I say, Mart, what is the use in being so horrid cross all the time?
He was studying her in a way that Mart did not in the least understand.
Mart was sharp-tongued; all her life had taught her to be so.
Then it would be doubly hard to Mart to have had the possibility suggested.
Mart, I've got tickets to a show,—a nice place,—and I want you to go along.
Mart saw in the glass just then a sight which seemed to add to her surprise.
Mart spoke with the assurance of one who had firm faith in her statement.
Mart met him at the door, a look of solemn determination on her face.
He strode past Mart into the wretched room, and looked at the bed in the corner.
Yet she had called him Mr. Colson, and seemed to expect him to act for himself and Mart.