door; and the senior Frosts', a dark red house shut in by a dark red
fence. The Barkers' house was the last in the row, rambling, ugly,
decorated with knobs and triangles of wood, with many porches, with
coloured glass frames on its narrow windows, yet imposing withal,
because of its great size and the great trees about it. Martie had
not been there since her childhood, in the days before Malcolm
Monroe's attitude on the sewer and street-lighting questions had
antagonized his neighbours, in the days when Mrs. Frost and Mrs.
Parker still exchanged occasional calls with Martie's mother.

The girl found strangely thrilling Rodney's familiarity here. He
crossed the porch, opened the unlocked front door, and led Martie
through a large, over-furnished hall and a large, stately drawing
room. The rugs, lamps, chairs, and tables all belonged to entirely
different periods, some were Mission oak, some cherry upholstered in
rich brocade; there was a little mahogany, some maple, even a single
handsome square chair of teakwood from the Orient. On the walls
there were large crayon portraits made from photographs of the
girls, and there were cushions everywhere, some of fringed leather,
some of satin painted or embroidered, some of cigar ribbons of clear
yellow silk, some with college pennants flaunting across them.

Beyond this room was another large one, looking out on the lawn and
the shabby willows at the side of the house. Into this room the more
favoured one had been casting off its abandoned fineries for many
years. There were more rugs, pillows, lamps, and chairs in here, but
it was all more shabby, and the effect was pleasanter and softer.
Ida's tea table stood by the hearth, with innovations such as a
silver tea-ball, and a porcelain cracker jar decorated with a rich
design in the minutely cut and shellacked details of postage stamps.