It wasn’t a one-sided devotion, however.  Lil knew much about men, and she had an instinct for making them comfortable.  It is a gift that makes up for myriad minor shortcomings.  She had a way of laying his clean things out on the bed—­fresh linen, clean white socks (Hugo was addicted to white socks and tan, low-cut shoes), silk shirt, immaculate handkerchief.  When he came in at the end of a hard day downtown—­hot, fagged, sticky—­she saw to it that the bathroom was his own for an hour so that he could bathe, shave, powder, dress, and emerge refreshed to eat his good dinner in comfort.  Lil was always waiting for him cool, interested, sweet-smelling.

When she said, “How’s business, lover?” she really wanted to know.  More than that, when he told her she understood, having herself been so long in the game.  She gave him shrewd advice, too, so shrewdly administered that he never realized he had been advised, and so, man-like, could never resent it.

Ma Mandle’s reign was over.

To Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Brunswick, and Mrs. Wormser Ma Mandle lied magnificently.  Their eager, merciless questions pierced her like knives, but she made placid answer:  “Young folks are young folks.  They do things different.  I got my way.  My son’s wife has got hers.”  Their quick ears caught the familiar phrase.

“It’s hard, just the same,” Mrs. Wormser insisted, “after you’ve been boss all these years to have somebody else step in and shove you out of the way.  Don’t I know!”

“I’m glad to have a little rest.  Marketing and housekeeping nowadays is no snap, with the prices what they are.  Anybody that wants the pleasure is welcome.”

But they knew, the three.  There was, in Ma Mandle’s tone, a hollow pretence that deceived no one.  They knew, and she knew that they knew.  She was even as they were, a drinker of the hemlock cup, an eater of ashes.

Hugo Mandle was happier and more comfortable than he had ever been in his life.  It wasn’t merely his love for Lil, and her love for him that made him happy.  Lil set a good table, though perhaps it was not as bounteous as his mother’s had been.  His food, somehow, seemed to agree with him better than it used to.  It was because Lil selected her provisions with an eye to their building value, and to Hugo’s figure.  She told him he was getting too fat, and showed him where, and Hugo agreed with her and took off twenty-five burdensome pounds, but Ma Mandle fought every ounce of it.

“You’ll weaken yourself, Hugo!  Eat!  How can a man work and not eat?  I never heard of such a thing.  Fads!”