At such moments Ethel would relax and grow pleasantly interested in Fanny’s talk of Paris and Rome, or of New York.  In each city Fanny seemed to have led very much the same existence.  In each there had been Americans, and hotels, cafes and dances, motor trips and lunches, gossip and scandal without end.  But she told of it all in a humorous way that made it quite amusing.  And it was a good deal the same with the two women, Amy’s friends, whom Fanny brought to tea a bit later.  Their gossip and their laughter, their voices breaking into each other and making a perfect hubbub at times, their smart suits and hats and dainty boots, their plump faces, lively eyes, all were quite exciting to Ethel, when she threw off her hostility and the uneasiness they aroused.  It felt good to be gossipy once more.

But how they chattered!  How they stayed!  Joe would be coming home soon now, and she wanted them to go.  But they did not go, and Ethel guessed that it was Joe they were waiting for.  She was sure of it when he appeared.  The way they all rushed at him with little shrieks of laughter, talking together, excited as girls!  “Though they’re all years older than I am!” Ethel angrily exclaimed, as she sat there matronly and severe.  She eyed her husband narrowly, and at first with keen satisfaction she saw how annoyed and embarrassed he was.  But the moments passed, and he grew relieved, more easy and more natural, his voice taking on its usual tone, blunt and genial.  And she thought, “He’s going to like it!” For a moment she detested him then.  “They’ll flatter him, make a tin god of him!  No, I mean a money god!  That’s what they want, his money!” She positively snorted, but no one seemed to notice it.  Now they were turning back to her and she was in the hubbub, too.  And how amiably she smiled!

When they were gone, there fell a silence which was like a sudden pall.  “He can break it!  I—­won’t!” she decided viciously.  He had gone to their room, she had followed him there, and he was not having an easy time.  He washed and dressed without a word.  But at last he came to her.

“Look here.”  His arm was about her, she jerked away, but he would not release her.

“You’re the most adorable little wife that ever made a man happy,” he said.  “But you’re young, you know—­”

“Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s something those other women would all give their eye-teeth for.”

“Go on.”

“But you’re human, you know, and you’ve got to grow older—­and as you do you’ll find, my dear, that it takes all kinds to make a world.”

“How original!” He went on unabashed: 

“And if you are to get any friends, you’ve got to get out and meet all kinds—­many you don’t like at all—­and then little by little take your choice.”  He paused, and although he did not add, “After all, they’re Amy’s friends, and you might at least give ’em a chance”—­Ethel knew he was thinking that, though he only ended gently, “But I guess I’ll leave it all to you.  Do as you like.  I’ll be satisfied.”