Child that she was, she could not decide.  She had had no preparation for these crises, she was sick with shock and terror.  Married to a man who was already married—­and perhaps to have a baby!

But she never faltered in her instant determination to leave him.  If she was not his wife, at least she could face the unknown future far more bravely than the dubious present.  If she had been wrong, she would not add more wrong.

With her bag packed, and her hat pinned on, she paused, and looked about the room.  The window curtain flapped uncertainly, a gritty wind blew straight down Geary Street.  The bed was unmade, the sweet orange peels still scented the air.

Martie suddenly flung her gloves aside, and knelt down beside her bed.  She had an impulse to make her last act in this room a prayer.

Wallace, pale and quiet, opened the door, and as she rose from her knees their eyes met.  In a second they were in each other’s arms, and Martie was sobbing on his shoulder.

“Mart—­my darling little girl!  I’m so sorry!”

“I know you are—­I know you are!”

“It’s only for a few days, dearie—­until I settle her once and for all!”

“That’s all!”

“And then you’ll come back, and we’ll go have Spanish omelette at the Poodle Dog, won’t we?”

“Oh, Wallie, darling, I hope—­I hope we will!”

She gasped on a long breath, and dried her eyes.

“How much money have you got, dearie?”

“About—­I don’t know.  About four dollars, I think.”

“Well, here—­” He was all the husband again, stuffing gold pieces into her purse.  “You’re going down to the four boat?  I’ll take you down.  And wire me when you get there, Martie, so I won’t worry.  And tell Sally I wish her luck, I’ll certainly be glad to hear the news.”  They were at the doorway; he put his arm about her.  “You do love me, Mart?”

“Oh, Wallie—–!” The tender moment, following upon her hour of lonely agony, was almost too much.  “We—­we didn’t think—­this would be the end of our happy time, did we?” she stammered.  And as they kissed again, both faces were wet with tears.

Sally met her; a Sally ample of figure and wonderful in complexion.  All the roses of spring were in Sally’s smiling face; she laughed and rejoiced at their meeting with a certain quality of ease and poise for which Martie was puzzled to account, but which was new to quiet, conventional Sally.  Sally was in the serene mood that immediately precedes motherhood; all the complex elements of her life were temporarily lapped in a joyous peace.  Of Martie’s hidden agony she suspected nothing.