“Be Mrs. Grewe, if you like,” it said, “or Sally Crothers or Fanny Carr.  Or go back home to your history prof.  Each one of these things has 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’t much 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 is there 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 be healthy and clear about this!”

And she tried to be.  But for some time she made little headway.  It was easy to grimly shut her teeth and resolve, “I’ve got to do this by myself, talk to Joe and simply make him believe me!” But as soon as she came to the details of what she should say to her husband, his face as she had seen it last—­worn and nervous, overwrought—­kept rising up before her.  Could she convince him!  “It’s my last chance!” If only she knew how to go about it!  She wanted to be heroic and face this crisis all alone—­but she had been alone so much.  Tonight it seemed to Ethel as though she had struggled alone for years.  Was it all worth while, she asked herself.  She could feel her courage ooze again.  Her thinking grew vague and uneven. . . .  And more and more the picture rose of the woman friend she had counted on having—­Sally Crothers, who was so clever, an older woman who knew New York, knew what to do in such tangles as this, knew Joe, had known him back in that past which Ethel was trying to raise again.  And it was exasperating!  “If I could only get at her!” she thought.

Carefully, almost word by word, she went over in her mind her talk with Mrs. 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 first part you did pretty well.  You made breaks and were clumsy, and she was amused—­but she rather liked you, nevertheless.  At least you were a novelty.  But then you went and spoiled it all by making solemn fool remarks about the world in general.  And thereupon Sally arose and went. . . .  All right, next time I’ll be different.  I won’t be solemn, nor afraid of saying anything incorrect.  In fact I’ll revel in it!  She asked me to come and see her, in a tone which added, ‘Don’t.’  But I’ll be incorrect right there.  I will go to see her; and what’s more, I’ll go tomorrow afternoon!  And I won’t call up first, for she’d say she was out.  I’ll get into her house and get her downstairs—­and I’ll break right through all smoothnesses and tell her exactly how and why I’ve got to have a woman friend!  I’ll give you the chance of your life, Sally Crothers, to throw out the life-line!