. Len had no bank account, nor had Mama nor Lydia. All Martie's
dreams of the future began, included, or ended on the expenditure of
this sum. It bought text books, wedding veils, railway tickets in turn.
Now she thought that if she saved another dollar, and went into the
Bank duly to deposit it, Rodney must see her, might even wait upon her;
it would be a perfectly legitimate way of crossing his line of vision.

The Monroes had plenty of spending money; for although their father was
strongly opposed to the idea of making any child of his a definite
allowance, he allowed them to keep the change whenever they executed
small commissions for him, and to wheedle from him stray quarter and
half dollars. Lydia had only to watch for the favourable moment to get
whatever she asked, and with Leonard he was especially generous. Martie
knew that she could save, if she determined to do so. She imagined
Rodney's voice: "Bringing more money in? You'll soon be rich at this
rate, Martie!"

CHAPTER III

A few days later Rodney Parker walked home from the village with Martie
Monroe again. Meeting her in Bonestell's, he paid for her chocolate
sundae, and on their way up Main Street they stopped in the Library, so
that Miss Fanny saw them. Every one saw them: first of all generous
little Sally, who was to meet Martie in Bonestell's, but who,
perceiving that Rodney had joined her there, slipped away unseen, and,
blindly turning over the ribbons on Mason's remnant counter, prayed
with all her heart that Rodney would continue to fill her place.

They walked up Main Street, Martie glancing up from under her shabby
hat with happy blue eyes, Rodney sauntering contentedly at her side.

How much he knew, how much he had done, the girl thought, with an ache
of hopeless admiration. Almost every sentence opened a new vista of his
experience and her ignorance. She did not suspect that he meant it to
be so; she only felt dazzled by the easy, glancing references he made
to men and books and places.

They stopped at the railroad track to watch the eastward-bound train
thunder by. Five hours out of San Francisco, its passengers looked
quite at home in the big green upholstered seats. Bored women looked
idly out upon little Monroe, half-closed magazines in their hands.
Card-playing men did not glance up as the village flashed by. On the
platform of the observation car the usual well-wrapped girl and
pipe-smoking young man were carrying on the