And Sally knew nothing of it. A sudden lonely blankness fell upon Martie's soul; it mattered nothing to Lydia and Rose and Sally that John Dryden loved her. It mattered more than life to her. What use to talk of it? How flat the words would seem for that memory of everything high and splendid. Yet she felt the need of speech. She must talk of him to some one, now when it was too late: when he was out on the ocean: when she was perhaps never to see him again. "Sis," she said, setting the filled plate in the centre of the table, "do you specially remember him?" Sally had chanced to come to the old home for just a minute on the morning of her talk with John in the garden. Sally nodded now alertly. "Certainly I do! He seemed a dear," she said cordially. "I wish they had not come!" Martie said sombrely. "You--wish--?" Sally's anxious eyes flashed to her face. "That they had never come!" "Oh, Mart! Oh, Mart, why?" "Because--because I think perhaps I should not marry Cliff, feeling as I do to John!" Martie said desperately. She had not quite meant it when she said it: her sick heart was merely trying to reach Sally's concern, it frightened her now to feel that it was almost true. "WHAT!" Sally whispered. She was roused now: too much roused. Martie began hastily to reassure Sally, and herself, too. "Oh, I will, Sally. Of course I will. And nobody will ever know this except you and me!" "Martie, dear, he DOES care then?" "Oh, yes, he cares!" "But, Mart--that's terrible!" Martie laughed ruefully. "It's miserable!" she agreed, her eyes watering even while she smiled. "He knew about Cliff?" Sally questioned. "Oh, yes!" "And his own wife is alive?" "Oh, yes!" "Well, then?" Sally concluded anxiously. "What does he want--what does he expect you to do?" To this Martie only answered unhappily: "I don't know." Sally, staring at her in distress, was silent. But as Martie suddenly seemed to put the subject aside, and called the children for supper, she turned back to the stove in relief. Presently they were all gathered about the kitchen table, Martie encouraging the children, as usual, to launch into the conversation, and laughing in quite her usual merry manner at their observations. She took Mary into her lap, ruffling the curly little head with her kisses, and whispering endearments into the small ear. But Sally noticed that she was not eating. Later, when they had put away the hot, clean dishes, and made the kitchen orderly for the night, Sally touched somewhat awkwardly upon the delicate topic.