She wanted to hear his man's voice and see the laughter-lines come and go round his eyes.

He was her pal and was as reliable as the calendar.

He would wipe out the effect of the reproaches that she had been made to listen to by Alice and Gilbert.
They might be justified; they were justified; but they showed a lack of understanding of her present mood that was to her inconceivable.

She was a kid.

Couldn't they see that she was a kid?
Why should they both throw bricks at her as though she were a hawk and not a mere butterfly?
Where was Martin?
Why hadn't she seen him for several days?
Why had he stayed away from home without saying where he was and what he was doing?
And what was all this about a girl with a white face and red lips?
Martin must have friends, of course.