When she found what she wanted, she and Wallace had a bitter struggle.  He refused at first to consider four large bare shabby rooms in a poor street, overlooking a coal-yard, and incidentally, on the very bank of the East River.  What cars went there, he demanded indignantly; what sort of neighbours would they have?  What would their friends think!

Martie patiently argued her point.  The neighbourhood, the east fifties, if cheap and crowded, was necessarily quiet because the wide street ended at the river.  The rooms were on a first floor, and so pleasantly accessible for baby and baby-carriage.  The coalyard, if not particularly pleasant, was not unwholesome; there was sunshine in every room, and finally, the rent was eighteen dollars.  They must entertain their friends elsewhere.

She did not know then that what really won him was her youth and beauty; the new brilliant colour, the blue, blue eyes, the revived strength and charm of the whole, lovely woman.  She put her arms about him, and he kissed her and gave her her way.

Happily they went shopping.  Martie had gathered some furniture in her various housekeeping adventures; the rest must be bought.  They prowled through second-hand stores for the big things:  beds, tables, a “chestard” for Wallace.  The cottage china, chintzes, net curtains, and grass rugs were new.  Martie conceded a plaster pipe-rack, set with little Indian faces, to Wallace; her own extravagance was a meat-chopper.  Wallace got a cocktail shaker, and when the first grocery order went in, gin and vermouth and whisky-were included.  Martie made their first meal a celebration, in the room that was sitting-and dining-room combined, and tired and happy, they sat long into the evening over the table, talking of the future.

Theoretically, Wallace agreed with her.  If they were to succeed, there must be hard work, carefully controlled expenditure, and temperance.  They were still young, their children were well, and life was before them.  In a few years Wallace might make a big success; then they could have a little country home, and belong to a country club, and really live.  Eager tears brimmed Martie’s eyes as she planned and he approved.

Actually, Wallace was not quite so satisfactory.  He would be sweet-tempered and helpful for a few days, but he expected a reward.  He expected his wife’s old attitude of utter trust and devotion.  Rewarded by a happy evening when they dined and talked in utter harmony, he would fail her again.  Then came dark days, when Martie’s heart smouldered resentfully hour after busy hour.  How could he—­how could he risk his position, waste his money, antagonize his wife, break all his promises!  She could not forgive him this time, she could not go through the humiliating explanations, apologies, asseverations, again be reconciled and again deceived!

He knew how to handle her, and she knew he knew.  When the day or two of sickness and headache were over he would shave and dress carefully and come quietly and penitently back into the life of the house.  Would Ted like to go off with Dad for a walk?  Couldn’t he go to market for her?  Couldn’t he go along and wheel Margaret?