“Yes,” said Ethel.

“He’s very wise.”  They smiled at each other.

“He’s becoming quite sensible,” Ethel said.

“And have you found those friends you wanted?”

“They’re in sight,” was Ethel’s answer.  Her hostess smiled good humouredly.

“You won’t be able to keep me,” she said.  “He won’t stand that—­”

Ethel knit her brows.

“He’ll stand a good deal,” she answered, “when once I know where I stand myself.”

“In the meantime you’d better leave me alone.”

The two parted in affable fashion.

“There,” thought Ethel in relief.  “I got through that rather nicely.  I needn’t go again, of course.”

She had started out for a brisk walk, and she drew a deep breath of the frosty air.  The air in New York was often so—­gay!  And Mrs. Grewe had given her such a feeling of independence.  She saw a man turn and look at her—­the beast!  But she smiled as she hurried on toward the Park.

Still, the brief visit had been rather daring.  Joe would not have liked it at all.  He would have been perfectly furious!

“However!” She walked briskly on.  “What’s the difference between Mrs. Grewe and his own dear friend, Fanny Carr?” she asked.  “Nothing whatever—­except that Fanny, so far as we know, has taken the trouble with each man to have a wedding and a divorce.  The only other difference is that Fanny has no taste at all, while Mrs. Grewe has heaps of it!  And she reads things—­even Shaw; and she likes good music, too.  She is going tonight to ‘Salome.’” . . .  For a moment Ethel let her mind run over all the operas she herself was going to hear, and the concerts, and the plays she would see and the dinners she would go to, the talks in which she would take part.  She could see herself—­just scintillating! . . .  With a jerk she came back to Mrs. Grewe.  “Oh, I guess it isn’t very defiling to turn to her from Fanny Carr!  I’ll do as I please!” she impatiently thought.

Still, it had been rather daring.  It fitted in exactly with several talks she had had of late with Dwight, her music teacher:  talks in which each one of them had taken rather a challenging tone that had grown distinctly intimate.  One night when Joe was out of town she had gone with Dwight to the opera.  And she had not mentioned it to Joe—­not that she felt guilty at all, she had simply dropped it out of her mind.  In love with her husband?  Yes, indeed.  And let Dwight or any other man try to go the least bit too far—­“As Fanny doubtless does with Joe,” she suddenly added to herself.  For a moment she walked viciously.  Then she thought again of Dwight.  He had told her she really had voice enough with which to go on the stage if she chose.

“Though I hope you won’t,” he had added.

“Why not?” she had asked.  In reply he had hinted at perils that made it all sound rather thrilling.

“Joe wouldn’t like it,” Dwight had said.