d it so indifferently.

Even when the editor's brief, pleasant note was in her hand, three
weeks later, and when she had banked the check for thirty-five dollars,
Martie was not particularly thrilled. It was so small a drop in the
ocean of magazine reading--it was so short a step toward independence!
She told Miss Fanny and Sally about it, and for a month or two watched
the magazine for it. Then she forgot it.

CHAPTER IV

She forgot it for a new dream. For long before the tangled negotiations
that surrounded the sale of the old Monroe place were completed,
Martie's thoughts were absorbed by a new and tremendous consideration:
Clifford Frost was paying her noticeable attention.

Monroe saw this, of course, before she did. Without realizing it,
Martie still kept a social gulf between herself and the Frost and
Parker families. They were the richest and most prominent people in the
village, she was just one of the Monroe girls. She was too busy, and
too little given to thought of herself, to waste time on speculations
of this nature.

More than that, Lydia's deep resentment of the sale of the old home
gave Martie food for thoughts of another nature. Lydia never let the
subject rest for an instant. She came to the table red-eyed and
sniffing. It was no use to plant sweet-peas this year, it was no use to
prune the roses. Whether Lydia was sitting rocking on the side porch
silently, through the spring twilight, or impatiently flinging a
setting hen off the nest, with muttered observations concerning the
senseless scattering of the Monroe family before that setting of eggs
could be hatched, Martie felt her deep and angry disapproval.

It was several weeks, and April had clothed Monroe in buttercups and
new grass, before Martie became aware that the name of Clifford Frost
was frequently associated with Lydia's long protests.

"I suppose it's the new way of doing things," she heard her sister
saying one day. "Delicacy--! They don't know what it is nowadays. Do as
you like--run into a man's office--meet him on the steps after
church--!"

Martie felt a sudden prick. She had indeed gone more than once to
Clifford's office, and last Sunday she had indeed chanced to meet him
after church--!

"Tear away old associations!" Lydia was continuing darkly.
"Slash--chop--nothing matters! I know I am old-fashioned," she added,
with a sort of violent scorn. "But I declare it makes me laugh to
remember how dignified _I_ was-