"She can do anything with him she likes. When I marry somebody how will it be?"
Upon the living-room mantel was a photograph of Amy. And on the smooth and pretty face with the lips slightly parting, and in the smiling violet eyes, there was the expression of something which Ethel did not quite name to herself—for she had forgotten the night long ago in her high-school club when they had sturdily tackled the word "sensual" and what it meant. But the picture grew familiar and real, filled in by the living presence here of this woman who so carefully tended her beautiful body, her glossy hair, her cheeks and lips; this sister with so many moods, now intent and watchful, now good-humoured, indolent, now expectant, hungry, now smilingly content and gay.
And as the picture grew more real, warm and close and thrilling, it symbolized for Ethel that mysterious force which she could feel on every side, driving the throngs of humanity—in this city where so many things she had once deemed important were fading rapidly away. That hungry hope of a singer's career, that craving for work and self-education, trips to Paris, London, Rome, books, art and clever people, "salons," brilliant discussions of life; and deeper still, those mysterious dreams about having children and making a home—all began to drop behind, so quietly and easily that she barely noticed the change.
For this was happening in a few weeks, in the first whirl and excitement of those dazzling streets and shops, those models, gowns, hats, gloves and shoes. "It's not what you say that interests men—it's how you look and what you have on." The image of her sister grew vivid in Ethel's eager mind. And with it came the question, now ardent though still a little confused:
"Shall I ever be like that?"
CHAPTER IV
Ethel had been about four weeks in town, and now she was to meet Amy's friends. Amy was giving a dinner the next evening in her honour; and to let the cook and the waitress have a rest on the preceding night, Joe took Amy and Ethel out to dine in a café. His business had gone well that week and Joe was a genial husband. They had a sea-food supper and later he took them to a play. When they came home, Ethel went to her room, for she felt very tired. It was not long before she was asleep.
She was awakened by Joe, half dressed.
"Amy is sick!" he said sharply. "Go in and help her, will you? I'll try to get a doctor!"
On Amy's bed, a little later, Ethel saw a face so changed from the one
of a few hours before, that she felt her heart jump into her throat.
Amy's face was ugly and queer, distorted by frequent spasms of pain.
But worse was the terror in her eyes.
"Ethel, I think I'm dying!" she cried. "Something I ate—it poisoned me!" There was a violent catch in her breath.
"Amy! Why, you poor little darling!" Ethel held her sister tight, asked quick anxious questions and did things to relieve her, but with little or no success. It seemed hours till Joe came back. With him was a doctor, who made an examination and then took Joe into the hall. Ethel followed anxiously. She heard the doctor questioning Joe, and she heard him say:
"I'm afraid it's ptomaine.
"What does that mean?" Joe fiercely inquired. But before Ethel could hear the reply she was called back into the bedroom, where on her bed with both hands clenched Amy was saying:
"I can't bear this! Make him give me something—quick!"
The rest of the night was a blur and a haze, of which Joe was the centre—Joe half crazed and impatient, making impossible demands.
"You can't get a nurse in a minute, my friend, at five A. M.," the doctor cried. "I'm doing my best, if you'll give me a chance!"
The fight went on. The nurse arrived, and turning to Ethel the doctor said, "Get him out of this." And she took Joe into the living-room. But there with a sudden curse and a groan he began to walk the floor.
"This doctor—what do we know of him? He was all I could find! We haven't been to a doctor in years! … Ah—that's it!" And he went to the telephone, where in a few moments she heard him saying tensely, "Bill, old man, I'm in trouble." And she thought, "It's his partner."
"What have you done?" she asked him.
"Got Bill Nourse on the 'phone. He's bringing another doctor."
"But Joe! You should have asked this one first!"
"Should I?" was his distracted reply.
The second physician soon arrived, and was as surprised and annoyed as the first one when he found how he had been summoned. In a moment with angry apologies he was backing out of the door. But Joe caught his arm.
"You two and your etiquette be damned! Go in and look at that woman!" he cried. And with a glance into Joe's eyes, the second doctor turned to the first, muttered, "Hold this man. He's crazy "—and went into the bedroom.
It was long before Ethel forgot the look that appeared on Joe's face when the second physician came out and said:
"I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."
She went in with Joe to Amy. And her sister looked so relieved, the lines of pain all smoothed away. Heavily drugged, she was nearly asleep. Her hand felt for Joe's and closed on it, and with a little nestling movement of her soft lovely body she murmured smiling:
"Oh, so tired and sleepy now."
Again, in spite of her grief and fright, Ethel noticed how her sister's hand closed on that of her husband. In the months and years that followed, she recalled it vividly so many times.
Joe sat there long after Amy was dead.
The doctor signed to Ethel to come into the living-room.
"Are you to be in charge?" he asked. She looked at him and shivered.
She felt a pang of such loneliness as she had never known before.
"I know nobody—nothing—I don't know how you arrange," she said. "I've only been a month in town."
The doctor gave her a curious look of pity and uneasiness. It was as though he had told her, "I'm sorry, but don't count on me for help. I'm busy. This is New York, you know." He said:
"I'll see to the undertaker." She shivered again, and he added, "Don't you know some older woman here?"
This reminded her of the dinner which Amy was to have given that night.
A lump rose in her throat. She waited a moment and then she said:
"Yes, I know of several."
"That's good. You'd better send for them." And soon afterward he hurried away.
But just as Ethel was rising to go to the telephone, there was a ring at the door. She opened it, and a tall man, rather stooped, with iron grey hair and moustache, a lean but rather heavy face and deep-set impassive eyes, came in and said:
"I'm Joe's partner—Nourse, you know. How is it going? Better?"
"She's dead."
"God!" With that low exclamation, she thought she saw a gleam of shock but then of triumph come in his eyes. He went into Joe's room, and closed the door; and with a mingling of relief and of sharp hostility she felt at once how she was shut out. Who was she but a stranger now? She thought of Amy, and with a quick cry Ethel began to walk up and down in a scared hunted fashion. She stopped with a sudden resolute clenching of her teeth, and said, "Now I've got to do something! If I don't, I'll go right out of my mind!" But what? She stared about her, then went to the