who was frankly beneath the Parkers' notice, he
might have had almost any sort of affair; even one of those affairs of
which May and Ida must properly seem unaware. He might have flirted
with Grace, have taken her about and given her presents, in absolute
safety. Grace would have guessed him to be only amusing himself, and
even confident Rodney, his mother's favourite and baby, would never
have attempted to bring Grace Hawkes home as his sisters' equal.

But with Martie there was a great difference. The Monroes had been
going down slowly but steadily in the social scale, yet they were
Monroes, after all. Lydia Monroe had been almost engaged to Clifford
Frost, years ago, and still, at all public affairs, the Monroes, the
Parkers, and the Frosts met as old friends and equals. Indeed, the
Parker girls and Florence Frost had been known to ask the girls' only
brother, Leonard Monroe, to their parties, young as he was, men being
very scarce in Monroe, and Leonard, although his sisters were not
asked, had gone.

So that when Rodney Parker stopped Martie Monroe on the way home, and
fell to flattering and teasing her, and walked beside her to the
bridge, he quite innocently plunged himself into social hot water, and
laid a disturbing touch upon the smooth surface of the girl's life.

They talked of trivialities, laughing much. Rodney asked her if she
remembered the dreadful day when they had been sent up to apologize to
the French teacher, and Martie said, "Mais oui!" and thrilled at the
little intimate memory of disgrace shared.

"And are you still such a little devil, Martie?" he asked, bringing his
head close to hers.

"That I'll leave you to find out, Rod!" she said laughingly.

"Well--that's one of the things I'm back here to find out!" he answered
gaily.

Yes, he was back to stay; he was to go into the Bank. He confidently
expected to die of the shock and Martie must help him bear it. Martie
promised to open an account. His Dad might let him have a car, if he
behaved himself; did Martie like automobiles? Martie knew very little
about them, but was sure she could honk the horn. Very well; Martie
should come along and honk the horn.

How did they come to be talking of dancing? Martie could not afterward
remember. Rodney had a visit promised from a college friend, and
wondered rather disconsolately what might be arranged to amuse him.
Fortnightly dances--that was the thing; they ought to have Friday
Fortnightlies.