwardly:

"Suppose we try Bill Nourse again. Let me bring him home to dinner, Imean. He isn't especially cheery, God knows--but he seems so damnablylonely this fall. "

"Very well, dear--if you want to, " she sighed. She had told Nourse tohint he was lonely. 

When Nourse came to dinner that Saturday night, Joe was surprised anddelighted at the way his partner seemed to get on now with his wife. The visit indeed was such a success that it was not long before Joeproposed bringing home "an old pal of mine--fellow named Dwight. " Tothis, too, Ethel assented, and when Dwight arrived one night she greetedhim very graciously. 

"I feel as though I knew you, " she said. "I've heard Joe talk of you somuch. "

To Joe's delight they got on like old friends. And when Dwight spiedthe piano there and learned of her interest in music, he insisted ontrying her voice, and was loud in his praise of its promise. Before heleft, it was arranged that she should come to his studio and takelessons twice a week. Openly his pupil now, she could speak of him toJoe, and he came to dine with them often. 

How smoothly things were working out. If there were any cloud upon thehorizon it was the occasional presence of Amy's old friend, Fanny Carr. Fanny had been abroad through the summer, but in October she hadreturned. She had come to see Ethel several times, in the samedeterminedly friendly way; and Nourse reported that she was goingfrequently to see Joe at his office about her eternal money affairs. And the fact that Joe never spoke of it only made the matter worse. ForJoe still had his money side, and Fanny knew how to flatter him so. Hestill had his loyalty to his first wife, and Fanny so cleverly played tothat. "And he likes her, too--clothes, voice, perfumery and all!" Ethelwould declare to herself in anger and vexation. Oh, these women whoused sex every minute! how could men be so easily fooled?

"You can't change a man in a minute, " she thought. "Remember Amy hadhim five years. " Amy had planted so deep in him the feeling that moneyis everything; she had got the fever into his blood. And Fanny wasthere to keep it alive by her flattery of his money success. And forEthel, even still, it was decidedly unsafe to criticize Joe in some ofhis moods. As autumn changed to winter, these moods grew much morefrequent. What was worrying him? She couldn't find out. She sent forNourse and asked him, "What's going on in the office?"

"The press agent is pushing him hard, " was Nourse's gloomy answer, "forthat row of patriotic atrocities up on Riverside Drive. " Ethel squirmed. 

"But he won't!" she cried. "He couldn't!"

"Oh, yes he could, " Joe's partner growled. "There's so much money init!"

"If he puts that through I'm done for!" Ethel told herself that night. "His name will be a perfect joke--among all the people I want to know!And they'll all keep away from us as though he were running a yellowjournal! And then her friends will crowd about--because we'll be sorich, you see! Oh, damn money! Damn! Damn!"

She was lying sleepless on her bed, and Joe was sleeping by her side. She sat up now and looked at his face in the dim light from the window. 

"If you get very rich, " she thought, "and middle-aged and very fat inbody and soul, get to care only for building 'junk' and for going aboutwith Amy's friends--I wonder what would I do then. " Again the words ofyoung Mrs. Grewe came up in her mind: "You can get out whenever youchoose. " She frowned. "But there are the children. And besides, I loveyou, Joe--yes, more than ever, and in a queer way! I'm fighting forwhat I love in you, but at the same time I love you all--every bit ofyou!" Breathing quickly now, she sank back on her pillow, and there shesoon grew quiet again. "So we'll fight it out once and for all. You'vegot to drop this plan of yours. " One evening that same week when Noursehad come to dinner, she led the talk by slow degrees to that other planof Joe's--the one with terrace gardens. Soon she had Nourse talkingabout it, and seeing her husband grow morose she grew cheerilyinterested. 

"Oh, I'm very dull, I suppose, " she said at the end with a quizzicalsmile, "but I'm afraid I can't get it clear. Couldn't you draw it?"Nourse smiled at this, for he saw what she was driving at. 

"No, I'm poor at that, " he said. 

"Then, Joe, you sketch it out for me. "

Joe put down his paper and began in surly fashion. But as he sketchedmore and more rapidly, she saw the thing take hold of him. With littleexclamations and questions Ethel drove him on. She thought it afascinating plan but the details puzzled her still, she said, and therough sketch he had drawn was very unsatisfactory. She begged him todraw it on a large scale, and he set out to do so. But his hand wasinexpert. Although once the most brilliant designer in town, for yearsJoe had stuck to the business side, and his hand had grown clumsy, hismemory cold. Ethel had known of this from Nourse. And now probing byher questions as to details here and there, with Nourse helping at herside, she revealed Joe's weakness to himself. A scared angry look cameinto his eyes. Stubbornly he worked on and on, but the thing would notcome as it used to!

And this revealing process continued until Nourse with masculine pitydropped out of the torturing and went home. But Ethel gently encouragedJoe, and in his dogged persistency he kept at it half the night. Themore tired he grew, the worse was his work. And again and again, as sheglanced at his face, she saw that frightened look in his eyes. Italmost brought the tears in her own, but steadily she kept thinking:

"I'm scaring him badly, and that's what he needs. For years he has beentelling himself that first he would make money and then he would workout his ideals. But he's frightened now. He's wondering if he has putit off too long?"

Pitilessly she goaded him on. Then at last she relented and began topersuade him to go to bed. How white and haggard and queer he looked. Again a lump rose in her throat. Soon she was saying quietly:

"I should think that some day, dear, you'd want to go back to Paris andwork. "

He made no answer. 

But in the weeks that followed, she dropped this thought again and againinto his mind. Paris, study, work, old dreams--she played these againsthis business, against Amy and her friends and the flattery of FannyCarr, against that odious press agent and the plan for Riverside Drive. 

"Has he turned it down?" she inquired of his partner. 

"Not yet, " was the answer. "It's still in the air. 

"I wish this were over, " Ethel thought. Joe's face had grown so queerand drawn that sometimes as she looked at him a sickening dread stoleinto her mind. "Is he really too old?" she asked herself. 

One Saturday night when he came home, with a sudden leap of compassionshe saw what a day he had been through. "But he is through! Somethinghas happened!" she thought. And she treated him very tenderly--bothbecause of the state he was in, and more perhaps because she knew howbad it would be for both of them if he had decided against her. 

"How has the work been going?" she asked. He looked at her almost withdislike. 

"For a month, " he said, "you've been trying to make me give up thatRiverside scheme. " He paused, and her heart was in her mouth. 

"I haven't said so, have I?"

"No--you haven't said so, " he growled. 

"Well?"

"It's off. I've dropped it. "

She started to embrace him, but saw at once it would be a mistake. 

"Thank you, Joe, " she said softly, and went into the nursery. It was sodark and quiet there. She had a cry. 

CHAPTER XX

The next morning Emily Giles returned from a visit back in Ohio. 

"How have things been going?" she asked. "Very well indeed, " saidEthel, with a scarcely perceptible smile. She and Emily understood eachother, though very little had ever been said. 

"Mr. Lanier still working hard?"

"Yes, poor dear, " said Ethel, "but it has been so good for him. " And atthat a look of grim relish came on Emily's sallow face. 

"You know I'm getting to like this town, " she remarked with a genialair. "I wonder what'll the winter be like?"

"Oh, I think we'll do nicely, Emily. I've quite a few plans in myhead. "

"I'll bet you have, " said Emily. And she went to don her "uniform. "

In these days, again and again a sense of being just on the eve ofsomething very exciting gave Ethel a new zest in life. 

One day in the hall downstairs she came upon young Mrs. Grewe. Ethelgave a little start and then swiftly reddened. And she saw the youngwidow smile at that, and it made her annoyed with herself for havingbeen so clumsy. "I'll show her I'm not such a prude, " she thought. Andhaving learned that Mrs. Grewe had taken another apartment here, Ethelwent to see her--with a safe little feeling that Mrs. Grewe would havetoo much sense to return the call. This would end it--pleasantly. 

The visit was a decided success. Mrs. Grewe was back from Europesooner than she had expected--for reasons she did not explain. "And nowI'm looking about, " she said, "for another old lady from Boston. I renta new one every year. " Ethel stayed for tea. For nearly eight monthsshe had had no woman to talk to, but Fanny Carr and Emily Giles. Andshe found it very pleasant to be chatting here so cosily. Not that shemeant to keep it up. This sort of woman? H'm--well, no. But on theother hand, why not? After all, New York was a very big city. 

"I'm never going to shut myself up in one little circle of people, " shethought. "I mean to keep rubbing up against life. "

There was an added pleasure, too, in the vague warm self-confidencewhich the young widow gave to her. "You can take care of yourself, mydear, " said Mrs. Grewe's small lustrous black eyes. 

"Well? Is he treating you better?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said Ethel. 

"He's very wise. " They smiled at each other. 

"He's becoming quite sensible, " Ethel said. 

"And have you found those friends you wanted?"

"They're in sight, " was Ethel's answer. Her hostess smiled goodhumouredly. 

"You won't be able to keep me, " she said. "He won't stand that--"

Ethel knit her brows. 

"He'll stand a good deal, " she answered, "when once I know where I standmyself. "

"In the meantime you'd better leave me alone. "

The two parted in affable fashion. 

"There, " thought Ethel in relief. "I got through that rather nicely. Ineedn't go again, of course. "

She had started out for a brisk walk, and she drew a deep breath of thefrosty air. The air in New York was often so--gay! And Mrs. Grewe hadgiven her such a feeling of independence. She saw a man turn and lookat her--the beast! But she smiled as she hurried on toward the Park. 

Still, the brief visit had been rather daring. Joe would not have likedit at all. He would have been perfectly furious!

"However!" She walked briskly on. "What's the difference between Mrs. Grewe and his own dear friend, Fanny Carr?" she asked. "Nothingwhatever--except that Fanny, so far as we know, has taken the troublewith each man to have a wedding and a divorce. The only otherdifference is that Fanny has no taste at all, while Mrs. Grewe hasheaps of it! And she reads things--even Shaw; and she likes good music, too. She is going tonight to 'Salome. '" . . . For a moment Ethel lether mind run over all the operas she herself was going to hear, and theconcerts, and the plays she would see and the dinners she would go to, the talks in which she would take part. She could see herself--justscintillating! . . . With a jerk she came back to Mrs. Grewe. "Oh, I guess it isn't very defiling to turn to her from Fanny Carr! I'll doas I please!" she impatiently thought. 

Still, it had been rather daring. It fitted in exactly with severaltalks she had had of late with Dwight, her music teacher: talks in whicheach one of them had taken rather a challenging tone that had growndistinctly intimate. One night when Joe was out of town she had gonewith Dwight to the opera. And she had not mentioned it to Joe--not thatshe felt guilty at all, she had simply dropped it out of her mind. Inlove with her husband? Yes, indeed. And let Dwight or any other mantry to go the least bit too far--"As Fanny doubtless does with Joe, " shesuddenly added to herself. For a moment she walked viciously. Then shethought again of Dwight. He had told her she really had voice enoughwith which to go on the stage if she chose. 

"Though I hope you won't, " he had added. 

"Why not?" she had asked. In reply he had hinted at perils that made itall sound rather thrilling. 

"Joe wouldn't like it, " Dwight had said. 

"I might sing in concerts--"

"Joe wouldn't like it. "

"Oh, bother Joe!"

Dwight had smiled a bit. "I wonder what you will do, " he had said, "ifJoe flivvers!"

"If he what?"

"Flivvers--drops back and makes money--turns to those other friends ofhis. "

"He won't do that. " But her voice had been tense, for the intimatefeeling in Dwight's tone had made her a bit uneasy. 

"Well, " he had told her in a low voice, "I'm a friend of Joe's, youknow, and I don't propose to play the cad. But if you and Joe evershould have a break--don't drop me, too. Do you understand?"

She had hesitated a moment upon just how to answer. Her heart hadpounded rapidly. 

"That isn't going to happen, " she had told him gravely. 

"Sure of that?"

"Yes, and you would be--if you understood me better. "

"How?"

"I'm in love with that husband of mine for life, " she had informed himimpressively. 

"You're very old-fashioned, " he had smiled. 

"Not at all!"

"Suppose I understand you better than you do yourself?"

She had glanced at him, seen the gleam in his eyes as he had drawncloser. And then very suddenly she had found it hard to breathe. Whatto say to stop him?

"At this moment, " she had nearly gasped, "you appear to me sovery--fat!"

That had bowled him over--naturally! In the next few moments theatmosphere had become chilly and depressed, and with a sudden rush ofshame the certainty had grown upon her that she had made a fool ofherself, that he had meant to do nothing at all. And from blushingfuriously she had turned a little white, and had said to him:

"Please forgive me. I didn't mean that. I was--just a silly fool. Let's go on with my lesson. "

"Now that I've learned mine, you mean. "

And then regaining control of herself she had turned upon him quickly:

"Oh, be sensible, for goodness' sake! How are you and I to be friendsif you act like this, you silly boy? You ought to be ashamed ofyourself!"

So she had got out of that all right, and had felt tremendouslyrelieved. It was not only that she liked the man, he was besides heronly hope, the one who could bring friends to her. "Women friends!That's what I need!" All this was so unsafe at times. Her husband'sbusiness, his two sides, Fanny Carr and her scheming, Dwight and hisblue, twinkling eyes, Mrs. Grewe and her smiling good-fellowship--wereall very nice and exciting. But safe? Oh, by no means!

But today as Ethel walked on through the Park, she smiled to herselfexpectantly. For Dwight had promised the next week to bring SallyCrothers to see her. "If only I can get on with her! She's my kind--Iknow she is--she's just exactly what I want. I don't want to beanything wild--not Mrs. Grewe nor Fanny Carr. I want to be myself, that's all, and happy with my husband!"

She turned abruptly toward her home. "In the meantime I am going backto give the baby his bath, " she thought. She glanced at the watch onher gloved wrist. And a man who looked like a detective, or a villainin the "movies, " looked after her in an envious way. 

"Who's her date with!" he wondered. 

CHAPTER XXI

The days dragged by. She had anxious times. What would Sally Crothersbe like? "And what in the world will she think of me? If she doesn'tlike me--very much--the very first time, I'll have lost my chance. Forshe's busy, her life is full of things--planning gardens and runningabout with her friends. And she won't so much as bother her head!"Ethel felt a dismal sinking. In vain she strove to assure herself. Joe, Nourse and then Dwight, one after the other, had all bowed downbefore her. "Oh, that was very simple!" she thought. "They're onlymen!" It would be a woman this time, and one of the most brilliant kind. "What a dull little fool she'll find me, in spite of all I do or say!"It would be all the more difficult because Mrs. Crothers was older. "That will count against me. No doubt she's beginning to show her age;and I'm young, and she doesn't want any young things to come snoopingabout her husband! Then there's Amy and the quarrel they had, andshe'll put me and Amy in the same class! I'll have all that to fightagainst!" The idea of settling everything all in one brief encounter. Oh, it was too maddening!

"Now, Ethel Lanier, for goodness' sake stop fidgeting like a nervous oldmaid! This isn't the minister coming to call!"

On the day before the expected call, Ethel was just on the point ofgoing out for the afternoon to do some shopping and shake off thesesilly fears, when the telephone rang and a few moments later the maidcame in and told her there was a visitor downstairs. In an instant witha rush of excitement Ethel knew it was Sally at last. Dwight, in hiseasy, careless way, had mixed his dates and was bringing Sally a dayahead! How stupid of him! "What have I on?"

"Did she come up?" she breathlessly asked. 

"No, Mrs. Lanier, she's waiting below. "

"Did she give her name?"

"Yes--Mrs. Carr. "

"Oh. " Ethel gasped and sank down in a heap. "All right, ask her to comeup, " she said, in a tone of indifference. 

When the maid had gone, she almost called her back. She did not want tosee Fanny Carr. Still--why not? Oh, let her come. And in the two orthree minutes that followed, Ethel passed from a mood of depression toone of easy good-natured contempt. She was no longer afraid of Fanny, for Ethel was getting Joe in hand. "And as soon as I do, " shereflected, "and my husband makes a name as an architect doing great bigthings, what harm can Fanny do me?" As she thought of the brilliantpeople who were so soon to be her friends, she looked upon Fanny Carrand her like with no more hatred but only compassion. What stupid livesthey were leading. 

And so when Fanny came into the room Ethel received her kindly. 

But Fanny rather smiled at that. She looked a bit seedy as to herdress, and yet she had a confident air. She took in the fine clothes ofher handsome young hostess, and Ethel's very gracious air and the almostpitying tone of her voice--and then with a hard little smile, "My, whata change, " said Fanny softly. Ethel frowned at her tone. This might berather awkward. 

"You mean this way of doing my hair?" she rejoined good-humouredly. "Iwas hoping you would notice it. "

"Does he?" asked Fanny. 

"What do you mean? Oh, Joe never--"

"No. Dwight, my dear. " The hard voice of her visitor had becomesuddenly low and clear. Ethel looked at the woman then and slowlyreddened to her ears. And the consciousness of blushing made her allthe angrier. 

"What on earth do you mean!" she demanded. Her voice too was very low, and it trembled only a little; but there was a glint in her brown eyes. Fanny gave a tense little laugh. 

"Look here, " she said. "Don't let's waste time. Joe may be cominghome, you know, and we must get this over first. "

"We'll soon get it over. " Ethel's voice was shaking ominously. Fannynoticed and spoke fast. 

"Well, then, it's just this, " she said. "You've made up your mind tocut Joe off from all his old friends, including me. And I might havestood for that--"

"How kind!"

"If I hadn't learned of the raw deal you're giving him. Strip him offriends and then treat him like this? Oh, no, not if I can help it!"Plainly Fanny was working herself into a rage to match that of herhostess. 

"You'd better be very clear, Mrs. Carr, " Ethel exclaimed, leaningforward. Her visitor looked straight back at her, and answered:

"Very. I mean Dwight. "

Ethel rose abruptly. 

"That will be enough, I think. "

"Oh, will it?"

Ethel wheeled upon her:

"What a--loathsome mind you have! Will you leave me, please!"

"No, I'll show you this. And then we'll get to business. " And Fannyproduced a large envelope, from which she took out a few typewrittenpages. "Just look these over, " she advised, "and then tell me whether Ishall go. " And as Ethel hesitated, "You'd better. They're veryimportant. "

Ethel took them and read them, and as she did so her rage and scornchanged first into bewilderment and then into a sickening fright Shefelt all at once so off her ground. She had always heard of detectivesand their reports of shadowed wives, but that sort of thing had justbeen in the papers and had never seemed very real. "This is about me!"she thought. It told of every meeting she had had with Dwight, in hisstudio and in other places, once at the Ritz where they had dined andgone to the opera, twice in the Park where they had walked. Such cleantimes, all three of them, but how cheap and disgusting they nowappeared! For here were bits about Dwight's past, his record withwomen--two were named. He had been a co-respondent once! And hisstudio was described in detail, with emphasis on a big lounge in onecorner! . . . Suddenly it was laughable! And so she laughed atFanny! And Fanny replied:

"You mean he won't believe it!"

Ethel went on laughing. Joe wouldn't believe it. She wished he wouldcome and turn this woman out on the street. She felt reliefunspeakable. 

"You've forgotten, " Fanny added, "that you lied to him about yourfriend. "

"How dare you say that?"

"Because I have the facts. On the second of December Joe brought Dwightto dine with you, and you acted as though you'd never met. I gatheredthat from Joe himself when I saw him the next day. While the truth ofit was you'd been seeing Dwight ever since the first of October. "

"Yes? That will be easy enough to explain. " But Ethel felt herselfturning white. She sank down and thought, "Now you'll need all yournerve. Don't get faint, you've got to think clearly. " But she was notgiven time. 

"And all that had been going on while you were supposed to be home withthe baby. " Mrs. Carr leaned forward briskly. "Now the thing for you todo is exactly what I tell you. But before I do that, there's just onething I wish you to understand about me. If you want to keep Joe, keephim. I don't want him--I never did. I've laughed at you again andagain for what you thought I was trying to do. All I want is to be letalone to go on with Joe as I always have. What I mean by that you won'tunderstand, because you don't understand my life. A woman like me inthis city needs one man who'll be her friend--the big brother idea--tohelp and advise her, carry her through when she's down a bit. And Joehas always been like that. 

"Why? Because of Amy. When she first came to New York, you remember, it was on a visit to me. I had known her back in boarding school. Well, the visit lengthened out. I saw how crazy she was for the town, and I was fairly well off then, so I let her stay and gave her ahome--let her meet my friends, Joe included. I had a husband at thetime who was in the real estate business. He knew Joe. So I took Joeand handed him over to Amy. And though she would have been glad enoughto forget the debt, Joe wasn't that kind. So that's my hold onhim--perfectly clean and above-board. And I need him in my business. There are times when I'm down and need his money, other times when Ineed his name. But that is all. And if he has been fool enough tomarry a giddy young girl like you, that's his own look-out--I won'tinterfere. I mean I won't interfere with you so long as you don'tinterfere with me. You let me go on with Joe as before, and he'll neversee these papers. "

With a sudden fierce impulse, in spite of herself, Ethel crumpled themup in her hands. 

"Don't be a fool, " said Fanny. "They're only copies. Give them back. "Ethel did so, mechanically. "Now what will you do? Which way will youhave it? He may be here any minute now. "

She waited, but got no reply. She saw the girl shiver a little. 

"What's the use of being so solemn and scared?" she impatiently asked. "You're running no more risk than before. So far as I'm concerned, mydear, you can go right on with Dwight if you wish. All I'm asking is asquare deal. "

"But she'll ask and ask, " thought Ethel. "She'll ask of me anything shewants. And she'll get me so tangled in other lies that then I wouldn'thave even a chance of making Joe see how things really are. "

This thought cleared her mind a little. 

"No, " she said. "You can tell him. "

"What!"

Ethel looked down at her hands in her lap, and noticed how tightlythey were clenched. She smiled at them. 

"Tell him. "

"You're sure of that?"

Ethel nodded. 

"Very well!"

"She's uneasy, " thought Ethel, "and disappointed--not sure of herself. I've done the right thing. "

But as in almost perfect silence they sat waiting for Joe to come home, her decision wavered again and again, and it took all her courage tohold herself in. She made occasional trite remarks, and receivedreplies of the same kind. On them both the tension was growing. 

"This means everything to you, too, Fanny, dear!" Ethel reflectedviciously. "If Joe believes me--you're done for!"

At each slight stir that Fanny made, Ethel hoped she had lost hercourage and was getting ready to go. But Fanny stayed And as she satthere motionless, what a strong figure she grew to be, moment by moment, in Ethel's eyes--strong in spite of the life she led, of clothes, richfeeding, drinking, dancing, old age swiftly coming on. Strongnevertheless, in an odious way, in the loathsome point of view of herworld toward love and marriage. It had set her to prying and handed herhere--with these papers in her hands! That was her way of looking atlife, and a mighty strong way it appeared!

Suddenly Ethel's eye was caught by Amy's photograph on the table. Bydegrees in the last few months Joe had ceased to notice it there. Buthow he would notice it now, very soon, as soon as he'd read what Fannyhad brought. For Amy had taught Joe long ago to be jealous, never toosure of a wife. 

"So Amy is here again, after all. . . . I wonder what I shall say toJoe? . . . Oh, rubbish! Use more common sense! All I've got to dois to make him see why I never told him about Dwight. It was only partof that plan I had. But what a fool! Oh, what a fool!"

When at last Joe's key was heard in the door, both women leaned slowlyforward, as though the strain were unbearable. And then as Joe cameinto the hall, Fanny said suddenly, sharp and clear:

"No, I won't keep quiet! Joe has got to be told of this!" Ethel wheeledon her:

"How odious!"

"I can't help it--he's my friend!"

And the next moment, with Joe in the room, both women were talking tohim at once--angrily, incoherently, almost shoving each other away. Butonly for a moment. It was too disgusting! Ethel left off and stoodrigid there, while Fanny talked on rapidly. She was speaking of howEthel had cut off Joe from Amy's friends. Ethel heard only bits ofthis, for it all seemed so confused and unreal. But she noticed hownervously tired he looked, all keyed up from his day at the office. Sheremembered that his partner was out of town on business, that Joe hadbeen running the office alone. "He will be hard to manage, " shethought. He interrupted Fanny in a sharp, excitable tone. 

"What's it all about?" he asked. 

"It's time you saw where you stand, Joe Lanier. Look at this girl. Idon't blame her, God knows. Look how young she is, and then look atyourself. Here, take a look at yourself in that mirror. Are you stillyoung? Can't you see the lines, the gray hairs, Joe? They'recoming--oh, they're coming! Can you supply all the love she wants?"

"Fanny?" he snapped out her name in so ugly a voice that she lost notime. She shoved those papers into his hands and began to tell him whatthey were. But Joe refused to read them and grew each moment angrier. 

"Joe!" cried Fanny sharply. "When you brought Dwight to dinner here, hemet your wife as though for the first time. Did you know they had beenfriends for months?" And at his startled look, she added, "If youdidn't, you'd better read all this!" There fell a sudden silence. 

"I'll explain everything--when we're alone, " Ethel managed to put in. How queer and thick her own voice sounded. 

Now Joe had gone into the hall with Fanny. Curtly he said good-night toher. The door closed, and there was silence again. Why didn't he come?He must be standing there in the hall trying to get hold of himself. Oh, how terribly hurt he must feel! But she checked the sudden lump inher throat. "Remember now--just common sense!" This was a time forkeeping clear! But Joe had come back into the room, and passing thegilt mirror into which Fanny had told him to look, he stopped a moment. 

"Don't do that, Joe!" In an instant, in spite of herself, her love forhim rose up in a wave, with fear and pity and anger, too. She came tohim, and her voice was shaking. "Oh, Joe--Joe! Can't you see it's alllies? It's so loathsome--every word! And so cheap--so cheap and mean!"

As she spoke, his eyes were rapidly scanning the report he still had inhis hands. Again she noticed how tired he was. He looked up at her:

"I know it is! But why didn't you treat it like that? Why did you tryto make her keep quiet? Weren't you trying, when I came in?"

"No! No! It was just her odious trick--her pretending!"

"Pretending? How about you? Why did you pretend, when I brought Dwighthere, that you'd never laid eyes on him before? Had you or hadn't you?Careful, now! Fanny says it is all here!"

"I'll explain in one word!"

"What's the word? Say it, please--and for God's sake clear this up!"

She was breathing hard, frightened, her mind in a whirl. Oh, to be ableto think clearly! Use a little common sense!

"Just a minute!" she gasped. "You'll see in a minute--"

"I see a good deal! It's right in your eyes! What are you looking soscared about! And what did she say about my being old! I am old--andyou're young, young! And a beauty--just the kind for Dwight! Don't Iknow of his love affairs? Wasn't he at it way back in Paris? Hasn't hebeen--ever since?"

"Be careful, Joe, " she cried angrily. But in his condition, nerves onedge, he paid no heed and went rapidly on:

"I'm just a business man! And you've made me feel your contempt for allthat! And he's a musician, he's different--he has exactly what youwant! So you went to his studio twice a week--for months andmonths--without letting me know--although he was a friend of mine! Andyou went to the Ritz and the opera! And then I brought him here todine! God, how you two must have smiled at each other--when I wasn'tlooking!"

"Joe! Joe!"

"You lied to me, didn't you, when he came! You say you'll explain it ina word! Well, what's the word? I'm waiting!"

"There isn't any!" Her face was white. "I don't care to explain to younow!" she cried. He looked at her. She could see he was trembling, andshe nearly changed her mind. But her anger came again. "I won't!" shethought. "Not tonight!"

"Then you and I are through, you know, " he said very huskily. He turnedand went into the hall, and a moment later the outer door closed. Ethelsat down and stared blankly. 

"I acted like an idiot!"

CHAPTER XXII

As she sat there she grew furious with herself for having bungled so. Why hadn't she explained to him? Why hadn't she simply told him herplan for giving him back his friends? All at once she could hearherself saying what she should have said to Joe:

"I may have been wrong about it, Joe, but I thought the best way tobring you back to all the things you used to love was to let you think_you_ were doing it. So I let you and Dwight come together alone. Ikept in the background, as I did about getting you into that club ofyours. I was afraid to show my hand. " On and on she talked to him. Oh, how simple and convincing, strong, and sensible and true. "Why didn'tyou say it, you little fool? You acted just like a scared young girlfound out in doing something wrong!" She was ready to cry, but checkedherself. "At least don't be a baby now. What are you to do about it?"She bit her lip. Now it was too late. She had made it worse--a hundredtimes! All at once she rose and began to walk. "Oh, rubbish!" shethought, impatiently. "You're not to give up, when everything else inyour whole life was going so perfectly splendidly! . . . Why, ofcourse. That's it. I'll call up Nourse, and have him come and explainto Joe how I went to him at the very start. "

With a swift feeling of relief Ethel went to the telephone. 

"Mr. Nourse is out of town. "

"Oh, yes. Thank you. I'd forgotten. When do you expect him back?"

"Not until the end of the week. "

As Ethel hung up the receiver she felt a little faint and queer. WhenJoe came back this evening she would have to face him alone! In vainshe angrily told herself that it only needed common sense. The pictureof his tired face, nerves all on edge, rose in her mind. The way hisjealousy had flared up! No, it would not be easy! She might even--failwith him! At the thought, a foolish panic came. More walking wasrequired. . . . She heard Susette beginning her supper, and she wentin and sat with the child. And at first that worked out very well. Soon she was smiling and listening to the ceaseless chatter of the smallgirl. But suddenly Ethel exclaimed to herself, "Suppose I do fail, after all! If there's a divorce he'll take them both!" She jumped up ina frightened way, and went into her bedroom. She threw herself sobbingon the bed--but in a few minutes regained control with an effort and laythere motionless. The tangle was growing clearer now. 

The very best she could hope was to make Joe half believe her, shethought. And that would mean she would have to drop Dwight and allchance of meeting those people he knew. She would live with a Joe sosuspicious that she would be under his friend, Fanny Carr. "She'll bemy friend, and bring me in touch with whatever other people she likes. I'll have to be nice to them--every one. And I'll live her life. Amy'slife. " She looked at the large photograph over on Joe's chiffonier. "Perhaps after all I shall be like her. How do I know what she was atmy age? As I grow older, all hemmed in, why not stop caring foranything else?

"Oh, now do let's be sensible!" With an impatient movement of her lithebeautiful figure Ethel was up off the bed and walking the room with grimresolution in her brown eyes. Soon she was much quieter. She felt thewarm youth within her rise. There must be a way! So far, so good. Butthe moment she tried to think what way, again at once she was off herground. What could she do or say to Joe? Her failure to manage himthat afternoon had shaken her confidence in herself. Ethel was onlytwenty-five, and now she felt even younger than that. All at once in asickening way her courage oozed; she felt herself ignorant and alone. Why did not Joe come back, she asked. Was he going to stay away allnight? And if he did, what would it mean? She remembered what he hadsaid when he left: "Then you and I are through, you know. " All right, then what was he going to do! "I don't even know how a man goes aboutit, if he wants to get a divorce!" And panic seized her as before. "Ican't do this all by myself! I can't talk to him as I've got totalk--not till I know just what to say! I bungled it so! I need soundadvice! Oh, for somebody to help me!" She thought of Dwight, but shewould not go near him! She loathed the very sight of him now! Why hadnot he told her of those other affairs of his that could rise in thisway against herself? Why had he allowed her to do those few littledaring things, which looked so cheap and disgusting in the detective'styped report? And besides, if she did want to see him, could she, without being watched by some wretched detective? For the whole townseemed bristling with detectives and police. And the city of New Yorkfelt cold. As she lay on her bed, a sudden gay laugh from aneighbouring window recalled to her mind that night long ago, her firstin New York, when she had listened excitedly and thought of all thestories here, both sad and comic. 

"Well, I'm a story now, " she thought. "And I suppose I'm comic!" Theangry tears rose in I her eyes. Oh, for a real friend! There was EmilyGiles, of course, but this was Emily's night out; and besides, inmatters of this kind she would be worse than useless. "What I need is awoman who knows this town--and all its ways--and what to do!" As theevening drew on and still Joe did not come, again and again she feltready to scream. And though she savagely held herself in, each time washarder than the last. 

"Something has simply got to be done!" she told herself after oneoutbreak like that. Then all at once came the recollection of youngMrs. Grewe downstairs. "I must have some one or I'll go mad!" And shehurried to the telephone. But in the hall she stopped and frowned. "No, I won't call her up, " she thought. "That inquisitive telephonegirl downstairs would begin to gossip about it at once. " For the samereason Ethel did not take the elevator. She ran quickly down twoflights and rang at Mrs. Grewe's door. There was silence. She waitedsome moments, then rang again. "Oh, she's out--I know she is!" Thethought brought a sickening empty feeling. She would have to face thisnight alone!

But abruptly the door opened, and a sleepy startled maid looked at herin dull surprise. 

"Is she out tonight? Is Mrs. Grewe out?" Ethel asked impatiently. 

"Yes--she's out, " the girl replied. 

But glancing behind her Ethel saw a high hat and an overcoat on a chair, and with a quick little "Oh!" of dismay, she turned and hurried awaydown the hall. She heard the maid's chuckle behind her. "Oh-h!" Shecould feel her cheeks burning. And when she got back to her bedroomupstairs, out of the shame and humility rose a fierce anger which downedall her fears at the thought of this night or of anything else. "I'llnever be like her!" she exclaimed. "There'll never be a high hat in myhall at this time of night--nor a Boston old maid--nor a snickeringtelephone girl downstairs! Never! I'll make myself ugly first! ForI'm not like you, I'm not like you! I've had a child, to beginwith--and I'm going to keep him, he's mine!"

There came again a period of swift determined thinking. And at lastwith a quick thrill of relief she remembered Mrs. Crothers was comingwith Dwight to call the next day. Sally Crothers--Joe's old friend!"If she believed in me--really believed in all that I was trying todo--she could give me just the advice I need! It may be I'm justsilly--and she could give me her common sense! She might even talk toJoe herself--and make him realize my whole plan! If only I can get herto help me!"

Ethel went at once to her desk and rapidly wrote a note to Dwight, saying she thought it would be better to let Mrs. Crothers come alone. 

"For I could do nothing, with him around. And I've got to doeverything!" she thought as she folded the envelope. 

In the morning she heard from Joe. When a messenger came with a note, she tore it open and read this:

"Please give this man my suit-case and put in what things I need. Ishall stay here at the club awhile--it will be better all around. I amsorry for the scene I made and I don't want another. If you have anyreal explanation, send me word and I will come. But understand it hasgot to be real. If it is not we can't go on. I guess you see that. "

She read it again. Then glancing up at the messenger, who was plainlycurious at the expression on her face, she frowned at him impatiently. 

"Will you wait downstairs!" she said. "It will take some little time tofind the things my husband wants. "

Rid of him, she began again and read the letter with desperate care. Yes, Joe was trying to be fair. To have said he was sorry for thatscene was rather decent in him. "Oh, yes, but he'll make another!" shethought. "Don't I know how he is--all tired and nervous and unstrung?If my explanation doesn't seem real he'll fly up and leave me, and thenwe'll be through!" She clenched the letter and told herself that herexplanation must be real. It was her one chance--she must take time, and get good sensible advice. Joe had Fanny Carr about. That wascertain. She'd never leave him alone. She was busily bolstering up herside. And Ethel needed somebody, too, on her side--right behind her. Sally Crothers--Joe's old friend!

She packed Joe's things and sent them to him with a little letter: "I amglad you said you were sorry, Joe, for the way you acted was veryunfair. You are quite right in waiting now--it is better for both of usto cool down. But my explanation is simple and real--as you will see. I shall send for you in a few days. I love you, dear. I love you. "

After that, she spent hours in anxious reflection. Now about SallyCrothers, she thought. Should she tell her the trouble she was in? No, not at once. New Yorkers hate trouble and always fly from it--so shemust lead to it gradually. "When she comes I've got to make her likeme--very much--so much she's surprised!" To begin with, looks--for looksdid count. That much of what Amy had said was true. "But what I mustdo is not to look like her. Sally Crothers detested her, and I've gotto overcome all that. I must show her I'm quite different. " For a timeEthel's mind dwelt on details. It must all be so simple, yet not toosevere. "For Sally is gay, I understand. What I want is to lookhalfway between Mrs. Grewe and Emily Giles. Black? No. Dark blue, with that old Rhinestone pin. Wave my hair? No, that's Amy again!"

But from such thoughts about her dress, or her tea table, flowers, thelights in the room, her mind kept darting anxiously off. All this wasnothing! What should she say? "It's a woman of brains who is coming tocall. Think of all she knows--and she earns her living--she has aprofession of her own! How in the world shall I talk to her? Shethinks me like Amy--there's Amy again! Oh, Amy, Amy, I don't want tohate you! You helped me once, you were dear to me, and you had heapsand heaps of good points! But please, please stop coming up in my life!

"Don't get into another panic, my dear. When she comes you must benatural. Your natural self--that always counts. Don't try to show offwhat you haven't got. Show her only what you have. Make her feelyou're young and ready to learn--half mad to learn! No, that won'tdo--not mad, but keen for everything--interested in her life--in all shedoes and thinks and feels. " She frowned. "No, that's too personal. Andyou can't be personal in New York--not very--they don't like it here. Every one's too busy. You must be interested in things--the town ingeneral--music--books--people in a general way. 

"'Here's the kind of a girl who will grow, ' she must say, 'and who isworth my taking up!' But will she! Now here's that panic again! Andcan't you see, you little goose, this is just what may spoil everything?If you're scared, you'll lose! You've got to keep cool every minuteshe's here! Who is this Sally anyhow? What has she done that you won'tdo when you're as old as she is? . . . Yes, but don't you strikethat note! No woman likes to be reminded that she is ten years olderthan any other woman on earth. She'll put me down as a cute young thingwho has a dangerous way with men. Dwight has praised me to her, ofcourse--but she'll put his liking down to that--the--the--the sex side!I must show her it isn't, that I've got more, that I don't want men butwomen now! But not too hard or eager, you know. Oh, I must watch herall the time, to see if I'm getting any hold. And then, the minute Isee my chance, I must tell her my trouble--no, my big chance--all I wasjust on the point of doing with Joe, and could do now--if only I had herfor a friend!"

Such thinking was spasmodic and often disconnected. Thoughts of Joekept breaking in, and of what she should do if she failed with him. And again, putting down with an effort all such thoughts and fancies, she took Susette and the baby and went out for a walk in the Park. Itwas one of those balmy days that come in winter now and then, and Ethelsat down on a bench for a while. 

But then she looked around with a start. Who was that on a benchnearby? A fat man with a black moustache, his derby hat tipped over hisforehead, and his two small piggish eyes morosely and narrowly watchingher. A detective--working for Fanny Carr! Ethel angrily rose andcalled to Susette and wheeled the baby carriage away. But just as shepassed the fat man, a small fat boy ran up to him. 

"Say, Pa, " whined the urchin. "Buy me a bag of peanuts. "

"Like hell I will, " the fat man growled. 

And Ethel blushed. How absurd she had been!

CHAPTER XXIII

In reply to her note, Dwight had telephoned that Sally would be there atfive. Mrs. Crothers arrived at a quarter past. She was a small alertlooking woman of thirty-five, slender, almost wiry, dark, with blackhair worn over her temples. Her small mouth was strong and willful, butshe had nice pleasant eyes. She was wearing a pretty tan hat and greyfurs that she put back on her shoulders as she smiled and held out herhand. 

"I'm so glad to meet you at last, my dear. "

"Oh, thank you, " said Ethel quickly. And then, because that sounded toograteful, she added, "Won't you sit down?" in rather a stilted littlevoice. This woman made her feel so young. "Now don't act like aschool-girl!" With an appearance of lazy ease she turned and poked thesmall logs in the fire. "I do so love wood fires. Don't you?" shesaid, in carefully easy tones, but she did not hear the answer. 

Mrs. Crothers was wearing a trim street suit of brown and dark green. "She dresses as I do, so _that's_ all right, " thought Ethel. "She'staking me in. So much the better. I'll do the same. " And as theytalked, she kept throwing glances at the dark face, rather narrow, thesmall and rather mischievous mouth, amid the grey eyes which looked asthough they could be so very good-humoured and friendly. But with alittle pang of dismay Ethel saw that these eyes were preoccupied andonly half attending. "She has a hundred things on her mind, and she'sasking, 'Now let's try to see if there's really anything here worthwhile. '" The preliminaries were already over. That part at least hadgone smoothly enough. "We're off!" thought Ethel excitedly. 

"How will you have your tea?" she asked. 

"Clear with lemon. "

"One lump or two?"

"Three or four. "

"Oh, how funny, " Ethel laughed. And then she reddened. "You littlegoose, " she exclaimed to herself, "why did you say, 'how funny'?" Shepoured the tea with a trembling hand and proffered it with a plate ofcakes and small toasted crumpets, dainties she had purchased with careat a smart little shop in the neighbourhood. And meanwhile she wasanswering the questions, pleasant but searching, though thrown out in acasual voice. 

"Yes, my home was in Ohio. Such a dear old town, " she said. But thenext moment she bit her lips, for she had come so near to adding, "Iwish I were back this very minute!" What was her visitor saying? Shefrowned and leaned forward attentively. Something about a small town inVermont and the funny local politics there. "Where is she leading bythat remark?" Oh, yes, suffrage! That was all right!

"Yes, indeed, " declared Ethel eagerly, "I'm for suffrage heart and soul!I marched in the parade last Fall! Wasn't it glorious? Were youthere?"

"Yes, I marched--"

"With the gardeners?" Ethel blushed again. "Landscape, I mean!" And hervisitor smiled. 

"Yes, with the gardeners, " she said. "There were only four of us, butwe felt like the Four Hundred. " Ethel giggled excitedly. 

"Wasn't it glorious?" she exclaimed. "You ninny!" she thought. "Yousaid that once!" And she hastened to add, "And isn't it perfectly sillyfor men to try to keep us from marching?"

"You mean your husband doesn't approve?"

"Approve!" Ethel echoed with a sniff. "I'd like to see him disapprove. I have him in fair control, I think. " And she knitted her brows in aneager way, for this was a chance to tell how she had done it. 

"How long have you been married!" her visitor was asking. 

"Let me see. Four years? No, two, " she replied, with a quick smile. "Time does so fly along in this town!"

"It does indeed. It seems hardly any time at all since the days whenyour husband and I were friends. "

"Oh, yes, he has often told me about you!" And Ethel shot a swiftanxious look. "I know you don't like him, " she wanted to add. "But ifyou'll only give me a chance I'll show you what I have made of thisman--or was making, at least, till all of a sudden right out of theclouds there dropped a fat detective!" She laughed at the thought andthen grew rigid. How silly and pointless to laugh like that! Mrs. Crothers was telling now of the old group down about Washington Square, and Ethel was listening hungrily. 

"What gorgeous times you must have had, " she exclaimed, "in those olddays!" The next moment she turned crimson. "I've said it now. 'Old'!I knew I should!" She caught Sally's good-natured smile and felt againlike a mere child. 

From this moment on she would take care! She avoided personal topics, and growing grave and dignified she turned the conversation from Joe tomusic, concerts, the opera, "Salome, " "Louise. " She carefully showed shewas up to date, not only in music but in other things, books she haddiscussed years ago in the club of the little history "prof, " and othersshe had been reading since--Montessori, "Jean Christophe. " Hiding hertense anxiety under a manner smooth as oil, she talked politely on andon, and she felt she was doing better now. So much better! No morestupid breaks or girlish gush, but a modern intelligent woman of parts. And a glow of hope rose in her breast. A little more of this, shethought, and she would be ready to break off, and with a suddenappealing smile take her new friend into her confidence, tell of hertrouble and ask for advice. 

But the smile came from her visitor. Mrs. Crothers had risen and washolding out her hand. And as Ethel stared in dismay at that smile, which displayed such an easy indifference to her and all her view oflife, her only woman friend in New York said:

"I'm so sorry I've got to run. I hope you'll come and see me. "

From the door in the hallway Ethel came back in a sort of a daze--tillher eye lit on the blue china clock on the mantel. 

"Seventeen minutes!" she exclaimed. And then after one quick lookaround, she flung herself on the sofa in tears. "I bored her! How Ibored her! How stupid I was, and comic--a child! And then solemn--toosolemn--all music and art--and education and--how in the world do I knowwhat I said? Or care! I hate the woman! I hate them all! Seventeenminutes! Isn't that just like New York?"

But from this little storm she soon emerged. Grimly sitting up on thesofa, she reached out a hand icy cold, took the tea-pot and poured out acup. It was strong now, thank Heaven! And frowning gravely into space, Ethel sat and drank her tea. 

CHAPTER XXIV

"Now the one thing, " she told herself, "is to keep your nerve and besensible. For this may decide your whole life, you know. . . Allright, what next? What's to be done?

"I hate Sally Crothers, " she began, "but I may go to see her, nevertheless. She asked me to. Didn't mean it, of course, she wasplainly bored! No, I won't do it! I loathe the woman! . . . Allright, my dear, but who else can you go to? Mrs. Grewe? She'sdoubtless at home--but there may be that detestable hat, tall, rich andshiny, in her hall. It looked as though it owned her soul! No, thanks--not yet--not for me! . . . Though she told me you soon getused to it. . . . 

"Well, how about going back to Ohio, to the little history prof, andhating all men--one and all! That sounds exceedingly tempting! . . . I won't do it, though--because if I do, it means I'm beaten here--andI'd lose Susette and the baby!--. . . Quiet, now. . . . And thenthere's Dwight. He will probably call up soon and ask how Sally and Igot on. I could go to him this very night! How perfectly disgusting!And yet it's just what Joe deserves! What right had he to believe thatof me? . . . Now please keep cool. If I go to Dwight I becomeexactly like Mrs. Grewe--and I'd have to give up the children. 

"No, it's back to Joe on my knees, to beg him to let me stay right here. And I'll succeed--I know I will! But won't I be under Fanny's thumb?And won't I take back Amy's friends? Like a good repentant scaredlittle girl! And eat their rich meals and chatter as they do, and danceand grow old--and push Joe on to make more money--more and more--so thatI can get fat and soft--like the rest of these cats!"

Again her face was quivering. But with an effort controlling herself, she went into the nursery. And on the floor with her wee son, slowlyrolling a big red ball back and forth to each other, soon again she hadgrown quiet, almost like her natural self. She took supper alone, andthen read a novel, page after page, without comprehending. An hourlater she went to bed, and there lay listening to the town--to itsnumberless voices, distinct and confused, from windows close by and fromthe street, and from other streets by hundreds and from a million otherhomes, and from the two rivers and the sea--voices blurred andfused in one. And its tone, to Ethel's ears, was one of utterindifference--good-humoured enough but rather bored with "young things"weeping on its breast. 

"Be Mrs. Grewe, if you like, " it said, "or Sally Crothers or FannyCarr. Or go back home to your history prof. Each one of these thingshas been done before by so many thousands just like you. Nobody cares. You have no neighbours. Do exactly as you like. "

"Thank you very much, " she said. "I choose to be Sally Crothers first. And if that fails--well, between Fanny Carr and Mrs. Grewe there isn'tmuch choice. Do you think so?"

"Oh, no, " said the city. And it yawned. But Ethel lay there thinking. 

"Excuse me, " she spoke presently. "Sorry to annoy you again--but isthere any God about?"

"None, " came the sleepy answer. "Do as you like, I tell you. "

She opened her eyes and sat up in bed. 

"Now I've been getting morbid again! For goodness' sake let's try to behealthy and clear about this!"

And she tried to be. But for some time she made little headway. It waseasy to grimly shut her teeth and resolve, "I've got to do this bymyself, talk to Joe and simply make him believe me!" But as soon as shecame to the details of what she should say to her husband, his face asshe had seen it last--worn and nervous, overwrought--kept rising upbefore her. Could she convince him! "It's my last chance!" If only sheknew how to go about it! She wanted to be heroic and face this crisisall alone--but she had been alone so much. Tonight it seemed to Ethelas though she had struggled alone for years. Was it all worth while, she asked herself. She could feel her courage ooze again. Her thinkinggrew vague and uneven. . . . And more and more the picture rose ofthe woman friend she had counted on having--Sally Crothers, who was soclever, an older woman who knew New York, knew what to do in suchtangles as this, knew Joe, had known him back in that past which Ethelwas trying to raise again. And it was exasperating! "If I could onlyget at her!" she thought. 

Carefully, almost word by word, she went over in her mind her talk withMrs. Crothers that day, in order to find out her mistakes. 

"Do you know what I think?" she said at the end. "I think in the firstpart you did pretty well. You made breaks and were clumsy, and she wasamused--but she rather liked you, nevertheless. At least you were anovelty. But then you went and spoiled it all by making solemn foolremarks about the world in general. And thereupon Sally arose and went. . . . All right, next time I'll be different. I won't be solemn, norafraid of saying anything incorrect. In fact I'll revel in it! Sheasked me to come and see her, in a tone which added, 'Don't. ' But I'llbe incorrect right there. I will go to see her; and what's more, I'llgo tomorrow afternoon! And I won't call up first, for she'd say she wasout. I'll get into her house and get her downstairs--and I'll breakright through all smoothnesses and tell her exactly how and why I've gotto have a woman friend! I'll give you the chance of your life, SallyCrothers, to throw out the life-line!

"If you don't I'll--just swim about for awhile. No use in thinking ofthat, though. "

And suddenly she fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XXV

Mrs. Crothers lived in a small brick house on a side street close toWashington Square. As Ethel looked out from her automobile, how dearand homey it appeared, with such a quiet friendly face. "Now for theplunge. " She went up the low steps and rang the bell. Thank Heaven itwas a rainy day, for when the maid came Ethel went right in, and therain made that seem natural. At least no door had been shut in herface. She wanted to get inside this house!

"Is Mrs. Crothers at home?" she asked. The maid was not sure. Ethelgave her a card and was shown into a long cosy room with anold-fashioned air, where a small coal fire looked half asleep. Shebegan to look around her. The walls were lined with book-shelves, withonly a picture here and there. No wall-paper. "How funny. " She frownedand added, "But it's nice. " There was but little furniture, and plentyof room to move about. "What a love of a mirror. " It was of gilt, andit reached from floor to ceiling between the two front windows. Gravelyshe looked at herself in the glass. "Oh, I'm not very excited. "

The maid reappeared, and said, "Mrs. Crothers asks you to excuse her. She's sick with a headache this afternoon. "

"Oh, what a lie!" thought Ethel. She stood for a moment irresolute, herheart in her mouth. "I will, though!" she decided, and took out anothercard. "Then take her this little note, " she said. And she wrote: "Iknow I am being quite rude--but if the headache is not too severewill you see me just for a little while! I would not botheryou--honestly--but it is something so important--and it must be settledtoday. " It took two of her cards, and even then it was horribly crowdedand hard to read. "Never mind, " she thought. "That's as far as I'llgo. If she can't read that I'm done for!"

The maid had taken the message upstairs. 

"Now I've done it, I've gone too far. I'm done for--oh, I'm done for!Well, look about you, Ethel, my love--it's the last look you'll ever getat this room! How dear it is, what taste, what a home. Books, pictures, a piano of course--and the very air is full of the things thathave been said here after dinner, over coffee and cigarettes, by all thepeople you want to know. Not rich nor 'smart' like Newport--just peoplewith minds and hearts alive to the big things that really count, thebeautiful things! . . . Good-bye, my dears--you're not very kind. "

"She'll be down in a moment, " said the maid. 

"Thank you!" Ethel had wheeled with a start; and again left alone, shestood without moving. "Well, here you are--you've got your chance! Andhow do you feel? Plain panicky! Never mind, that's just what willcatch her attention! Be panicky! Oh, I am--I am!" And her courageoozed so rapidly that when her hostess came into the room, and with asmile that was rather strained, said "I am so glad to see you--" thegirl who confronted her only stared, and suddenly shivered a little. Then she forced a smile and said, "How silly of me to shiver like that. "

"Come here by the fire and sit down. " Mrs. Crothers' voice was suddenlykind. "Now tell me how I can help you, " she said. 

"Thank you. Why, it's simply this. I've had trouble with Joe, myhusband--just lately--in the last few days. And the trouble is soserious that--it's my whole life--one way or the other. At leastit--certainly feels so! And I have no women friends I can go to. They're all his--hers, I mean. "

"Hers!"

"Yes. My sister's. She is dead--but very much alive at times--throughthe friends she left behind her. I've been fighting them all my life, it seems--ever since I married Joe!"

"Why were you fighting them?" Ethel frowned:

"Because they--well, they were all just fat--in body and soul--thewomen, I mean--and the men were just making money for food and things tokeep them so. Do you know what I mean--that kind of New Yorker?"

"I do, " said Mrs. Crothers. "Was that the cause of your trouble withJoe!"

"Partly--yes. You see when I tried to shake them off, they wouldn't beshaken--they hung on--because Joe was growing rich all of a sudden. Oh, I got pretty desperate! But then I learned of other friends that Joehad had here long ago--before he married _her_, you know. And I huntedfor them--one by one. I could feel they were just what he needed, yousee. I mean that back among such friends I hoped he'd stop just makingmoney and get to work--on things he had dreamed of! You understand?"

"I think so--but not fully. Go on in your own way, my dear. Don't tryto think. Keep talking. "

"Thank you. I was in love with him. There was nobody else, man, womanor child--except Susette. She was Amy's little girl. You see, Mrs. Crothers, when Amy died I was there--I had just come to town. So Istayed with Joe to look after Susette. Then later on I began to feelthat he was beginning to care for me. And I didn't like that--on Amy'saccount, for I worshipped her then. So I broke away and took ajob. . . . Oh, what in the world am I getting at!"

"Don't try to think. Just tell me. You took a job. What was it?"

Ethel told of Greesheimer, and then of coming back to Joe, of hispoverty and of her nursing Susette, of dreaming of children, of fallingin love, of marriage and the birth of her boy. 

"But all the time Amy had been there. Do you understand! Like aspirit, I mean! She had Joe first! She had shaped him!"

"Yes--"

"And so when he loved me even more, I do believe, than he ever lovedher--still he did the thing she would have wanted. Amy had taught himto show his love by loading money on his wife. And that was whatstarted everything wrong. For he got rich--for my sake--and the moneybrought Amy's friends back in a horde! Oh, now I'm repeating! I'vesaid all that--"

"Please say it again! You're doing so well!" Ethel told about Fanny andthe rest. "I tried to like them--honestly! But I simply couldn't!" shecried. 

"Why couldn't you? Tell me plainly just what it was you wanted. "

"What I wanted? Plainly? Oh, dear--I can't exactly--"

"What kind of people?"

Ethel frowned. 

"Not just eaters!" she exclaimed. "I wanted men and women who--well, who were seeing something big--and beautiful and real in life! Life isso hard and queer in this town--so awfully crowded and mixed up--andempty, somehow. You know how I mean? But they see something in it all. Not clearly--it's way off, you know. And they're busy of course, and byno means saints. They have their worries and their faults andpettiness--they're human, too, But they're looking for something reallyworth while! Oh, I can't express it--I really can't!"

"Oh, yes you can, you've done quite well, " said Mrs. Crothers steadily. "And now to narrow this down to Joe, you wanted him to be like that--inhis work and so in his life with you. Was that it?"

"Yes! And he used to be! You must know that!"

"Yes--I knew that. Your husband and I were once very good friends. "

"That's it, and I guessed it!" Ethel cried. "I was making wild guessesin the dark. And at last I put my finger on his partner, and we had atalk. It was a talk, a hard one--but I made him believe me in the end. And he told me a little about you--and I wanted to meet you, oh, somuch! But he seemed to be out of touch with you, so he took me to Mr. Dwight instead. I had always wanted to sing, you know--and the rest ofit--well, Mr. Dwight must have told you. "

"Only a little, " was the reply. "I don't yet fully understand. How didall this bring trouble with Joe? It's something serious, you said--"

"It's something very nasty. " And Ethel began telling of Fanny'srevelations. In the midst of it the door-bell rang. 

"One moment. " And Sally went into the hall. "Whoever it is, say I've aheadache, " Ethel heard her tell the maid. "The same old headache, "Sally remarked as she grimly pulled the portieres. They waited in atense little silence till the visitor had gone. "And Alice, " Sallycalled to the maid. "If any one else comes, say I'm out. " She turnedback to Ethel, smiling:

"Suppose you stay to supper. I'll telephone my husband to dine at hisclub--and we'll go right on with this talk of ours. We'll go on, " sheadded determinedly, "until we have Joe so in our toils that he'll beyours so long as he lives. "

Ethel suddenly sniffed and swallowed hard, and said, "Oh, what a dearyou are to me!"

Sally looked at her queerly. 

"This is to be a talk without tears, but much good sensible planning, "she said. "I don't blame you a bit for having been frightened--you'vebeen through an ugly time. But I think with a little common sense--"

"I know, " said Ethel, "that's just what I need. And that is why I cameto you. "

"Thank you, " Sally smiled again. "Now go on about Mrs. Carr. "

The talk went on, with interruptions for supper and Sally's two smallchildren, far into the evening. And Mrs. Crothers did hershare--filling in for Ethel the picture of Joe's old life, his work anddreams, and his first marriage. She told of several meetings with Amy. And all the time she kept watching, probing into this young second wife, skilfully raising Ethel's hopes, her vivid freshness and her youth, herhunger for a life she saw only in dazzling glimpses. 

"Do you want my advice about meeting Joe! Then here it is, " she said atthe end. "I needn't say don't go on your knees--"

"You needn't!"

"I thought so--you're not that kind. And I wouldn't explain too muchabout Dwight, and those little things you did with him. Make Joe takeyou on faith or not at all. Have a long talk and make him listen--don'tgive him a chance to say a word. Talk right on and give him the pictureof his two wives, and then let him choose--between letting you go, whilehe takes her friends, or dropping them and keeping you and finding whathe had before. I can help you in that--but before I do, I think you'vegot to lay a ghost. She's in the way of everything. She has been inyour home long enough. And her strength is the fact that you and Joenever mention her name to each other. I wonder if you realize how greata danger that has been. At any rate I'm very sure that you must breakthe silence now. It has been like a spell between you. "

CHAPTER XXVI

The next afternoon she sat waiting for Joe. She had come home the nightbefore feeling so strong and sure of her course. But beginning at themoment when she came into the empty apartment, subtly and by slowdegrees again her home had cast its spell, as though the rooms werehaunted. "I've got to lay the ghost, " she thought. She had telephonedto Joe to come, and he had replied abruptly, "All right, I'll be thereabout four o'clock. " It was just that now. Ethel poked the logs in thefireplace until there was a cheerful blaze. As she straightened up shecaught sight of her face in the mirror over the mantel. Even in thefirelight how gaunt and strained it looked to her. 

"Not very attractive, " she grimly thought. "This has got to be done bybrains, my dear. "

In a moment she heard Joe's key in the door. She heard him taking offhis coat and then coming slowly into the room. With an effort sheturned and looked at him. His face appeared even more tense and greythan it had two days before; the nerves seemed quivering under the skin. And she felt a pang of pity. "He wasn't to blame for the way he acted, it was his wretched nerves, " she thought. "He'll have a break-downafter this. "

"Well, Ethel!"

"Oh, Joe, I'm so glad you're here. " All at once she felt herself change. She had meant to be so firm with him; but now, after one quick anxiouslook, in a low eager voice she said, "I'm not going to talk much ofmyself. It won't do any good--I'm sure it won't. I love you, Joe, andI can see you still love me. We need each other. And if we can just besensible now--and you can only believe in me--"

"God knows I want to, Ethel!" His tone was low, but so sharp and tensethat she drew suddenly closer. He turned from her and sank into achair, with his hands for a moment pressed to his eyes. "I'm sick ofthis--I'm not myself. Maybe I acted like a fool. . . . Some of thatstuff from Fanny Carr doesn't hold together--it's too thin. " He lookedup at her. "But some of it does. And what you'll have to clear up nowis why you never let me know. "

"The reason I didn't, " she answered quickly, "goes way back into thepast. And it's not only about you and me--it's about--about somebodyelse. " She stopped and her throat contracted. She set her teeth. "Wemust talk about Amy for a while. "

There! At last she had brought it out! And she had seen her husbandflinch. For a moment both were silent. 

"Why!" he asked. She swallowed hard. 

"Because we never have before. We've--gone two years without speakingher name. I had no idea how bad that might be. " She broke off, for hervoice was trembling so. "I don't know how much you've learned in thattime--about Amy, I mean--but I've learned a lot, and--I think I'd bettertell you. I must, you see, or you won't understand what I've been doinglately. I couldn't have explained before, without speaking of her--andI didn't do that. But I should have, Joe, and I will now--if onlyyou'll be patient and let me do the talking. "

"Well!"

"Some of it goes so very far back. " She leaned forward with a queerlittle smile: "Amy was good to me when I came--and I had alwaysworshipped her--I thought she was nearly everything. She made me feelhow she--loved you, Joe--she had ambition, urged you on. But--oh, I'vegot to try to be clear. What kind of ambition was it, Joe! What didyou have before you met her? How did you used to look at your work!You were coming up to do big things--but you married her and your workall changed. You threw over ideals to make money for her. And whenyour partner tried to hold you, Amy tried to break up the firm. Didn'tshe? Don't you remember?" She waited, but he did not speak. "How hardit is for him, " she thought, "to admit a thing against her. This won'tbe easy. " But she felt a little thrill of pride in him. 

"So Bill has been talking, has he, " he said. 

"Yes, I made him. " She went on. "Amy set herself against him--andagainst all your other old friends. Not at first--I want to be fair toher, Joe--don't think I'm blaming just her for all this. I'm sure thatat first she was different--she wanted your friends to take her in. Remember those dinners you took her to, and that week-end party up inVermont!"

Joe looked at her sharply:

"Who told you that?"

"Sally Crothers, " said Ethel. "She was there. "

"Sally Crothers? You know her!" he demanded. She smiled at thestartled look on his face. 

"Why, yes, " she replied "You see I've been hunting so hard for you, Joe, among those friends you used to have. And I did it without ever lettingyou know. Dwight, too--he was only one of them. " She frowned, and addedbriskly, "Just incidental, so to speak. But I don't care to talk of himnow--I'm speaking only of Amy. And from what Sally Crothers has toldme, poor Amy must have had some hard times. They weren't fair to her. If they'd given her time and a real chance, everything might have beendifferent. But they didn't, they turned her down. And feeling hurt andangry--and feeling besides how she'd have to grow--in her mind, I mean, and her interests, to take any place among people like that--I think shehesitated. You might have helped her then, perhaps--but you didn't--andAmy was lazy, Joe--that had always been a part of her. So she wouldn'tmake the effort. Instead of coming up to you, she made up her mind topull you down!"

"That isn't true!" he said harshly. "And if you've been taking forGod's own truth what Sally Crothers told you--"

"Stop! Please!" cried Ethel eagerly. "I didn't mean what I said justthen--I put it badly--oh, so wrong! She didn't say, 'I'll pull himdown. ' She told herself your friends were snobs! And she said, 'I havefriends who are human, and they're quite good enough for me!' So shewent on with Fanny Carr. And others came, the circle grew. And it wasall done day by day, and week by week. It happened--and you never knew. Nor did she. It was all so natural. But within a year she was goingwith people, and so were you, who cared for nothing you hadwanted--women with no growth at all. They were all--oh, so common, Joe!"

"That's a bit snobbish, isn't it?"

"You can call it what you like! But I say you can find them all overtown--richer and poorer, better and worse--women who want only commonthings--just clothes and food and what they call love--with not a wishthat I can see except for money to live like that! I'm no prig, Joe! Iwant pretty clothes, and I want to be gay and have nice things. But youcan get all I want of that and still get what is so much more!" Hervoice dropped; she hurried eagerly on: "Real work you love and whichmakes you grow, and friends that keep you growing! Ideas and things toknow about--and beauty, music, pictures--the opera--books and people, plays--and buildings! The new library--the station--the--the tower downon Madison Square! Your work, Joe! And your old friends! Men andwomen who really think and feel--not just alive in their bodies! Idon't know much about all that. Do you, these days! Mighty little!Because she kept you away from it!"

"No!" But she caught the uncertain look in his eyes. 

"Are you so sure? Why didn't she ever go to Paris? She must have beendying to go there and shop, but she never let you take her there. Shewas afraid to let you go near it again--the Beaux Arts work, the studentlife--afraid that you'd get thinking! So she kept you here and awayfrom your friends. She even kept Crothers out of your firm. Youpartner fought her hard on that--and you held out--until one dayCrothers came to your office and told you he had changed his mind. Youremember?"

"Yes--"

"Did he give you his reason!"

"Yes--he did--"

"Did he bring Amy into it!"

"He did not--"

"He should have, Joe. For just the afternoon before, Amy had made acall on his wife--and had said things insulting enough so that herhusband had to break off!"

"Sally told you that!"

"Why should she lie?" Ethel threw a quick glance into Joe's eyes. "Hebelieves it!" she thought, and hurried on: "I've talked to her, Joe, ina way that was bound to get the truth. Oh, I've been hunting hard foryou, dear! If Fanny Carr had told her detectives to follow meeverywhere I've been, and not just hunt for the nastiness that was inher own mind about me--they could have shown what a hunt it has been! Ihad so little time, you see! You were all in the balance--you'd waitedso long! Even now you've found you can't draw the plans--the ones youused to dream about! I know because I made you try! And I went toNourse, to your old friend Dwight, and then to Sally Crothers--and askedthem all to help me. And as I went on and learned about you as you usedto be, I fell in love all over again with the man I found--not Amy'shusband--mine, all mine!

"And I had almost got you back--when Fanny Carr, with her nasty view ofme and what I was doing, brought you those perfectly rotten reports?And if you believe them, Joe, I'm through! Go to Nourse or to SallyCrothers, and they'll tell you I have spoken the truth. If you won'tbelieve either them or me, go on alone without me--or else marry FannyCarr. But if you do believe me and we're to go on together now, you'llhave to drop Fanny for good and all, and leave Amy way behind. You'llhave to take up your old friends and try to get Crothers into your firm. You may think your business is yours and not mine--but if it's my life, it's my business, too! It's like four walls around me now, and I wantto break out and so do you--away from mere money! I've watched you, dear--seen what a struggle has gone on inside of you--it has worn youout! haven't you made money enough? Let's leave it, go to Paris, andget to work before it's too late for you to get back what you had! Andif there's no money, never mind. It will come later on--but don't let'sbe afraid if it doesn't. Don't let's be afraid of pain--of fightinghard and suffering, Joe! I want more children! I want you! I want youmine, all mine, my dear--not her husband. Don't you see?"

She had been eagerly leaning toward him. Joe was staring into the fire;the look in his eyes had frightened her and made her hurry to bethrough. 

"What is it?" she asked. And she waited a moment. "Don't you believewhat I've told you, Joe?"

"Yes, " he said, "I believe all that. I believe a good deal more thanthat. " There was a little silence, and then suddenly he reached for herhand, held it tight and smiled into the fire in a twitching sort of way. "I haven't been quite as blind as you think. I've seen a good deal ofwhat you were doing. But--" he frowned--"I'm older than you are. Iknow this job of mine clear through--way back to those dreams you spokeof. I've had some hard mean tussles about it--lately--and that's myonly excuse for acting like a damn fool as I did--the other day. No usein talking of that any more--or of--Amy either. She's--dead. "

"Joe!" Ethel whispered. Tears came in her eyes. He went steadily on:

"She had some fine points--you'll never know. There were things weneedn't talk about now. But you've made me see things, too. I don'tthink she'll be in the way any more--I think we'll be able to speak ofher. "

"Of course! We must! I want to, dear!" Ethel's voice was shaking. 

"Not now. " With an effort he rose. "There's something else to worryabout. You don't quite know me yet, you see. "

"What do you mean?" She had risen, too, and caught his arm. "You're notwell, Joe! You're white as a sheet!" He laughed a little. 

"I'm not quite right. Something wrong in here, I guess. " He pressed onehand to the base of his brain and scowled as though it hurt him. "Nothing serious, probably. But before it goes too far, I want you toknow that when I get well I'm going to have a try at all that--the workyou spoke of. I'm going to try--_but I may be too late! I may be olderthan you think!_" The tone of his voice was sharp and strained. "Idon't know, " he said. "The doctor may. About him--that's anotherpoint! It's a nerve specialist we need! Telephone your doctor and havehim send one here tonight! I'm sorry, Ethel--damnably!"

CHAPTER XXVII

She got him to bed. The specialist came, and when he had examined Joe hehad a talk with Ethel that left her very frightened. After that camedays and nights, when Joe, as, though in delirium, said things in ajumble which revealed to her the inner chaos he had gone through in thelast few weeks. He talked of Amy loyally, even pleading for her attimes, excusing her. And he talked of Ethel in many moods. Now he wasangry at her interference; again he saw her side of it, and then hislove for her would rise. More often still, he talked about work, andhere again the struggle went on. Money, money, money--figures, calculations, schemes and rivals, heavy chances. But suddenly all thiswas gone, and in a pitiful anger at his own futility he would storm athimself for not being able to put on paper his early dreams. 

But the weeks dragged by, and at last she felt he was coming back tosanity. With his partner, then, she conspired to take Joe over to Parisin April, to stay for a year if he would agree. And as part of theconspiracy, Ethel had several meetings with Nourse and Sally Crothers, in the hope of bringing Sally's husband into the firm to be there inJoe's absence. This was far from easy, for Crothers naturally heldback; he did not care to commit himself until he knew that Joe wouldagree. And whether Joe would agree or not was by no means certain. Watching him as his health came back, Ethel wondered how he would bewhen he returned to the office. How much of what he had said to her, the first night of his illness, had come only from a mind keyed up? Howmuch of his promise would he remember? Men sick and men well are inseparate worlds. She could not speak of it to Joe, for the doctor hadforbidden it. 

At the end of another month, however, Joe was up and about again; andsoon, in spite of the doctor's instructions, he was back at his officehard at work. This of course looked ominous. What was he doing? Shecould not discover. For his partner, over the telephone, was far fromsatisfactory. Now that he had Joe back again in that beloved office oftheirs, his manner toward Ethel seemed to her to be gruff andunfriendly, to say the least. "Stand-offish to the last degree--asthough he believed he could handle Joe all by himself!" she thought inannoyance. At last she sent for him one day and gave him quite a pieceof her mind; and although not fully successful, she at least made himacquiesce in the plan she and Sally had concocted for a little gatheringto take place one night the following week. It was nearly seven o'clockupon the evening in question; and in her room, at her dressing-table, Ethel was completing her toilet. They were going to dine with theCrothers', and Joe was nervous about it. 

"Come on, Ethel, hurry up!"

"Yes, love, I'm almost ready now. Are you sure the car is at the door?"

"It's been there nearly half an hour!"

"That's good. Just a minute more. "

As he angrily lit a cigarette, she looked in the glass at him andsmiled. "How he dreads it, poor dear, " she was thinking, as he strodeinto the living-room, "meeting Sally and all his old friends. " Shefrowned. "Heaven knows I dread it myself. What am I going to say tothem all? And suppose they don't care for me in the least? . . . Well, it will soon be over. " Presently Joe popped in at the door:

"Look here! If you're not dressed enough--"

"I'm all ready now, " was her placid reply. "Don't you think I lookrather nice?"

"Oh, yes. You'll do. "

"Thank you, dear. Aren't you going to kiss me!"

"No! Yes! . . . Now come on!"

She threw back her head and laughed at him. 

"It's beginning so well, " murmured Sally to Ethel, as they went in todinner. "Steady, my child. "

"Oh, I'm all right!" was the reply, and Ethel smiled excitedly. Thechorus of exclamations that had greeted Joe and herself had been so warmand gay and real. There had been no time for awkwardness. In a momentafter their entrance, the hubbub of talk and laughter had gone right onas though nothing had happened. At table it continued still, and shefelt herself borne along on the tide. She looked at Joe, who was onSally's right, and she thought he was doing exceedingly well. And asfor these old friends of his, as she rapidly scanned their faces, theylooked far from formidable. On her left side Sally's husband, a talldark creature with nice eyes, was telling her about the men--two orthree writers, an architect and a portrait painter rather well known, whose pictures she had read about. She had already learned from Sallywhat the women did with themselves. They worked, they went to women'sclubs, they dined and did the social side. One of them spoke forsuffrage, another was a sculptress, one sang, one had a baby. They didnot look solemn in the least. Everything went so naturally. 

"Well, here I am at last, " she thought. She kept throwing quick littleglances about. Was it all so much worth while, she wondered. Yes, theywere very pleasant and nice. But she had expected--well, somethingmore, a kind of a brilliancy in their eyes and the things they weresaying. For here were Art and Music, Movements, Causes and Ideas, andgoodness only knew what else! Here were the people who really sawsomething richer and deeper in life than the sort of existence Amy hadled--great bright vistas leading off from the city as it was today tosome dazzling promised land. She thought of the little history "prof. "They were so cosy about it here! She did not want them to be"highbrows"--Heaven forbid! But they took it all so easily!

She thought of the struggles she had been through in order to get whereshe was tonight, the ardent hopes and the despairs, and all the eagerplanning. And just for a moment there came to her some littlerealization of those other women still outside, in this city of so manyworlds, each with her particular world, her bright and shining goal, hershrine, and pushing and scheming to get in. She recalled the fiercelight in Amy's eyes and the tone of her voice: "I may be too late!" Amyhad wanted only money, and people like that. But how hard she hadwanted it! . . . These people took it so pleasantly; they seemed sosnug in their little group. She wondered if she would become like that. No, she decided, most certainly not! And suddenly she realized thatthis was only one more step in the life she was to lead in this town. These people? For a time perhaps. 

Then others--always others! That was how it was in New York. 

Ethel gave a queer little laugh--which at once she pretended had beencaused by something Sally's husband had said. And she listened to himattentively now. "There's so much time for everything! I'm onlytwenty-five!" she thought. She turned to the painter on her right, andwas soon talking rapidly. 

The moments seemed to fly away. Now they had left the men to smoke. But soon the men had followed them, and every one was smoking, and Ethelwas trying a cigarette. The talk ran on, about this and that. But overon her side of the room, Sally had led the conversation back to Joe'sold student days, to the Beaux Arts and life in the Quarter. Ethelheard snatches from time to time, and she kept throwing vigilant glancesover at her husband's face. He seemed to be responding, with ahungriness that thrilled his wife. Again he would fall silent, with ananxious gleam in his eyes. "He's wondering if he's too old!" shethought, and she crossed the room and joined them. 

Sally was cleverly drawing him out about some of those early plans ofhis. And though awkward at first, he was warming up. In the room thehubbub died away. "They're listening to Joe!" thought Ethel. Joe kepttalking on and on. Every few moments some one would break in to ask himsomething, or to raise a little laugh. Ethel tingled with pride in him, and with hope for the success of her scheming. 

Now the crucial time arrived. For one by one the guests had gone, tillonly she and Joe and Nourse remained with Sally and her husband. Themoment for springing the great idea had come at last. Nourse was to dothe talking. That had been arranged ahead, at a meeting of Nourse andthe two wives. But all at once in a panic now, Ethel knew that Noursewould bungle it. Why had she entrusted so much to this man? Had heever shown tact in his whole life? And why so soon? Oh, it had beenrash! The evening had passed so gorgeously. Why not have waited andhad other evenings to pave the way and make it sure! She tried tosignal to Nourse to stop him, but he could or would not hear! Now hewas getting ready to speak. 

"Well, " he said, rising and turning on Ethel a curious smile, "I guessit's time I was going home. "

She stared at him in blank relief. So he had some sense about things, after all. 

"But look here, Bill, " said her husband, "before you go, let's givethese scheming women of ours to understand we don't want 'em to meddlein our affairs. "

"Right, " growled Nourse. And a moment later the three men confrontedtwo astonished wives, and Bill was gravely announcing, "We've done thisthing all by ourselves. The firm is 'Nourse, Lanier and Crothers. ' Andfrom this night on we propose to do business without any interferencefrom wives. Understand!" He frowned menacingly. "We settled that thisafternoon. And the next thing we decided was that Joe packs up thiswife of his, whether she happens to like it or not, and takes her overto Paris. See? And if she tries to keep him from work by yanking himall around to the shops--"

While Nourse growled on in his surly way, Ethel slipped quietly into thehall--where presently Sally with one arm about her was proffering ahandkerchief and murmuring. 

"Use mine, dear. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

On the night before they sailed for France, long after she had gone tobed Ethel came out in her wrapper into the warm dark living-room. Therewas something she had forgotten to do, and she wanted to get it off hermind. She switched on the light by the doorway, and looked about hersmiling, but with a little shiver, too. 

The ghost was gone--or nearly so. Already the room had been strippedbare. Only Ethel's desk was left, and a chair or two and the long, heavy table with a lamp at either end. Amy's picture was still on thetable, but it lay now on its back and looked up at the ceiling as thoughit knew it must soon depart. Tomorrow the movers would finish theirwork. Soon somebody else's things would be here, and somebody else'slife would pour in and fill the room and make it new. Somebody else. What kind of a woman? Another Amy, or Fanny Carr, or Sally Crothers orMrs. Grewe? What a funny, complicated town. On her return a year fromnow, Ethel had already decided to take a small house near WashingtonSquare. How long would that experiment last! Doubtless in the yearsahead she would try other homes, one after the other. "Why do we moveso in New York!" She thought of that plan of her husband's for thefuture city street, with long rows on either hand of huge apartmentbuildings with receding terraces, numberless hanging gardens lookinginto the street below. And she wondered whether the city would ever beanything like that? "In New York all things are possible. " . . . 

"However. " Ethel went to her desk and rummaged for paper, pen and ink. Then she took out of a cubby-hole a bulky letter and read it through. It was the "round-robin" come again on its annual journey over the land. It had been in a lonely mining camp, on a cattle ranch, in a mill townand in cities large and small. There were many kinds of handwritinghere, and widely different stories of the growth, the swift unfolding, of the lives of a new generation of women. "Girls like me. " She read itthrough. 

Then she took up her pen and began to write swiftly:

"I have been here for over three years--but it was hard to write before, because everything was far from clear. " She stopped and frowned. "Howmuch shall I tell them?" An eagerness to be frank and tell all wasmingled with that feeling of Anglo-Saxon reticence which had been bredin Ethel's soul back in the town in Ohio. "Besides, I haven't time, "she thought. 

"I feel, " she wrote, "as though I were just out of danger--barely out. In danger, I mean, of nervously dashing about after nothing until I gotwrinkled and old at forty--nerves in shreds. I might have done that. Ihave met a nerve specialist lately--and the stories he has told me aboutwomen in this town!

"However! I want to make myself clear. Am I a high-brow? Not at all. I want good clothes--I love to shop--and I propose to go on shopping. If you do not, let me tell you, my dears, that the men in New York arelike all the rest--and you would soon be leading a very lonelyexistence! And I don't want that, I want bushels of friends--and someof them men--decidedly! I want to dance and dine about--but I don'twant to be religious about it! Nor frantic and get myself into a state!

"Well, but I did start out like that. When I came here to live--" Shehesitated. "No, I'd better scratch that out. "

"Thank Heaven I got married, " she wrote, "and fell in love with myhusband. " Again she stopped with a quick frown. "And I had a baby. AndI began to find something real. " Another pause, a long one. 

"I had quite a struggle after that. I was all hemmed in--" she stoppedagain--"by the city I found when I first arrived. But I huffed and Ipuffed and I hunted about--and at last I discovered our New York--thetown we girls used to dream about at home in all those talks we had!Oh, I don't mean I have found it yet--but I've felt it, though, and hadone good look. I dined with some people. How silly that sounds. Butnever mind--the point is not me, but the fact that this city is reallyand truly crammed full of the things we girls used to get so excitedabout--Art, you know, and Music of course, and people who make thesethings their God. The town opens up if you look at it right--and youfind Movements--Politics--you hear people talk--you see suffrageparades--I marched in one not long ago feeling like Joan of Arc! Andyou find men, too, who are doing things. Big schemes for skyscrapersand homes! I mean that our New York is here!"

Again there came a pause in the writing. Her eyes looked excited. Shesmiled and frowned. Now to finish it off!

"What I want of it all I am not yet sure--for me personally, I mean. But there is my husband, to begin with, and his work that I can helpgrow--and his old friends. And they are not all. I keep hearing of newones I must meet--and they are mixed in with all those things I havediscovered in the town. A few of these people were born here--but mosthave come from all over the country. Sometimes I shut my eyes andask--'Where are you now, all over the land, you others who are to cometo New York and be friends of mine and of my children?'

"I want children--more than one. How many I am not quite sure. That'sanother point--you decide these things. " She frowned and scratched thissentence out. "And children grow--and the idea of bringing them upmakes me feel very young and humble, too. But in that we are all in thesame boat--for the whole country, I suppose, is a good deal the same. What a queer and puzzling, gorgeous age we are just beginning--all ofus! I wonder what I shall make of it? What shall I be like ten yearsfrom now? How much shall I mean to my husband--and to other men andwomen? But most of all to women--for we are coming together so! Iwonder what we shall make of it all? I wonder how much we women whomarch--march on and on to everything--are really going to mean in theworld!

"Oh, how solemn! Good-night, my dears! A kiss to every one of you!"

She folded her letter with the rest, and then she quickly squeezed themall into a large envelope, which she addressed to Miss Barbara Wells, Bismarck, North Dakota. Ethel's eyes were very bright. She sniffed alittle and smiled at herself. "Oh, don't be a baby! It's all over now, you know--I mean it's just beginning!"

She stopped for a moment by the table, with the letter in her hand, andlooked down at Amy's picture. "That is all any one needs to know. "

Her look was pitying, tender, but a little curious, too. 

"I wonder what you were like at my age! I wonder what you went through, poor dear? . . . But it's over now--all over. All we don't likewill fade away, and you'll grow so beautiful again. Susette will loveher mother. . . . But she won't be just like you, my dear. "

Ethel went slowly out of the room. At the doorway she switched off thelight, and the bare, empty room was left in the dark. The photographwas invisible now. On the street below, a motor stopped; and there wasa murmur of voices, a laugh. Tomorrow somebody else would be here. 

THE END