Not to stagnate, not to smother, not to fade and shrink like Lydia—­ like Miss Fanny at the library, and the Baxter girls at the post-office!  Every healthy young fibre of Martie’s soul and body rebelled against such a fate, but she could not fully sense the barriers about her, nor plan any move that should loosen her bonds.  Martie believed, as her parents believed, that life was largely a question of “luck.”  Money, fame, friends, power, to this man; poverty and obscurity and helplessness to that one.  Wifehood, motherhood, honour and delight to one school girl; gnawing, restless uselessness to the next.  “I only hope you girls are going to marry,” their mother would sometimes say plaintively; “but I declare I don’t know who—­with all the nice boys leaving town the way they do!  Pa gives you a good home, but he can’t do much more, and after he and I go, why, it will be quite natural for you girls to go on keeping house for Len—­I suppose.”

Martie’s sensitive soul writhed under these mournful predictions.  Dependence was bitter to her, Len’s kindly patronage stung her only a little less than his occasional moods of cheerful masculine contempt.  He meant to take care of his sisters, he wasn’t ever going to marry.  Pa needn’t worry, Len said.  The house was mortgaged, Martie knew; their father’s business growing less year by year; there would be no great inheritance, and if life was not satisfying now, when she had youth and plenty, what would it be when Pa was gone?

It was all dark, confusing, baffling, to ignorant, untrained nineteen.  The sense of time passing, of opportunities unseen and ungrasped, might well make Martie irritable, restless, and reckless.  Happiness and achievement were to be bought, but she knew not with what coinage.

To-day the darkness had been shot by a gleam of living light.  Through Rodney Parker’s casual gallantries Martie’s eyes looked into a new world.  It was a world of loving, of radiant self-confidence and self-expression.  Martie saw herself buying gowns for the wedding, whisking in and out of Monroe’s shops, stopped by affectionate and congratulatory friends.  She was dining at Mrs. Barker’s, dignified, and yet gracious and responsive, too.  Dear old Judge Parker was being courteous to her; Mrs. Parker advising Rodney’s young wife.  There were grandchildren running over the old place.  Martie remembered the big rooms from long-ago red-letter days of her childhood.  How she would love her home, and what a figure of dignity and goodness Mrs. Rodney Parker would be in the life of the town.

Oh, dear God—­it was not so much to ask!  People were getting married all the time; Rodney Parker must marry some one.  Lydia was unwed, Sally had no lover; but out of so rich and full a world could not so much be spared to Martie?  Oh, how good she would be, how generous to Pa and the girls, how kind to Ida and May!

Martie bowed her head on her knees.  If this one thing might come her way, if it might be her fate to have Rodney Parker love her, to have the engagement and the wedding follow in their happy order, she would never ask more of God; gaining so much she would truly be good, she would live for others then!