ha-ha!" and Mabel hammering her heels madly together and sobbing
put faintly that she should die--she should simply DIE!

Martie almost missed the five o'clock trolley, but Wallace pushed her
upon the moving platform at the last possible moment, and she laughed
and gasped blindly half the way home, accepting his help with her
disordered hair and hat. When she finally raised her face, and somewhat
shamefacedly eyed the one or two other occupants of the car, she saw
Rose sitting opposite, a neat and interested Rose in her trousseau
tailor-made.

Uncomfortable, Martie bowed, and Rose responded sweetly, presently
patting the seat beside her with an inviting glove. Somewhat surprised
at this unexpected graciousness, Martie and her escort crossed the car.

"No, MRS.--not Miss!" Rose contradicted Wallace merrily, looking up at
him prettily. "I know I'm not very imposing, but I'm a really truly old
married lady!"

"This is Mrs. Rodney Parker, Wallace," Martie said. Instantly she was
pleasantly conscious that her easy use of this actor's name was a
surprise to Rose, and for the first time a definite pride in possession
seized her. He might not be perfection, but he was hers.

"Is that so!" Wallace exclaimed, with new interest in eyes and voice.
"Gosh--what fun we had that night! 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----"

But Wallace, amused by the discussion that had arisen between the
conductor and a Chinese who was getting on the car, interrupted
abruptly to call Martie's attention to the affair, and Rose's
reminiscence was lost. She said, with her good-byes, that Mr. Bannister
must come and dine with them.

"Gosh, I see myself!" ejaculated Wallace ungratefully, as he walked
with Martie to the gate. "I never could stand that ass Parker!"

"Don't you think she's very pretty, Wallace?"

"Oh, I don't know! I don't care much for those dolly women. I like red
hair and big women, myself. Listen, Martie. To-morrow----"

No more was said of Rose. Martie wondered why she liked to hear Rodney
Parker called an ass.

Malcolm Monroe came home for luncheon every day except Wednesday, which
made Wednesday for the women of the fami