d diff'rent.

"Stay in the same house with that man?" says she. "Not I! And I am quite
sure he will not want either of us around when he comes back here as
Zenobia's husband."

"If that's the case," says I, "it won't take me long to clear out; but I
guess I'll wait until I get the hint direct. You'd better wait too."

Martha'd made up her mind, though. She says she'd go right then if it
wa'n't for leavin' the servants alone in the house; but the very minute
Sister Zenobia arrives she means to beat it. And sure enough next day
she has her trunk brought down into the front hall and begins wearin'
her bonnet around the house. It's a little weird to see her pokin' about
dressed that way, and her wraps and rubbers laid out handy, as if she
belonged to a volunteer hose comp'ny.

It was after the second day of this watchful waitin', and we're sittin'
down to a six-forty-five dinner, when a big racket breaks loose out
front. The bell rings four times rapid, Lizzie the maid almost breaks
her neck gettin' to the door, and in breezes the runaway pair with all
their baggage, chucklin' and chatterin' like a couple of kids. Some
stunnin' Aunt Zenobia looks, for all her gray hair; and Mr. Ballard, in
his Scotch tweed suit and with his ruddy cheeks, don't look a day over
fifty. They're giggling merry over some remark of Lizzie's, and Zenobia
calls in through the draperies.

"Hello, Martha--Torchy--everybody!" she sings out. "Well, here we are,
back from that absurd boardwalk resort, back to--well, for the love of
ladies! Martha Hadley, why in the name of nonsense are you eating dinner
with your hat on?"

"Because," says Martha, beginnin' to sniffle, "I--I'm going away."

"But where? Why?" demands Zenobia.

And between sobs Martha explains. She includes me in it too.

"Then why aren't you wearing your hat also, Torchy?" asks Zenobia.

"Well," says I, "I ain't so sure about quittin' as she is. I thought I'd
stick around until I got the word to move."

"Which you're not at all likely to get, young man," says Zenobia. "And
as for you, Martha, you should have better sense. Trapsing off to a
hotel, at your time of life! Rubbish! And why, please?"

Aunt Martha nods towards Ballard.

"Well, you're just going to get over that nonsense," says Zenobia.
"Kyrle, you know what you promised when you told me you'd make up with
Martha? Now is the appointed time. Do it!"

And Mr. Ballard, chuckin' his hat and overcoat on a chair, sails r