I told him so myself today--and we had quite a session.
"Oh, Joe, I'm sorry," Ethel said.
"You needn't be.

Bill Nourse and I will stick together as long as we live." Ethel looked at him sharply, but he did not notice.

"Because," he said, "with all his faults, his queerness and his grouches, Bill has done more than any man living to--well, to keep something alive in me--in my work, I mean--that I want later on--as soon as I've made money enough." She stared at him.
"You mean that he--your partner--wants something more than money ?" It was a slip, but she was stunned.

He turned and looked at her and asked, in a voice rather strained and husky: "Do you think Bill cares about money alone ?" "Why, yes!" "That's funny." But Joe's laugh was grim.

"If Bill had had his way with me, I'd have had a name as an architect that would have been known all over the country--instead of being what I am, a gambler in cheap real estate." She questioned him further, her manner alert, her eyes with a startled, thoughtful look.