“Now will you believe me?  It isn’t what you say to men, it’s how you look and what you wear.”

And Ethel stared at it and frowned, in a disillusioned, questioning way.

CHAPTER VII

Joe did not say, “I told you so.”  It was after eight that evening when he came home from his office, and she was annoyed at the delay, for she wanted to have her confession of failure over and done with.  As she waited restlessly, she envied him his business life.  How much simpler everything was for a man!  Her nerves were on edge.  Why didn’t he come!  At last she heard his key in the door and sharply pulled herself together.  “How I detest him!” she thought to herself.

“Hello, Ethel.”  His voice from the hallway had a gruff and tired sound; but a moment later when he came in, it was with his usual friendly smile.  “Sorry I kept you waiting.  I’ve had a mean day at the office.”

“So have I,” said Ethel, and with a frown she plunged right in.  The sooner this was over the better.  But when she had finished and looked up, she detected no triumph on his face.  He was watching her so queerly.

“Well,” he said, “I ought to be sorry, I suppose—­but I can’t exactly say I am.”

“Why not?” At her sharp challenge he grimly smiled.

“Because this kind of puts us—­in the same boat—­two of a kind.”

“What on earth do you mean?” she demanded.  And then with a rueful grimace he said: 

“Because I too have bumped my head.”  As at that she felt a swift little thrill of surprise and liking for Joe, he continued, “I’ve been a fool.  You’re always a fool when you take a chance and aren’t able to get away with it.  You’re a fool—­because you missed out.  I’m a fool—­because I missed out.  We both of us took chances.  And I got very badly stung.  We’ve got to be poor for a little while.”  Joe drew a deep breath and smiled again.  “I’ve dreaded this.  I’ve put off telling you for a week—­I don’t like eating humble pie.  But it’s all right now, God bless you—­we can eat it side by side.”

“Why, Joe, dear, how nice!” she sighed.  “Go on and tell me.  What will it mean?” He held up his hand.

“Hold on a minute, can’t you?  Let me make my little speech.  I’ve made it so many times in my mind.”

“All right, you poor dear, just start right in.”

“Well,” said Joe, “it begins like this.”  And his face grew a little portentous, with humour and a deeper feeling mingled awkwardly together.  “You’ve been about as good to me as one fellow could be to another.  I know what a hell it must have been, and the stiff upper lip was all on your side.  I don’t want to talk about it, but—­when Amy died the life went out—­of my business too.  Later I got back my nerve, and because my job was all I had left I tried to make it more worth while.  I’ve got a few old dreams in me—­I mean I’ve always wanted to build something better than flats in the Bronx.  So I—­well, I took a chance and failed.  I’m in debt and my only chance to scrape through is to cut down here as low as we can.  I’ve figured out our expenses, and—­”