Rose could scarcely believe her ears. Memories, bitter,
intolerable, crowded upon her. Had the little girl really changed
Martin so completely? Oh, if only her boy could have lived!
Perhaps she had made a great mistake in being so determined not
to have another. Was it too late now? She looked at her husband.
Well as she knew every detail of his fine, clean cut features,
his broad shoulders and rippling muscles, they gave her a sudden
thrill. It was as if she were seeing him again for the first time
in years. If only he could let a shadow of this new
thoughtfulness and kindliness fall on her, they might even yet
bring some joy into each other's lives. They had stepped off on
the wrong foot. Why, they really hadn't been even acquainted.
They had been led into thinking so because of the length of time
they had both been familiar figures in the same community. Beyond
a doubt, if they were being married today, and she understood him
as she did now, she could make a success of their marriage. But,
as it was, Martin was so fixed in the groove of his attitude of
utter indifference toward her that she felt there was little
chance of ever jogging him out of it. To Rose, the very fact that
the possibility of happiness seemed so nearly within reach was
what put the cruel edge to their present status.

She did not comprehend that Martin definitely did not want it
changed. Conscious, at last, that he was slowly starving for a
woman's love, beginning to brood because there was no beauty in
his life, he was looking at her with eyes as newly appraising as
her own. He remembered her as she had been that day in the bank,
when he had thought her like a rose. She had been all white and
gold then; now, hair, eyes, skin, and clothes seemed to him to be
of one earthy color. Her clean, dull calico dress belted in by