Martin's Dark Hour

That summer Martin Landis was well pleased with the world in general.
He enjoyed his work at the bank, where his cordiality and adeptness,
his alert, receptive mind, were laying for him a strong foundation for
a successful career.

He called often at the home of Isabel Souders, listened to her playing,
made one in an occasional game of cards, escorted her to musicals and
dramas. He played and talked and laughed with her, but he soon
discovered that he could not interest her in any serious matter. At the
mention of his work, beyond the merest superficialities, she lifted her
hands and said in laughing tones, "Please, Martin, don't talk shop!
Father never does. I'm like Mother, I don't want to hear the petty
details of money-making--all that interests me is the money itself. Dad
says I'm spoiled--I suppose I am."

At such times the troublesome memory of his father's words came to him,
"You need a wife that will work with you and be a partner and not fail
you when trouble comes." Try as he would the young man could not
obliterate those haunting words from his brain. Sometimes he felt
almost convinced in his own heart that he loved Isabel Souders--she was
so appealing and charming and, while she rebuffed his confidences about
his work, nevertheless showed so deep an interest in him generally,
that he was temporarily blinded by it and excused her lack of real
interest on the world-old ground that pretty women are not supposed to
bother about prosaic affairs of the male wage-earners of the race.