“How has the work been going?” she asked.  He looked at her almost with dislike.

“For a month,” he said, “you’ve been trying to make me give up that Riverside scheme.”  He paused, and her heart was in her mouth.

“I haven’t said so, have I?”

“No—­you haven’t said so,” he growled.

“Well?”

“It’s off.  I’ve dropped it.”

She started to embrace him, but saw at once it would be a mistake.

“Thank you, Joe,” she said softly, and went into the nursery.  It was so dark and quiet there.  She had a cry.

CHAPTER XX

The next morning Emily Giles returned from a visit back in Ohio.

“How have things been going?” she asked.  “Very well indeed,” said Ethel, with a scarcely perceptible smile.  She and Emily understood each other, though very little had ever been said.

“Mr. Lanier still working hard?”

“Yes, poor dear,” said Ethel, “but it has been so good for him.”  And at that a look of grim relish came on Emily’s sallow face.

“You know I’m getting to like this town,” she remarked with a genial air.  “I wonder what’ll the winter be like?”

“Oh, I think we’ll do nicely, Emily.  I’ve quite a few plans in my head.”

“I’ll bet you have,” said Emily.  And she went to don her “uniform.”

In these days, again and again a sense of being just on the eve of something very exciting gave Ethel a new zest in life.

One day in the hall downstairs she came upon young Mrs. Grewe.  Ethel gave a little start and then swiftly reddened.  And she saw the young widow smile at that, and it made her annoyed with herself for having been so clumsy.  “I’ll show her I’m not such a prude,” she thought.  And having learned that Mrs. Grewe had taken another apartment here, Ethel went to see her—­with a safe little feeling that Mrs. Grewe would have too much sense to return the call.  This would end it—­pleasantly.

The visit was a decided success.  Mrs. Grewe was back from Europe sooner than she had expected—­for reasons she did not explain.  “And now I’m looking about,” she said, “for another old lady from Boston.  I rent a new one every year.”  Ethel stayed for tea.  For nearly eight months she had had no woman to talk to, but Fanny Carr and Emily Giles.  And she found it very pleasant to be chatting here so cosily.  Not that she meant to keep it up.  This sort of woman?  H’m—­well, no.  But on the other hand, why not?  After all, New York was a very big city.

“I’m never going to shut myself up in one little circle of people,” she thought.  “I mean to keep rubbing up against life.”

There was an added pleasure, too, in the vague warm self-confidence which the young widow gave to her.  “You can take care of yourself, my dear,” said Mrs. Grewe’s small lustrous black eyes.

“Well?  Is he treating you better?” she asked.