it is from when I was married. The same sort of apartment, only
it's nicer--the same ocean liners and hotels--the same cafes where one
can dance exactly as one did before." Again she wrinkled up her brows.
"The only real difference I can see is that when I was married like you,
my husband only told me the truth once in a while--as yours did last
night--while now they tell it all the time. Oh, I'm wise, I'm wise, my
dear--for one so young. I'm twenty-eight. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-five."

"Three years behind. Well, on the whole I guess I'd stay married if I
were you. It's so nice, if he's still in love with you. But the minute
he isn't, or makes any fuss, or gets ugly or mean, remember this." And
her sweet, clear voice grew impressive. "Remember then you can never be
sure what he's really doing in this town. I know--because they tell
me--and most of them are married men. And second, and last and
always--remember, my dear, that with your figure and your face and your
lovely hair which you do so well, you don't have to put up with any man!
You can get right out whenever you please! And the only trouble will be
to choose your next from all the others who will come crowding about
you! And whether you make him marry you--well--I honestly think there's
not much choice." She rose and said, with a strange little smile.

"Now that I've had my little revenge on your beast of a husband for
spoiling it all, when I wasn't doing the least bit of harm and was
leaving anyhow this week--let's say good-bye and each get to our
packing."

"She was once like me. I could be like her," thought Ethel late that
night. She had been lying awake for hours. "I could be--but I won't!"
she declared. "She had read Shaw. How funny! . . . I think it's a
mighty big mistake to let young girls read Bernard Shaw. Susette
certainly shan't!" Her lips compressed. In a moment she was frowning.

"How easily Joe changed about from loving Amy to loving me. Here he
lies asleep at my side. Where was he today? What do I know? . . .
Oh, Ethel Lanier, don't be a fool and let every cheap little woman you
meet get you thinking things! Such silly things! . . . I do wish
that odious Fanny Carr would get out of my life and stay out! . . .
You'd better be very careful, Joe." She had risen on her elbow now, and
by the dim light from the window she could just see her husband's face.
"Because if you're not very good to me--remember that a person whom you
yourself c