her girl!"
Then her lip trembled, and to the older sister's consternation she
began to cry, with her shining head laid on her arms. "I don't know
w-w-what to do, Sally!" she sobbed. "I don't know what is right! I know
I'm desperately tired of worrying and fretting and being criticised! I
don't see why it should be my life that is always being upset and
disorganized, while other women go on placidly having children and
giving dinners!"

"Perhaps because you are so different from other? women?" Sally
suggested, somewhat timidly. She was not sure that Martie would like
this.

But Martie gave her a grateful glance, and immediately dried her eyes
with a brisk evidence of returning self-control.

"Well!" she said sensibly. "It is that way, anyhow, and I have to make
the best of it. I married foolishly, in some ways, and I paid the
price--nobody knows what it was! Then I came back here, and had really
worked out a happy life for myself, when Cliff came along, and no
sooner was I adjusted to Cliff--to the thought of marriage again, when
John upset it all!"

"The happiness of the woman who marries Cliff ought to be pretty safe,"
offered Sally.

"Yes, I know it. But Sally," Martie said, looking at her sister
questioningly, "sometimes I feel that I don't dare risk it! I can't
marry John, but I can't seem to--to let him go, either. I know what
madness that visit was, and yet--and yet every minute that we were
together was like--I don't know--like swimming in a sea of gold! I
didn't know what I wore or ate in those days! Pa and Lyd--other people
didn't seem to exist! I never believed before that any one could feel
as strange--as bewildered and excited and happy--as I did then. It was
like being hungry and satisfied at the same time. It was just like
being under a spell! His voice, Sally, and the way he speaks of men and
books--so surely, and yet in that boyish way--and his hands, and the
way he smiles through his lashes--I can't forget one instant of it! We
got breakfast together; I can't go into the kitchen now without
remembering it, and longing to have him there again, whipping eggs and
hunting about for the butter, while all the time we were laughing and
talking so wonderfully! It's that--loving that way, that makes life
worth while, Sally. Nothing else counts! Nothing that we did together
seemed insignificant, and nothing that I do without him is worth
while--I can't--can't--can't let him go!"

Sally was frightened as