"But--but we're married," he said with a little stammer.

"Do you think I can forget that, in this room, with that sound in
the street?"

"Well, then, why say good night to me like this?"

"How else, Marty dear?"

An icy chill ran over Martin and struck at his heart. Was it really
true that she could stand there and hold out her hand and with the
beginning of impatience expect him to leave a room the right to
which had been made over to him by law and agreement?

He asked her that, as well as he could, in steadier, kinder words
than he need have used.

And she dropped her hand and sighed a little. "Don't spoil
everything by arguing with me, Marty. I really am only a kid, you
know. Be good and run along now. Look--it's almost one."

The blood rushed to his head, and he held out his hands to her. "But
I love you. I love you, Joany. You can't--you CAN'T tell me to go."
It was a boy's cry, a boy profoundly, terribly hurt and puzzled.

"Well, if we've got to go into all this now I may as well sit down,"
she said, and did. "That air's rather chilly, too." She folded her
arms over her breast.

It was enough. All the chivalry in Martin came up and choked his