as when she and Wallace wandered out into
the sunshine together for breakfast.

Presently she slipped away to take the bath that was a part of her
morning routine now, and to wake Wallace. With his tumbled hair, his
flushed face and his pale blue pajama jacket open at the throat Martie
thought him no more than a delightful, drowsy boy. She sat on the edge
of the bed beside him, teasing him to open his eyes.

"Ah--you darling!" Wallace was not too sleepy to appreciate her cool,
fresh kisses. "Oh, Lord, I'm a wreck! What time is it?"

"Nearly ten. You've had ten hours' sleep, darling. I don't know what
you WANT!" Martie answered--at the bureau now, with the glory of her
hair falling about her.

While they dressed they talked; delicious irrelevant chatter punctuated
with laughter and kisses. The new stock company was a success, and
Wallace working hard and happily. At ten the young Bannisters went
forth in search of breakfast, the best meal of the day.

Martie loved the city: Market Street, Kearney Street, Union Square. She
loved the fresh breath of the morning in her face. She always had her
choice of flowers at the curb market about Lotta's fountain, pinning a
nodding bunch of roses, Shasta daisies, pansies, or carnations at the
belt of her white shirtwaists. They went to the Vienna Bakery or to
Swain's for their leisurely meal, unless Wallace was hungry enough to
beg for the Poodle Dog, or they felt rich enough for the Palace. Now
and then they walked out of the familiar neighbourhood and tried a
strange restaurant or hotel--but not often.

Usually Martie had Swain's famous toasted muffins for her breakfast,
daintily playing with coffee and fruit while Wallace disposed of
cereal, eggs and ham, and fried potatoes. She used to marvel that he
never grew fat on this hearty fare; sometimes he had sharp touches of
indigestion.

Over their meal they talked untiringly, marvelling anew at the miracle
of their finding each other. Martie learned her husband's nature as if
it had been a book. Sensitive here--evasive there; a little coarse,
perhaps, a little simple. However surprising his differences it was for
her to adapt herself. She was almost glad when his unconscious demands
required of her the smallest sacrifice; getting so much, how glad she
was to give!

After breakfast, when Wallace was not rehearsing and they were free to
amuse themselves, they prowled through the Chinese quarter, and through
the Italian colony.