For seven years without a break he had “kept a goil” more fascinating to his taste than any female in New York.  Her name was Sadie, she was a model in a dressmaker’s shop uptown, and she owned him body and soul.  Their marriage had only been put off until he had bridged the dangerous time in the launching of his business.  For Greesheimer had a mother, an old uncle and a sister and two small nephews to support.  But this Zimmerman contract, “Gott sei danke!” would clear the way for marriage at once.  And as that glorious vision, of relatives all radiant and Sadie flushed and joyous leaping into his embrace, had burst upon his dazzled soul, his glance had lit on his employe, and he had hugged her in his joy!  And she—­Again did Greesheimer swear!  He felt hot angry blushes rise.  And later at his telephone he was saying to a woman friend who ran an employment bureau: 

“I got to have a stenographer.  See?  Und I don’t vant a goil, I vant a man—­a smart young fellah, y’understand. . . .  Jewish?  Yes!  You betcher!  No more Christian goils in mine!  Dey have rotten minds—­plain rotten minds!”

But to Ethel, walking blindly, no such explanation occurred.  She could still feel that body, those greedy lips and clutching hands, and out of her disgust and rage emerged another feeling which grew like a load on her shoulders, sagging her spirit and crushing her down.

“Joe was right.  It was only my face.  That beast was only waiting! . . .  I wonder if they’re all like that?  Probably not.  But how can I tell the sheep from the goats?  I thought I could.  I thought I knew how to handle myself—­I thought I knew how to get on in this town!  But I don’t, it seems—­I’ve done nothing at all!  I’ve just been a little fool! . . .  And New York is like that!”

She glared at the city around her, at its tall, hard unfriendly walls, the jangling trolleys down below, the trucks and drays and the crowds rushing by her.  For all their hurry, some of the men shot glances at Ethel that made her burn.  One tall thin man even stopped and turned and she felt his look travel right down to her toes!  She walked on and on with her bare fists clenched.  She had left her gloves in the office.  Go back for them?  No!  Nor to any office, nor any man!

“Oh, yes, I will, I’ll go back to Joe—­and hear him say, ’I told you so.’”

She reached the apartment faint and sick.  Joe had not come home, thank goodness.  She went to her room and to her bed, and had a good cry, which relieved her a little.  And so, after an hour or two, looking steadily up at the ceiling, she decided that after a few days’ rest she would go to all three of those bureaus and say, “I’m in the market still, if you please, but only for a woman boss.”

But later, as she was dressing for dinner, her eye was caught by the photograph of her sister Amy.  And the face appeared to her suddenly so strong and wise with its knowledge of life.  She remembered Amy’s smiles at all new “movements” and ideas and work for women.  She seemed to be smiling now, with a good-humoured pitying air, and to be saying: