“Oh, you darling!” Fanny laughed.  And then with an envious sigh she said, “You make me feel so old and forlorn.  With all your beauty, Ethel Lanier, and youth—­your whole life starting—­well, you’ve just got to let me in and take you about.  Oh, I know, I know, it’s so wonderful here, and fresh and new, and you’re quite contented and all that.  But after all, it’s a city, you know—­a perfectly good one, full of life—­and people you’ll like—­old friends of Joe’s.”  She went on in a crisp gay tone to paint the pleasures of the town.  And meanwhile glancing at Ethel she thought, “What a perfect devil she thinks me, poor child, a bold bad creature on Joe’s trail—­when all I want is to take her around and help her spend her money.  I need it badly enough, God knows!”

At last she rose.

“I mustn’t tire you.  Good-bye, dear.  You’ll let me come again, of course.”

“Oh, yes, do.”  At Ethel’s tone, Fanny smiled to herself, as deftly she adjusted her furs.  She turned to look in the mirror and her eye was caught by the photograph of Amy over on Joe’s chiffonier.  She moved a step toward it, paused, turned back, and with a good-bye to Ethel went out.

Ethel’s eyes went back to the photograph.  How strong and alarming, all in an hour, Amy’s picture had become.  As she looked, it seemed to take on life, to be saying, “Money!  Money at last!” And with dismay she told herself: 

“Now they’ll come in a perfect horde!”

CHAPTER XIII

“Shall I tell Joe!  Most certainly.”

But she did not tell him all, that night.  She did not say, “One of Amy’s friends was here today, and she’s coming again, and more are coming—­and I hate them, every one!” She simply remarked: 

“Oh, Joe, dear—­Fanny Carr was here today.”

“She was, eh?” he gave a slight start.  “Where has she been all this time?”

“Abroad.”  And Ethel answered his questions.  “She’ll be here a good deal, I fancy,” she ended.  Joe looked annoyed and uneasy.  But he did not speak, that evening, of the memories rising in his mind.  For on both the old spell of silence was strong.  Subtly the spirit of the first wife came stealing back into the room, pervaded it and made it her own.  But her name was still unspoken.

The next day brought an exquisite baby’s cap with Fanny’s card tucked inside.  And in the fortnight after that, Fanny herself came several times.  She talked in such a natural way, and her smile and the look in her clever grey eyes was so good-humoured and friendly.  “She’s doing it beautifully,” Ethel thought.  But she pulled herself up.  “Doing what beautifully?  What do I mean?  One would think we were millionaires, and Joe a perfect Adonis!  Is she trying to eat us?  And aren’t you rather a snob, my love, to be so sure you hate the woman before you even know her?”