"Oh." Ethel gasped and sank down in a heap. "All right, ask her to come up," she said, in a tone of indifference.
When the maid had gone, she almost called her back. She did not want to see Fanny Carr. Still—why not? Oh, let her come. And in the two or three minutes that followed, Ethel passed from a mood of depression to one of easy good-natured contempt. She was no longer afraid of Fanny, for Ethel was getting Joe in hand. "And as soon as I do," she reflected, "and my husband makes a name as an architect doing great big things, what harm can Fanny do me?" As she thought of the brilliant people who were so soon to be her friends, she looked upon Fanny Carr and her like with no more hatred but only compassion. What stupid lives they were leading.
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."