Martie The Unconquered | Page 8

a straw hat on one side of his head. Such a phenomenon was
almost unknown in the streets of Monroe, and keenly conscious of his
presence, and instantly curious as to his identity, the girls could not
pass him without a provocative glance. "Stunning!" said each girl in her
heart. "Who on earth--?"

Suddenly he blocked their way.
"Hello, Sally! Hello, Martie! Too proud to speak to old friends?"
"Why--it's Rodney Parker!" Martie said in her rich young voice. "Hello,
Rodney!"
All four shook hands and laughed joyously. To Rodney the
circumstance, at the opening of his dull return home, was welcome; to
the girls, nothing short of delight. He was so handsome, so friendly,
and in the four years he had been at Stanford University and the
summers he had spent in hunting expeditions or in eastern visits to his
aunt in New York, he had changed only to improve!
Even in this first informal greeting it was Martie to whom he devoted
his special attention. Sally was usually considered the prettier of the
two, but Martie was lovely to-night. Rodney turned with them, and they
walked to the bridge together. Sally and Grace ahead.
The wind had fallen with the day, the air was mild and warm, and in
the twilight even Monroe had its charm. Flowers were blooming in
many dooryards, yellow light streamed hospitably across the gravelled
paths, and in the early darkness women were waiting in porches or by
gates, and whirling hoses over the lawns were drawing all the dark,
hidden perfumes into the damp night air.
"You've not changed much, Martie--except putting up your hair. I mean
it as a compliment!" said Rodney, eagerly, in his ready, boyish voice.
"You've changed a good deal; and I mean that as a compliment, too!"
Martie returned, with her deep laugh.
His own broke out in answer. He thought her delightful. The creamy
skin, the burnished hair that was fanned into an aureole under her
shabby hat, the generous figure with its young curves, had helped to
bring about in Rodney Parker a sweet, irrational surrender of reason.
He had never been a reasonable boy. He knew, of course, that Martie
Monroe was not in his sisters' set, although she was a perfectly NICE

girl, and to be respected. Martie was neither one thing nor the other.
With Grace, indeed, who was frankly beneath the Parkers' notice, he
might have had almost any sort of affair; even one of those affairs of
which May and Ida must properly seem unaware. He might have flirted
with Grace, have taken her about and given her presents, in absolute
safety. Grace would have guessed him to be only amusing himself, and
even confident Rodney, his mother's favourite and baby, would never
have attempted to bring Grace Hawkes home as his sisters' equal.
But with Martie there was a great difference. The Monroes had been
going down slowly but steadily in the social scale, yet they were
Monroes, after all. Lydia Monroe had been almost engaged to Clifford
Frost, years ago, and still, at all public affairs, the Monroes, the Parkers,
and the Frosts met as old friends and equals. Indeed, the Parker girls
and Florence Frost had been known to ask the girls' only brother,
Leonard Monroe, to their parties, young as he was, men being very
scarce in Monroe, and Leonard, although his sisters were not asked,
had gone.
So that when Rodney Parker stopped Martie Monroe on the way home,
and fell to flattering and teasing her, and walked beside her to the
bridge, he quite innocently plunged himself into social hot water, and
laid a disturbing touch upon the smooth surface of the girl's life.
They talked of trivialities, laughing much. Rodney asked her if she
remembered the dreadful day when they had been sent up to apologize
to the French teacher, and Martie said, "Mais oui.'" and thrilled at the
little intimate memory of disgrace shared.
"And are you still such a little devil, Martie?" he asked, bringing his
head close to hers.
"That I'll leave you to find out, Rod!" she said laughingly.
"Well--that's one of the things I'm back here to find out!" he answered
gaily.
Yes, he was back to stay; he was to go into the Bank. He confidently

expected to die of the shock and Martie must help him bear it. Martie
promised to open an account. His Dad might let him have a car, if he
behaved himself; did Martie like automobiles? Martie knew very little
about them, but was sure she could honk the horn. Very well; Martie
should come along and honk the horn.
How did they come to be talking of dancing? Martie could not
afterward remember. Rodney had a visit promised from a college friend,
and wondered rather