“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 is so hard and queer in this town—­so awfully crowded and mixed up—­and empty, 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 by no means saints.  They have their worries and their faults and pettiness—­they’re human, too, But they’re looking for something really worth 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—­in his 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 guesses in the dark.  And at last I put my finger on his partner, and we had a talk.  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, so much!  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 of it—­well, Mr. Dwight must have told you.”

“Only a little,” was the reply.  “I don’t yet fully understand.  How did all this bring trouble with Joe?  It’s something serious, you said—­”

“It’s something very nasty.”  And Ethel began telling of Fanny’s revelations.  In the midst of it the door-bell rang.

“One moment.”  And Sally went into the hall.  “Whoever it is, say I’ve a headache,” Ethel heard her tell the maid.  “The same old headache,” Sally remarked as she grimly pulled the portieres.  They waited in a tense little silence till the visitor had gone.  “And Alice,” Sally called to the maid.  “If any one else comes, say I’m out.”  She turned back to Ethel, smiling: 

“Suppose you stay to supper.  I’ll telephone my husband to dine at his club—­and we’ll go right on with this talk of ours.  We’ll go on,” she added determinedly, “until we have Joe so in our toils that he’ll be yours so long as he lives.”

Ethel suddenly sniffed and swallowed hard, and said, “Oh, what a dear you 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’ve been 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 came to you.”

“Thank you,” Sally smiled again.  “Now go on about Mrs. Carr.”