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For the same reason Ethel did not take the elevator. She ran quickly down two flights and rang at Mrs. Grewe's door. There was silence. She waited some moments, then rang again. "Oh, she's out I know she is!" The thought brought a sickening empty feeling. She would have to face this night alone! But abruptly the door opened, and a sleepy startled maid looked at her in dull surprise.
There was an added pleasure, too, in the vague warm self-confidence which the young widow gave to her. "You can take care of yourself, my dear," said Mrs. Grewe's small lustrous black eyes. "Well? Is he treating you better?" she asked. "Yes," said Ethel. "He's very wise." They smiled at each other. "He's becoming quite sensible," Ethel said. "And have you found those friends you wanted?"
The talk occurred the next morning, up in the new apartment. There were no awkward preliminaries, for Mrs. Grewe's whole manner had changed. Quite a bit of its careful refinement was gone, and in its place was a rather bitter frankness. "I quite understand you needn't explain," she said at once. "Your husband has made a fuss, hasn't he? And this is good-bye. Too bad, isn't it?" "Yes it is."
Grewe's advice and her last smiling admonition. She could almost hear the voice. "Is every place I live in to be haunted?" Ethel asked herself. And then with a humorous little scowl: "Now see here, young woman, the sooner you learn that every apartment in this city has a complete equipment of ghosts, the better it will be for you. I don't care who lived here, nor how she lived nor what she said.
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