There was Harlem and Harlem, it appeared; and taught partly by Paul, partly by the real-estate brokers, she became adept in the subtle distinctions between streets which seemingly differed only in their numerals. For example, there was a quarter, _the_ quarter to be accurate, once called Harlem Heights, which now in the full-blown pride of its cathedral, its university, and its hero's mausoleum, haughtily declared itself not Harlem at all. They had scaled this favored region in their quest, admired its parks, watched the Hudson from its airy windows, and hoped vainly to find some nook their purse might command; but they had to turn their steps from it at last. This glimpse of the unattainable was a strong, if not controlling, factor in their final choice. "We can't be hermits and live in a hole," Paul argued. "I know a big bunch of people here already, and we'll soon know more. We've got to hold up our end. Nice name we'd get in our club if we didn't entertain once in a while like the rest." "Our club!" she echoed. "We're to join a club?" "Sure. Bowling club, I mean. Everybody bowls in Harlem. We must think about the office, too. It's the women who make or break a dentist's practice, and sooner or later they find out how he lives and the kind of company he keeps." After a reflective silence he frightened her by asking abruptly whether she remembered a loud girl who had come to the dental parlors for an appointment the day of her first illness. "The chatty party who thought I wasn't sociable," he particularized. "Her name's Wilkes." Jean remembered. "Well, she came back," pursued the dentist, slowly. "I filled a tooth for her the next morning. She had a good deal to say." She brought herself to look at him. If the past must be faced now, she would meet it like the honest girl she was. But Paul's manner was not accusing, and when he spoke again, it was of neither Stella nor herself. "How much does Amy get a week?" he asked. She told him, and he nodded as over a point proved. "Would it surprise you to hear that she draws five dollars less? That does surprise you, doesn't it?" "How do you know?" "My drug-department patient told me long ago. I didn't think much about it at the time, for some girls dress well on mighty little; but when--well, the long and short of it is, that Wilkes woman knows Amy!" Jean pulled herself together somehow. Amy's defense was for the moment her own. "Need that condemn Amy?" she said. "Of course not," returned Paul judiciously. "It might happen to you, or anybody. Perhaps she says she knows me. It's the way she came to know her that counts. The Wilkes girl got very confidential when I left her mouth free. She had tanked up with firewater for the occasion, and it oiled her tongue. I didn't pay much attention until Amy Jeffries's name slipped out, but I listened after that. I thought it was due you." "And she said--?"