“Vell,” said Mr. Greesheimer, “you be here tomorrow at nine und ve’ll see.”  He sighed.  “Ve’ll see, my friend.”  He turned back to his desk with an abrupt and businesslike little gesture of dismissal.

And this businesslike air he retained on the morrow.  As he explained her work to her, the tone of his voice was crisp and dry.  Ladies’ cloaks were Greesheimer’s “line,” and though his business was still new he was increasing it rapidly.  He was eager, hungry, almost fierce in the 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 proverbs that he had learned long ago as a child in some Galician village.  But never 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 was all.  She worked hard, overcame her awkwardness, was punctual, laboured to please him.  And he was not slow to praise.

“You’re a smart young goil,” he said more than once.  “Keep on—­it’s great—­it suits me fine.”

And despite the monotonous bleak detail of her life in that room, Ethel grew steadily happier there.  For she was gaining confidence fast, she was living up to her ideals.  Soon she would be ready to leave this funny little man and get a place of a different kind—­as secretary, for instance, to some clever woman novelist or noted suffrage leader.  She had already put down her name at three employment bureaus, in each of which 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 had done, 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 quite see—­well, go ahead.”

Plainly it had been a surprise.  It was so utterly different from what Amy would have done.  It had set him thinking, hurt him.  “She wants to get away,” he had thought.  Ethel had caught his feeling and had pitied him 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 little independent, they treat it like a slap in the face.  All right, Mr. Male Provider, your tender feelings will have to be hurt.  There’s nothing the matter, I mean to stay here.  I’ll stick by you just as long as you need me.  Only, I propose to be free!”

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

“When it comes to looks,” he had ended, “you’re one in a thousand.  And in this town—­”

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