poor
child, a bold bad creature on Joe's trail--when all I want is to take
her around and help her spend her money. I need it badly enough, God
knows!"

At last she rose.

"I mustn't tire you. Good-bye, dear. You'll let me come again, of
course."

"Oh, yes, do." At Ethel's tone, Fanny smiled to herself, as deftly she
adjusted her furs. She turned to look in the mirror and her eye was
caught by the photograph of Amy over on Joe's chiffonier. She moved a
step toward it, paused, turned back, and with a good-bye to Ethel went
out.

Ethel's eyes went back to the photograph. How strong and alarming, all
in an hour, Amy's picture had become. As she looked, it seemed to take
on life, to be saying, "Money! Money at last!" And with dismay she told
herself:

"Now they'll come in a perfect horde!"

CHAPTER XIII

"Shall I tell Joe! Most certainly."

But she did not tell him all, that night. She did not say, "One of
Amy's friends was here today, and she's coming again, and more are
coming--and I hate them, every one!" She simply remarked:

"Oh, Joe, dear--Fanny Carr was here today."

"She was, eh?" he gave a slight start. "Where has she been all this
time?"

"Abroad." And Ethel answered his questions. "She'll be here a good
deal, I fancy," she ended. Joe looked annoyed and uneasy. But he did
not speak, that evening, of the memories rising in his mind. For on
both the old spell of silence was strong. Subtly the spirit of the
first wife came stealing back into the room, pervaded it and made it her
own. But her name was still unspoken.

The next day brought an exquisite baby's cap with Fanny's card tucked
inside. And in the fortnight after that, Fanny herself came several
times. She talked in such a natural way, and her smile and the look in
her clever grey eyes was so good-humoured and friendly. "She's doing it
beautifully," Ethel thought. But she pulled herself up. "Doing what
beautifully? What do I mean? One would think we were millionaires, and
Joe a perfect Adonis! Is she trying to eat us? And aren't you rather a
snob, my love, to be so sure you hate the woman before you even know
her?"

At such moments Ethel would relax and grow pleasantly interested in
Fanny's talk of Paris and Rome, or of New York. In each city Fanny
seemed to have led very much the same existence. In each there had been
Americans, and hotels, cafes and dances, motor trips and lunches, gossip
and scandal without end. But she told of it al