business. But even business, to her surprise, as Joe saw and felt it,
had a strange thrilling romance of its own.

And she soon noticed something else that drew her to Joe. Almost every
evening he would sit down at his piano and start playing idly. As a
rule he played dance music, popular songs from Broadway. But sometimes
leaning back he would drift into other music. And though his hand would
bungle and only sketch it, so to speak--in his black eyes, scowling
slightly over the smoke of his cigar, would come a look which Ethel
liked. But vaguely she felt that Amy did not, that it even made her
uneasy. For almost invariably at such times, Amy would come behind him,
her plump softly rounded arm would find its way down over his
shoulder--and little by little the music would change and would come
back to Broadway.

When Joe heard one evening that Ethel was "mad to learn to sing," he
took her by the arm at once and marched her over to the piano. And they
had quite a session together--till Amy suggested going out to a new
cabaret she had heard of that day. Her voice sounded hurt and strained.
And Ethel from that night on dropped all mention of singing.

Her curiosity deepened toward this city love affair, this husband and
wife who apparently had left so many things out of their lives, things
vital in the Ohio town. The sober wee girl in the nursery kept just as
quiet as before. Often Ethel opened that door and went in and tried to
make friends with its grave shy little inmate and the hostile nurse.
And returning to her room she would frown and wonder for a time. But
the pretty things piling in from the shops, and the gay anticipations,
soon crowded such questioning out of her mind. Swiftly this household
was growing more real, the rooms familiar, intimate; the day's routine