houghts that were darkening her blue eyes. He sat in the big chair
opposite Malcolm's, and they talked about real estate, and about the
various business ventures of the village. At nine o'clock Malcolm went
stiffly upstairs, attended by Lydia, and then Martie took her father's
seat, and Clifford hitched his chair nearer.

He would ask her what she was sewing, and sometimes she laughed,
spreading the ruffle of a petticoat over her knee, and refused to
consider his questions. They talked of little things pertaining to
their engagement: Martie was sure somebody suspected it, Clifford had
been thinking of the Yellowstone for a wedding trip, and had brought
folders to study. Rarely they touched upon politics, or upon the
questions of the day.

His opinions were already stiff-jointed, those of an elderly man. He
did not believe in all this prohibition agitation, he believed that a
gentleman always knew where to stop in the matter of wine. What right
had a few temperance fanatics to vote that seven hundred acres of his,
Clifford Frost's property, should be made valueless because they
happened to be planted to grapes?

He disapproved of this agitation concerning the social evil. There had
always been women in that life, and there always would be. They were in
it because they liked it. They didn't have to choose it. Why didn't
they go into somebody's kitchen, and save money, and have good homes,
if they wanted to? He told Martie a little story that he thought was
funny of one of these women. It was the sort of story that a man might
tell the widow who was to be his wife. It made Martie want to cry.

She had always felt herself too ignorant to form an opinion of these
things. But she found herself rapidly forming opinions now, and they
were not Clifford's opinions.

Three days after his departure, Dean Silver wrote her briefly. John was
"taking it very quietly, but didn't seem to know just what had
happened." He, Dean, hoped to get the younger man safely on board the
vessel before this mood broke. He had therefore engaged passage on the
Nippon Maru, for Thursday, four days ahead. They were all in San
Francisco, Mrs. Silver and the little girl had come down with them, and
John was interested in the steamer, and seemed perfectly docile. He
never mentioned Martie.

This letter threw her into an agony of indecision. There were a few
moments when she planned to go down to the city herself, and see
him--hear him again. Just a fe