ay
himself open to yet another of her laughing snubs.

So he shook his head again. "I dunno," he said. "It's like that. It's
something that can't be explained."

She sat on the arm of the chair with her hands round a knee. A little
of her pink ankle showed. The pipe that she had dropped when his voice
had come up from the street lay on the floor.

His answer had disappointed her; she didn't quite know why. The old
Marty would have been franker and more spontaneous. The old Marty might
have made her laugh with his boyish ingenuousness, but he would have
warmed her and made her feel delightfully vain. Could it be that she
was responsible for this new Marty? Was Alice too terribly right when
she had talked about armor turning into broadcloth because of her
selfish desire to remain a kid a little longer? She was afraid to ask
him where he was when he had felt that she wanted him, and she hated
herself for that.

There was a short silence.

These two young things had lost the complete confidence that had been
theirs before they had come to that great town. What a pity!

"Well," he asked, standing straight like a man ready to take orders,
"why did you call?"

And then an overwhelming shyness seized her. It had seemed easy enough
in thought to tell Martin that she was ready to cross the bridge and
be, as Alice had called it, honest, and as Gilbert had said, to play
the game. But it was far from easy when he stood in the middle of the
room in the glare of the light, with something all about him that froze
her words and made her self-conscious and timid. And yet a clear,
unmistakable voice urged her to have courage and make her confession,
say that she was sorry for having been a feather-brained little fool
and ask him to forgive--to win him back, if--if she hadn't already lost
him.

But she blundered into an answer and spoke flippantly from nervousness.
"Because it's rather soon to become a grass widow, and I want you to be
seen with me somewhere to-morrow."

That was all, then. She was only amusing herself. It was a case of
"Horse, horse, play with me!"--the other horses being otherwise
occupied. She wasn't serious. He needn't have come. "I can't," he said.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going out of town."

She saw him look at the clock on the mantelshelf and crinkle up his
forehead. Day must be stretching itself somewhere. She got up, quickly.
How could she say it? She was losing him.

"Are you angry with me, Marty?" she