"Why, with the folding doors open, and fires in both grates, they would be perfectly stunning!" Martie spoke rapidly, her colour rising, her blue eyes glittering like stars. "Of course, the back room isn't furnished, but we could scatter some chairs around in there; we'll need all the room for dancing, anyway!" "We couldn't dance on this carpet," Sally submitted, perplexed, as she glanced at the parlour's worn floor-covering. "No, but we could in the back room--that floor's bare--and in the hall," Martie answered readily. "You see it's the first of a sort of set of dances; the next would be at the Frosts' or the Barkers', and it would mean that we were right in things--" "Oh, it would be lovely if we could do it!" Sally agreed with a sigh. "Play the Queen on here, Martie, and then you'll have a space." "Do you propose to play that game much longer, girls?" their father asked, looking patiently over his book. "Are we disturbing you, Pa?" Martie countered politely. "Well--but don't stop on my account. Of course the sound of cards and voices isn't exactly soothing. However, go on with your game--go on with your game! If I can't stand it, I'll go back to the library." "Oh, no, Pa, it's too cold in there; this is the time of year you always get that cold in your nose," Mrs. Monroe said pleadingly. "I was going right up, anyway," Sally said with an apologetic air and a glance toward the door. "I'll go, too!" Martie jumbled the cards together, and rose. "It's nearly ten, anyway." A moment later she and Sally went out of the room together. But while Sally went straight upstairs, to light the bedroom gas, fold up the counterpane, and otherwise play the part of the good sister she was, Martie noiselessly opened the side door and stepped out for a breath of the sweet autumn night. There was a spectacularly bright moon, somewhere; Martie could not see it, but beyond the sunken garden she caught glimpses of silvery brightness on the roofs of Monroe. Even here, under the dark trees, pools of light had formed and the heavy foliage was shot with shafts of radiance. A strong wind was clicking the eucalyptus leaves together, and carrying bits of rubbish here and there about the yard. Martie could hear voices, the barking of dogs, and the whine of the ten o'clock trolley, down in the village. The gate slammed. Leonard came in. "Pa tell you to watch for me?" he asked fearfully. "No." Martie, sitting on the top step and hugging her knees, answered indifferently. "It's not ten yet. What you been doing?" "Oh, nothing!" Len passed her and went in.