"My aunt lives there; she has an apartment right on the Park, at
West Ninetieth," Rodney said. "Her husband has scads of money," the
boy pursued. "You'll have to go on, Martie, there's no two ways
about it."

"And Delmonico's?" the girl suggested eagerly. "I've heard of
Delmonico's!"

"Delmonico's is where the wedding parties go. Of course, if you say
so, Martie--"

That was one of the sweet and thrilling things to remember. And
there were other things to make Martie's heart dance as she set the
dinner table. But she wondered if she should have asked him in.

Martie stopped short, salt-cellars in her hand. How could she--with
Pa's arrival possible at any moment. Besides she had asked him, as
they lingered laughing at the gate. That was all right--it was late,
anyway. He had gaily refused, and she had not pressed him. And,
wonderful thought, they were going walking on Sunday.

Monroe boys and girls usually walked on Sunday. They walked up the
track to the Junction, or up between bare fields past the Poor House
to the Cemetery. When a young man hired a phaeton at Beetman's, and
took his girl for a drive on Sunday, it was a definite avowal of
serious attachment. In that case they usually had their Sunday
supper at the home of the young man's mother, or married sister, or
with some female relative whose sanction upon their plans was
considered essential.