an ugly smile touching his harsh mouth.

"You don't deny it," he said, after the interval, in a shaking voice.
"You don't deny that you've been disobeying me and lying to me for
weeks? Now I tell you, my girl--there's been enough of this sort of
thing going on in this family. You couldn't get the man you wanted, so,
like your sister, you pick up----"

Martie laughed briefly and bitterly. The sound seemed to madden him.
For a moment he watched her, his head dropped forward like a menacing
animal.

"Understand me, Martie," he said. "I'll break that spirit in you--if it
takes the rest of my life! You'll laugh in a different way! My God--am
I to be the laughing-stock of this entire town? Is a girl your age
to----"

"Pa!" sobbed Mrs. Monroe. "Do what you think best, but don't--DON'T
excite yourself so!"

Her clutching fingers on his arm seemed to soothe in through all his
fury. He fell silent, still panting, and eying Martie belligerently.

"You--go to your room!" he commanded, pointing a shaking finger at her.
"Go upstairs with your sister, Lydia, and bring me the key of her door.
When I decide upon the measure that will bring this young lady quickest
to her senses, I'll let her know. Meanwhile----"

"Oh, Pa, you needn't lock Martie in," quivered Lydia, "she'll
stay--won't you, Martie?"

Martie, like a young animal at bay, stood facing them all for a
breathless moment. In that time the child that had been in her, through
all these years of slow development, died. Anger went out of her eyes,
and an infinite sadness filled them. A quick tremble of her lips and a
flutter at her nostrils were the only signs she gave of the tears she
felt rising. She flung one arm about her mother and kissed the wet,
faded cheek.

"Good-bye, Ma," she said quickly. In another instant she had crossed to
the entrance hall, blindly snatched an old soft felt hat from the rack,
caught up Len's overcoat, and slipped into it, and was gone. Born in
that moment of unreasoning terror, her free soul went with her.

The streets were flooded with hot summer sunshine, the sky almost
white. Not a breeze stirred the thick foliage of the elm trees on Main
Street as Martie walked quickly down to the Bank.

It was Rodney Parker who gave her her money; the original seventeen
dollars and fifty cents had swelled to almost twenty-two dollars now.
Martie hardly saw the gallant youth who congratulated her upon her
becoming gipsy hat; mechanically she slippe