e day--

Meanwhile, once more she must wait. A woman's life was largely waiting.
She had waited on Rodney's young pleasure, years ago; waited for
Wallace, at rehearsals, or at night; waited for news of Golda; waited
for Teddy; and for Wallace again and again; waited for Pa's letter and
the check. Patience, Martie said to her eager heart.

Bright, sisterly, Rose presently came into the office, to put a plump
little arm about Martie, and give her a laughing kiss. Rose had
discovered that Martie was at home again, and wanted her to come to
dinner.

It was one of many little signs of the impending event. Martie had not
been blind to the whispering and watching all about her. Fanny had
subtly altered her attitude, even Sally was changed. Now came Rose, to
prove that the matter was reaching a point where it must be taken
seriously.

Martie went to the dinner, a little ashamed of herself for doing so.
Rose had ignored her for more than a year. But just now she could not
afford to ignore Rose.

She was ashamed of Lydia's innocent pride in the invitation. Sally,
too, who came to the old house to watch Martie dress, had the old
attitude. There was an unexpressed feeling in the air that Martie was
stepping up, and stepping away from them. The younger sister, in her
filmy black, with her bright hair severely banded, and her quiet
self-possession, had some element in her that they were content to lack.

Lydia's red, clean little hands were still faintly odorous of chopped
onion, as she moved them from hook to hook. Sally wore an old plaid
coat that hung open and showed her shabby little serge gown. The very
room, where these girls had struggled with so many inadequate garments,
where they had pressed and pieced and turned a hundred gowns, spoke to
Martie of her own hungry girlhood.

A motor horn sounded outside. Rodney had come for her. He came in, in
his big coat, and shook hands with Sally and Lydia. His eyes were on
Martie as she slipped a black cloak over her floating draperies, and
the fresh white of throat and arms.

"What have you done to make yourself so pretty?" he asked gallantly,
when they were in the car.

"Am I pretty?" she asked directly, in a pleased tone.

It was a tone she could not use with Rodney. She was astonished to have
him fling his arm lightly about her shoulders for a minute.

"Just as pretty as when you broke my heart eight years ago!" he said
cheerfully. Martie was too much surprised to answ