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Updated: June 22, 2025
Even her house was only half a house: the four rooms were matched by four other rooms, with only a central wall between. But Sally had a square yard, and a garden, and Martie came to love every inch of the little place, so rich in happiness and love. The days went on and on, and there was no word of Wallace. Martie's heart was like lead in her breast.
Well, that made me feel kind of sick, because we had been going together for so long, and her talking about how things would be when we were married and all that, and I said you know the way you do 'What's the matter with us getting married, right now?" Martie's face was fixed in a look of agonized attention: she made no sound.
There's a lot of talk," he added with a sort of dull resentment, "about 'leading young girls astray, and 'betraying innocence, and all that, but I want to tell you right now that nine times out of ten it's the girls that do the leading astray! You ask any fellow " The expression on Martie's face did not alter by the flicker of an eyelash.
He would be sweet-tempered and helpful for a few days, but he expected a reward. He expected his wife's old attitude of utter trust and devotion. Rewarded by a happy evening when they dined and talked in utter harmony, he would fail her again. Then came dark days, when Martie's heart smouldered resentfully hour after busy hour.
It was the glaring spring hour of four o'clock; not lunch time, nor dinner time, nor bed time, nor time to go to market. Suddenly a tear fell on Martie's hand; she sniffed. "Ah, don't, Mart!" Lydia said, fumbling for her own handkerchief. "We know we know how hard it is! Your husband, and Ma not here to welcome you " The sisters cried together.
A smile twitched Martie's sober mouth as she thought of Rose's congratulations. Rose would give her a linen shower, with delicious damp little sandwiches, and maple mousse, or a dainty luncheon with silk-clad, flushed women laughing about the table. And Martie would join the club be its president, some day Meanwhile, once more she must wait. A woman's life was largely waiting.
She was free even to sit down with a woman whose name was under a cloud. They all crowded into an express elevator, and sat down at a table in the restaurant on the twelfth floor. Presently the unreality of it faded from Martie's uppermost consciousness and she began to enjoy herself.
The girls were sewing at the endless roses; but they jumped up in a flutter, and ran for hats and sweaters. They did not exchange a word, nor lose a second, while they were upstairs, running down again immediately to end the uncomfortable silence that held the group about the fire. It was a cold, bleak day, and the pure air was delicious to Martie's hot cheeks after the close house.
Worse than this Pa, who was to have gone to San Francisco on business on Friday morning whose decision to do so had indeed been one of Martie's reasons for selecting this date for the affair suddenly changed his plan. He need not go until December, he said.
Do you remember the night we had oysters, and sat in that little place gassing for two hours? You know," said he, in a confidential aside to Rose, "Martie's a wonder when she gets started!" "Isn't she?" Rose responded politely. "That was before I met my husband, I think," she added, "or rather re-met him, for years ago Mr. Parker and I "
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