coming back: he must not find her here. She
must disappear, nobody must ever find her. Sally and her father, Rose
and Rodney must never know! Martie Monroe, married to a man who was
married before, disgraced, exiled, lost. Nobody knew that she was going
to have a baby, but Monroe would surmise that.

Oh, fool--fool--fool that she had been to marry him so! But it was too
late for that. She must face the situation now, and fret over the past
some other day.

She had felt the thought of a return to Monroe intolerable: but quickly
she changed her mind. Sally's home might be an immediate retreat, she
could rest there, and plan there. Her sister was eagerly awaiting an
answer to the letter in which she begged Martie to come to her for the
month of the baby's birth.

Martie, packing frantically, glanced at the clock. It was two o'clock
now, she could get the four o'clock boat. She would be in peaceful
Monroe at seven. And after that----?

After that she did not know. Should she ever return to Wallace, under
any circumstances? Should she tell Sally? Should she hide both
Wallace's revelations and the morning's earlier hopes of motherhood?

Child that she was, she could not decide. She had had no preparation
for these crises, she was sick with shock and terror. Married to a man
who was already married--and perhaps to have a baby!

But she never faltered in her instant determination to leave him. If
she was not his wife, at least she could face the unknown future far
more bravely than the dubious present. If she had been wrong, she would
not add more wrong.

With her bag packed, and her hat pinned on, she paused, and looked
about the room. The window curtain flapped uncertainly, a gritty wind
blew straight down Geary Street. The bed was unmade, the sweet orange
peels still scented the air.

Martie suddenly flung her gloves aside, and knelt down beside her bed.
She had an impulse to make her last act in this room a prayer.

Wallace, pale and quiet, opened the door, and as she rose from her
knees their eyes met. In a second they were in each other's arms, and
Martie was sobbing on his shoulder.

"Mart--my darling little girl! I'm so sorry!"

"I know you are--I know you are!"

"It's only for a few days, dearie--until I settle her once and for all!"

"That's all!"

"And then you'll come back, and we'll go have Spanish omelette at the
Poodle Dog, won't we?"

"Oh, Wallie, darling, I hope--I hope we will!"

She gaspe