fe. And her life partner was no mere Monroe youth, and her home was not merely one of the old, famili

er cheek, a slow smile tug at her lips, when she thought of it. She told Wallace, in her simple childish way, that she had never really expected to

n any woman's experience. A girl was admired, was desired, and was married, if she was, humanly speaking, a

nd fifty are as long as the years between ten and thirty, never occurred to her. With the long, dull drag of her mother's life before her eyes, she never had thought that Rose's life, that Sally's life, as married

the world had not stopped moving and commenced again. The persons she met called her "Mrs. Bannister" with no visibl

e infection that swelled and inflamed her chin, the quarter of a dollar her Chinese laundryman swore he had never received. It was always tremendously thrilling to have Wallace give her money: delightful gold pieces such as even her mother seldom handled. She felt a naive resentment that so many of them had to be sp

had been answered in the affirmative. But-but the future was vague and unsettled still. Even married

r fifty years, as the span of their lives might decree, came home appreciatively to delicious dinners, escorted their wives proudly to dinner or the

ming quietly into the sitting room that connected her bedroom with

serious baby in her arms. "Honest, it's enough to kill a girl, playing every night and Sunday, and tryin

ed Martie, reaching lazily for manicure scissors and beginning to clip

can take care of themselves very quick. Look at Dette-goodness knows where she's been ever since she got up. She must

And as Leroy finished his meal she put out her arms. "Com

e one, Mart," said

der, her blue eyes soft with happiness, and her full figure only slightly disguised by the

in the little space between Leroy's fluffy crown

hey cert'ny do tie you down. Dette was

to keep up, I'd like a doz

f course, you can't be sure. My idea is to plunge in and

ing of wifehood and motherhood, except the one fact that the matter of chil

wo women murmured together. Outside the lace-curtained windows busy Geary Street had long been astir. Wagons

not been so blissful the young wife would have said that the happiest time of the

ith his tumbled hair, his flushed face and his pale blue pajama jacket open at the throat Martie thought him n

epy to appreciate her cool, fresh kisses.

don't know what you WANT!" Martie answered-at the bur

nd kisses. The new stock company was a success, and Wallace working hard and happily. A

in, 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 Wallac

ee and fruit while Wallace disposed of cereal, eggs and ham, and fried potatoes. She used to ma

had been a book. Sensitive here-evasive there; a little coarse, perhaps, a little simple. However surprising his differences it was for her to

" out to the beach, and went scattering peanut shells along the wet sands. They visited the Park, the Mint, and the big baths, or crossed to Oakland or Sausalito, where Martie learned to swi

On other days, rehearsals began at eleven and ended at three or occasionally as late as fo

elling of escaping gas and damp straw, of unaired rooms and plumbing and fresh paint, were perfumed with romance to her, as were the little dressing rooms with old photographs stuck in the loose

e play. The man over her head, busy with his lights; the one or two shirt-sleeved, elderly men who invariably stood dispassionately watching the

me time!" said Maybelle La Rue, who was Mabel Cluett in private

ctors, leaving the play at different moments, quietly got into their street clothes and disappeared; so that Mabel and Wallace, usually holding the stage for the last few moments by reason of their respective parts of maid and lover, often left a theatre empty of performers except for themselves.

Mabel tired and sleepy, and both gentlemen somewhat subject to indigestion. So Martie and Wallace more often went alon

oo much. She had always fancied herself too broad-minded to resent this in the usua

three other members of the cast, they went to dine at the Cliff House, preceding the dinner with several cocktails apiece. There was a long wait for

's half-comprehending embarrassment. The men, far from seemin

ocktails!" Jesse said. Ma

til we've had some solid food, anyway.

as he spoke he wet his lips with his tongue. "Whatever you say, darling," he said earnestly.

rink any more," Mart

ingly. He put his arm about her shoulders, breathing hotly in

h an uncomfortable glance about fo

ngly, "do you think I

ou have had enough, W

as col' sober--" And, a fresh reinforcement of cocktails having arrived, he d

he food was wasted and wrecked. Wallace's face grew hotter and hotter. Jesse became sodden and slee

than once in the last few weeks. Even now, this was not the only group that had dined less wisely than well. But th

car. Two nice, quiet women on the opposite seat watched the group in shocked disgust; Martie felt that she would never hold up her head again. Wallace fell when they go

nscious form on the bed. She could hear Mabel and Jesse laughing and quarrelling in the room adjoining. Presently Mabel came in for the

looked flushed and excited still, but was otherwise herself. "He certainly was lit up like a ba

shamed of herself, and this airy expression of what should hav

yawn, "and I suppose it's better to have their wive

'T do it!" Martie

ed amiably. She carried the baby away, and Martie

Martie had intended to do some serious

e her husband, and went to sleep

t was streaming into their large, shabby bedroom, cable cars were rattling by, fog whistles from the bay penetr

me last night, Mart,"

ned from her mirror, regarding him steadil

ng not to rub it in

said in a hurt voice, "if I

pressed his hands

was the last!" he said

it beside him, "I hope you mean that!"

The little cloud, in vanishing, had left the sky clearer than before. But some li

ibly that the entire jaded company and the director enjoyed a refreshing laugh. At the costumier's, in a fascinating welter of tarnished and shabby garments, she selected a suitable dress, and Wallace coached her, made up her face, and prompted her with

f; in one way even more satisfactory, because she was too busy now to be interrupted. She spent the first money she had ever earned in sending S

y and everything about her she learned: a few German phrases from the rheumatic old man whose wife kept the lodging house; Juliet's lines and the lines of Lady Macbeth from Mabel's shabby books; and something of millinery from the little Irishwoman who kept a shop on the corner, with "Elise" written across its window. She learned all of Wallace's parts, and usually Mabel's as well. Often she went to the piano in the musty parlour of the Geary Stree

enerously and supremely was the only natural thing; she had no dread and no regret. From the old life she brought to this hour only an instinctive reticence, so that Mabel