"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.