“Joe Lanier—­”

“First you put the right foot forward, then the left—­you moved along.”

“Joe!  For goodness sakes!”

“Look here.  Do you know what I want to do with you?”

“No.”  And Ethel shook her head.  She did know, precisely, and it was her motive for all this talk.

“Take you there—­and get rooms in the Quarter—­not too far from the Luxembourg—­”

“Oh, Joe, you perfect darling!”

He went on describing all they would do, in the cafes and on the streets, in old churches and at plays and at the Opera Comique, where she must surely see “Louise.”  They began excitedly planning ways and means, expenses, his business and when he could get away.  He sobered at that, and she cried to herself, “Now he’s thinking of his friend Bill!  Oh, what a detestable, tiresome worm!”

Then a man who was passing their table stopped in surprise as he recognized Joe, bowed, smiled and said something and went on, and joined a hilarious group down the room.  And Ethel saw him speak to them and she felt their glances turned her way.  Joe had grown suddenly awkward, his face wore a forced, unnatural smile, and he was talking rapidly—­but she heard nothing that he said.  The whole atmosphere had changed in an instant.

For those people over there were some of Amy’s friends, no doubt, amused at Joe and his young second wife, amused that Joe had not had the nerve to ask them to his wedding.  Ethel could feel herself burning inside.  A mistake not to have asked them?  No!  What had they to do with it?  What right had they, what hold on Joe?  They had been a mighty poor lot of friends, with empty minds and money hearts, just clothes and food, late hours and wine!  They had been decidedly bad for him, had drawn him off from his real work and plunged him into the rush to be rich!  A voice within her, from underneath, was asking, “Or was it Amy?” But she paid no heed to that.  It asked, “Are you sure they are all so bad?  Have you taken the trouble to find out?” But angrily she answered that she wanted friends of her own, that she couldn’t be just a second wife.  “I’ve got to be all different, new!  I’ve got to be—­and I will, I will!” She swallowed fiercely.  Besides, it was what Joe needed, exactly!  He showed already what it had meant to be rid of such friends!  Had he ever talked of Paris before, or his dreams and ambitions or anything real?  But the voice retorted sharp and clear: 

“Why hide it then?  Why let this foolish dangerous habit of never mentioning Amy’s name keep growing up between you and your husband?  It may do a lot of harm, you know.  What are you afraid of?”

Nothing whatever, she replied.  She decided to speak of it then and there.  She would be perfectly natural, and ask him, “Who are your friends over there?  Some people Amy used to know?” And she grew rigid all at once.  Her throat contracted and felt dry.  Angrily she bit her lip . . .  But the habit of silence was too strong. . . .  Soon, with a carefully pleasant smile, she was attending to his talk and by her questions drawing out more and more of his life abroad.