"Sometimes on Sunday mornings I seem to hear 'em, preachers, droning and
shouting all over the land," he told her once. "What's in it? What do
they know about God or where you go when you are dead? Nothing, no more
than you or I!"

His voice was harsh and bitter then, but the next instant it was kind.
With his arm about her he was saying:

"Don't, Ethel--please--don't take it like that! I was a brute! I won't
again! I'll keep it inside! I'm sorry, dear!"

"Oh, Joe," she whispered, "if we only knew!"

So these two faced eternity.

But only at moments. They looked away. For she saw how good it was for
Joe to have the distractions that he craved; and so on their long walks
at night she took him to the noisy streets, or into the movies, where
his mind appeared to stop and find some rest. Best of all, she
discovered, was to go with him in the small car which he used for his
business. Driving this car through crowded streets amid a clamour and
blare of horns and shouts and peals of laughter, the look on Joe's face
made Ethel see how this dulled his grief, how he lost himself and his
questionings and became a mere part of the town. What a glamourous
seething town! There was something terrific to her in its laugh. If
you stopped to think and ask yourself, "What are we all doing here?" how
soon it jostled you back into line!

So passed another fortnight. Then Joe grew quieter, and with relief she