The next morning Emily Giles returned from a visit back in Ohio.
"How have things been going?" she asked. "Very well indeed," said
Ethel, with a scarcely perceptible smile. She and Emily understood each
other, 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 at
that a look of grim relish came on Emily's sallow face.
"You know I'm getting to like this town," she remarked with a genial
air. "I wonder what'll the winter be like?"
"Oh, I think we'll do nicely, Emily. I've quite a few plans in my
head."
"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 of
something very exciting gave Ethel a new zest in life.
One day in the hall downstairs she came upon young Mrs. Grewe. Ethel
gave a little start and then swiftly reddened. And she saw the young
widow smile at that, and it made her annoyed with herself for having
been so clumsy. "I'll show her I'm not such a prude," she thought. And
having learned that Mrs. Grewe had taken another apartment here, Ethel
went to see her--with a safe little feeling that Mrs. Grewe would have
too much sense to return the call. This would end it--pleasantly.
The visit was a decided success. Mrs. Grewe was back from Europe
sooner than she had expected--for reasons she did not explain. "And now
I'm looking about," she said, "for another old lady from Boston. I rent
a new one every year." Ethel stayed for tea. For nearly eight months
she had had no woman to talk to, but Fanny Carr and Emily Giles. And
she found it very pleasant to be chatting here so cosily. Not that she
meant to keep it up. This sort of woman? H'm--well, no. But on the
other 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," she
thought. "I mean to keep rubbing up against life."
There was an added pleasure, too, in the vague warm self-confidence
which the young widow gave to her. "You can take care of yourself, my
dear," 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 good
humouredly.
"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 stand
myself."
"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. I
needn't go again, of course."
She had started out for a brisk walk, and she drew a deep breath of the
frosty air. The air in New York was often so--gay! And Mrs. Grewe had
given her such a feeling of independence. She saw a man turn and look
at 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 liked
it 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. "Nothing
whatever--except that Fanny, so far as we know, has taken the trouble
with each man to have a wedding and a divorce. The only other
difference is that Fanny has no taste at all, while Mrs. Grewe has
heaps of it! And she reads things--even Shaw; and she likes good music,
too. She is going tonight to 'Salome.'" . . . For a moment Ethel let
her mind run over all the operas she herself was going to hear, and the
concerts, 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--just
scintillating! . . . 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 do
as I please!" she impatiently thought.
Still, it had been rather daring. It fitted in exactly with several
talks she had had of late with Dwight, her music teacher: talks in which
each one of them had taken rather a challenging tone that had grown
distinctly intimate. One night when Joe was out of town she had gone
with Dwight to the opera. And she had not mentioned it to Joe--not that
she felt guilty at all, she had simply dropped it out of her mind. In
love with her husband? Yes, indeed. And let Dwight or any other man
try to go the least bit too far--"As Fanny doubtless does with Joe," she
suddenly added to herself. For a moment she walked viciously. Then she
thought again of Dwight. He had told her she really had voice enough
with 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 it
all 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, "if
Joe flivvers!"
"If he what?"
"Flivvers--drops back and makes money--turns to those other friends of
his."
"He won't do that." But her voice had been tense, for the intimate
feeling 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, you
know, and I don't propose to play the cad. But if you and Joe ever
should have a break--don't drop me, too. Do you understand?"
She had hesitated a moment upon just how to answer. Her heart had
pounded 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 him
impressively.
"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 drawn
closer. And then very suddenly she had found it hard to breathe. What
to say to stop him?
"At this moment," she had nearly gasped, "you appear to me so
very--fat!"
That had bowled him over--naturally! In the next few moments the
atmosphere had become chilly and depressed, and with a sudden rush of
shame the certainty had grown upon her that she had made a fool of
herself, that he had meant to do nothing at all. And from blushing
furiously 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 friends
if you act like this, you silly boy? You ought to be ashamed of
yourself!"
So she had got out of that all right, and had felt tremendously
relieved. It was not only that she liked the man, he was besides her
only 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's
business, his two sides, Fanny Carr and her scheming, Dwight and his
blue, twinkling eyes, Mrs. Grewe and her smiling good-fellowship--were
all very nice and exciting. But safe? Oh, by no means!
But today as Ethel walked on through the Park, she smiled to herself
expectantly. For Dwight had promised the next week to bring Sally
Crothers to see her. "If only I can get on with her! She's my kind--I
know she is--she's just exactly what I want. I don't want to be
anything 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 back
to give the baby his bath," she thought. She glanced at the watch on
her gloved wrist. And a man who looked like a detective, or a villain
in the "movies," looked after her in an envious way.
"Who's her date with!" he wondered.