And so when Fanny came into the room Ethel received her kindly.

But Fanny rather smiled at that.  She looked a bit seedy as to her dress, and yet she had a confident air.  She took in the fine clothes of her handsome young hostess, and Ethel’s very gracious air and the almost pitying tone of her voice—­and then with a hard little smile, “My, what a change,” said Fanny softly.  Ethel frowned at her tone.  This might be rather awkward.

“You mean this way of doing my hair?” she rejoined good-humouredly.  “I was hoping you would notice it.”

“Does he?” asked Fanny.

“What do you mean?  Oh, Joe never—­”

“No.  Dwight, my dear.”  The hard voice of her visitor had become suddenly low and clear.  Ethel looked at the woman then and slowly reddened to her ears.  And the consciousness of blushing made her all the angrier.

“What on earth do you mean!” she demanded.  Her voice too was very low, and it trembled only a little; but there was a glint in her brown eyes.  Fanny gave a tense little laugh.

“Look here,” she said.  “Don’t let’s waste time.  Joe may be coming home, you know, and we must get this over first.”

“We’ll soon get it over.”  Ethel’s voice was shaking ominously.  Fanny noticed and spoke fast.

“Well, then, it’s just this,” she said.  “You’ve made up your mind to cut Joe off from all his old friends, including me.  And I might have stood for that—­”

“How kind!”

“If I hadn’t learned of the raw deal you’re giving him.  Strip him of friends and then treat him like this?  Oh, no, not if I can help it!” Plainly Fanny was working herself into a rage to match that of her hostess.

“You’d better be very clear, Mrs. Carr,” Ethel exclaimed, leaning forward.  Her visitor looked straight back at her, and answered: 

“Very.  I mean Dwight.”

Ethel rose abruptly.

“That will be enough, I think.”

“Oh, will it?”

Ethel wheeled upon her: 

“What a—­loathsome mind you have!  Will you leave me, please!”

“No, I’ll show you this.  And then we’ll get to business.”  And Fanny produced a large envelope, from which she took out a few typewritten pages.  “Just look these over,” she advised, “and then tell me whether I shall go.”  And as Ethel hesitated, “You’d better.  They’re very important.”

Ethel took them and read them, and as she did so her rage and scorn changed first into bewilderment and then into a sickening fright She felt all at once so off her ground.  She had always heard of detectives and their reports of shadowed wives, but that sort of thing had just been in the papers and had never seemed very real.  “This is about me!” she thought.  It told of every meeting she had had with Dwight, in his studio and in other places, once at the Ritz where they had dined and gone to the opera, twice in the Park where they had walked.  Such clean times, all three of them, but how cheap and disgusting they now appeared!  For here were bits about Dwight’s past, his record with women—­two were named.  He had been a co-respondent once!  And his studio was described in detail, with emphasis on a big lounge in one corner! . . .  Suddenly it was laughable!  And so she laughed at Fanny!  And Fanny replied: