the dollar for the
license!" laughed Sally.

"Say, listen," said Ellen suddenly, "you folks have got to take our
house for a few days; how about that, Mother? You and Joe can start
housekeeping there like Terry and me. How about it, Mother? We'll come
here!"

"But, Sally--not to tell me!" Martie said reproachfully.

"Oh, darling--I did that deliberately!" her sister answered earnestly.
"I'm going to telephone Pa, and I know he'll be wild. And I DIDN'T want
you to be in it! You'll have enough--poor Martie!"

Already the shadow of the old house was passing from her. With what
gaiety she went about the old room, thought Martie, stopped by Mrs.
Hawkes's affectionate arms for a kiss, stopping to kiss Grandma Kelly
of her own free will. Sally had no sense of social values; she loved to
be here, admired, loved, busy.

"Think of the priest giving her his mother's own ring!" said the women
over and over. "It'll bring you big luck, Sally!"

They all sat down at the table, and Terry and John Healey came in to
rejoice, and the Healey baby awoke, and Grace came in from work. When
Martie left there was talk of supper; everybody was to stay for supper.

Walking home in the late spring twilight, Martie felt a certain
satisfaction. Sally was happy, and they would be good to her, and she
would be better off than Lydia, anyway. Joe as a husband was perfectly
absurd, of course, but Joe certainly did love Sally. Monroe would buzz,
but Martie had heard Monroe buzzing for a long time now, and after the
first shock, had found herself unhurt. Curiously, Sally's plunge into a
new life seemed to free her own hands.

"Now I am going to get out!" said Martie, opening her own gate.

When Malcolm Monroe came home that night it was to a well-sustained
hurricane of tears and protest. Mrs. Monroe and Lydia shed genuine
tears, and Martie and Len added diplomatically to the hubbub. Pa must
suspect no one of sympathy for the shameless Sally.

"To think, Pa, after all we've done for her!" sobbed Mrs. Monroe, and
Lydia, wiping her nose and shaking her head, kept saying with
reproachful firmness: "I can't believe it of Sally! Why shouldn't she
tell one of us. To stand up and be married all alone!"

Her father took the news exactly as might have been expected. While
there was hope of convicting Martie or Lydia of complicity, he
questioned them sharply and sternly. When this was gone, he swiftly
worked himself into such a passion as his children h