onal.
Here two people had really lived--a man and a woman. There had come
into Ethel's brown eyes a mingling of confused delight and awkward
admiration. And her sister, with a quick look and a smile, had lost the
slightly ruffled expression her face had worn in the other rooms. She
had regained her ascendancy.

It had not been until Ethel was left in her own small room adjoining,
that with an exclamation of remembrance and surprise she had stopped
undressing, opened her door and listened in the silence. "How perfectly
uncanny!" Frowning a moment, puzzled, her eye had gone to the only other
room in the apartment, down at the end of the narrow hall. The door had
been closed. She had stolen to it and listened, but at first she had
not heard a sound. Then she had given a slight start, had knocked
softly and asked, "May I come in?" A woman's voice with a hostile note
had replied, "Yes, ma'am." She had entered. And a moment later, down
on her knees before a grave little girl of two who sat at a tiny table
soberly having her supper, Ethel had cried:

"Oh, you adorable baby!"

For a time she had tried to make friends with the child, but the voice
of the nurse had soon cut in. And in the motherly Scotch face Ethel had
detected again a feeling of hostility. "What for?" she had asked. And
the answer had flashed into her mind. "She's angry because Amy hasn't
been in to see Susette." And Ethel had frowned. "It's funny. If I had
been away three days--"

She had gone back to her own room and began slowly to take off her
things. And a few minutes after that, she had heard a gruff kindly
voice, a man's heavy tread and a glad little cry from Amy's room.

"Joe has come home," she had told herself. "I wonder how he and I will
get on."

And she had met him a little later with no slight uneasiness. But this
had been at once dispelled. Rather tall and full of figure, with thick
curling hair and close-cut moustache, Joe Lanier at thirty-five still
gave to his young sister-in-law the impression of kindly friendliness
she had had from him some years before. There was nothing to be afraid
of in Joe. But she had noticed the change in his face, the slightly
tightened harassed expression. And she had thought:

"You poor man. How hard you have been working."

And yet she could not say he looked tired, for at dinner his talk had
been almost boyish in its welcoming good humour. Later he had drawn her
aside and had said with a touch of awkward