Sandy, sore, sleepy, and sunburned, they were presently in the returning cars, all wilted New York returning with them.  Teddy slept soundly, sometimes in his mother’s arms, sometimes in John’s.  It was John who carried him up the steps of the Seventieth Street house at ten o’clock.

A gentleman waiting to see Mrs. Bannister?  Goodness, Aurora, why didn’t you ask Mrs. Curley to see him?  Martie surrendered her loose coat and hat to the maid, put a hand to her disordered hair.  Apologetic, smiling, she went into the parlour.

Wallace Bannister was waiting for her; she was in her husband’s arms.

“But, Wallace—­Wallace—­Wallace, what does it matter, dear?  You don’t have to tell me all about it, all the sickness and failure and bad luck!  You’re home again, now, and you’ve gotten back into your own line, and that’s all that matters!”

Thus Martie, laughing with lashes still wet.  She understood, she forgave; what else was a wife for?  All that mattered was that he was here, and was deep in new plans, he had a new part to work up, he was to begin rehearsing next week, and the past was all a troubled dream.  Ah, this was worth while; this made up for it all!

Not quite a dream, for he seemed much older; the boyish bravado was gone.  He was stout, settled, curiously deliberate in manner.  But then she was older, too.

He answered her generous concession only with compliments.  She had grown handsome, by George, she had a stunning figure, she had a stunning air!  Martie laughed; she knew it was true.

He felt his old hatred for her employment at the boarding-house, and she was as eager as he to launch into real housekeeping at last.  After the lonely years, it was wonderful to have a husband again!  He bought whatever she wanted, took her proudly about.  She went with him to his first rehearsals, finding the old stage atmosphere strangely exhilarating.  Adele was frankly jealous of this new development, Martie saw and heard her as little as she noticed John’s silence and seriousness, and Mrs. Curley’s dubious cooperation.

A friend of Wallace proposed to sub-let them a furnished apartment in East Twenty-sixth Street.  Martie inspected it briefly, with eyes too dazzled with dreams to see it truly.

She was not trained to business responsibility:  she merely laughed because her old employer was annoyed to have her housekeeper desert her.  After all, could there be a better reason for any move than that one’s husband wished it?  Swiftly and gaily she snapped the ties that bound her to the boarding-house.

There seemed to be plenty of money for teas and dinners:  she stared about the brightly lighted restaurants like an excited child.  Wallace was boisterously fond of his son, but he was too busy to be much with Teddy, and he wanted his wife all day and every day.  So Martie engaged a housekeeper to take her place in the house, and a little coloured girl to take care of Teddy, and devoted herself to Wallace.