easantly scented with the odour of a good cigar.

Judge Parker, a genial man looking more than his fifty-five years, sat
alone, smoking this cigar, and Martie, greeting him prettily, was
relieved to find that she must not at once face the ladies of the
house. Rather uncertainly she took off her hat, but did not remove the
becoming blue sweater. She sat erect in a low, comfortable armchair
whose inviting curves made her rigid attitude unnatural and difficult,
and talked to the Judge. The old man liked all fresh young girls, and
laughing with her, he vaguely wondered in his hospitable heart why
Monroe's girls were not more often at the house.

Ida and May, tall, colourless young women, presently came down. They
noticed Martie's shoe-lacings and the frill of muddy petticoat, the
ungloved hands and the absurdity of her having removed her hat, and
told Rodney about these things later. At the time they only made her
uncomfortable in quiet little feminine ways; not hearing her when she
spoke, asking her questions whose answers must surely embarrass her.

Tea came in. Martie smiled at Carrie David, who brought it. She liked
Carrie, who was the Hawkes' cousin, but did not quite think she should
speak to her here. Carrie, who was a big, gray-haired woman of fifty,
was in the room only a moment after all.

Judge Parker, amiably under the impression that young people were
happier alone, went away to walk down Main Street, glancing at the sky
and greeting his townspeople in his usual genial fashion. May poured
the tea, holding Rodney in conversation the while. Ida talked to Martie
in a vivacious, smiling, insincere way, difficult to follow.

Martie listened sympathetically, more than half believing in the bright
picture of social triumphs and San Francisco admirers that was
presented her, even though she knew that Ida was twenty-six, and had
never had a Monroe admirer. Dr. Ben had once had a passing fancy for
May's company; May was older than Ida, and, though like her physically,
was warmer and more human in type. But even this had never been a
recognized affair; it had died in infancy, and the Parker girls were
beginning to be called old maids.

Rodney walked with Martie to the gate when she left, but no farther,
and as she went on her way, uncomfortable thoughts were uppermost in
her mind. Martie had never driven with a young man before, and so had
no precedent to guide her, but she wondered if Rodney should not have
gone wi