ONE WOMAN'S LIFE

 BY ROBERT HERRICK

 AUTHOR OF "TOGETHER, " "THE HEALER, " ETC. 

New YorkTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY1913

Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1913. 

Norwood PressJ. S. Cushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

CONTENTS

PART I

THE WEST SIDE

 I. The New Home

 II. A Victory for Milly

 III. Milly goes to Church

 IV. Milly completes her Education

 V. Milly Experiments

 VI. Milly Learns

 VII. Milly sees More of the World

 VIII. Milly's Campaign

 IX. Achievements

PART II

GETTING MARRIED

 I. The Great Outside

 II. Milly Entertains

 III. Milly becomes Engaged

 IV. Congratulations

 V. The Crash

 VI. The Depths

 VII. Milly tries to Pay

 VIII. Milly renews her Prospects

 IX. Milly in Love

 X. Milly Marries

PART III

ASPIRATIONS

 I. The New Home

 II. A Funeral and a Surprise

 III. On Board Ship

 IV. Being an Artist's Wife

 V. Women's Talk

 VI. The Child

 VII. Beside the Resounding Sea

 VIII. The Picture

 IX. The Pardon

 X. The Painted Face

 XI. Crisis

 XII. "Come Home"

PART IV

REALITIES

 I. Home once More

 II. "Bunker's"

 III. More of "Bunker's"

 IV. The Head of the House

 V. A Shock

 VI. The Secret

 VII. Being a Widow

 VIII. The Woman's World

 IX. The New Woman

 X. Milly's New Marriage

PART V

THE CAKE SHOP

 I. "Number 236"

 II. At Last, the Real Right Scheme

 III. Chicago Again

 IV. Going into Business

 V. Milly's Second Triumph

 VI. Coming Down

 VII. Capitulations

 VIII. The Sunshine Special

PART ONE

THE WEST SIDE

I

THE NEW HOME

"Is _that_ the house!" Milly Ridge exclaimed disapprovingly. 

Her father, a little man, with one knee bent against the unyielding, newly varnished front door, glanced up apprehensively at the figurespainted on the glass transom above. In that block of little houses, allexactly alike, he might easily have made a mistake. Reassured hemurmured over his shoulder, --"Yes--212--that's right!" and he turned thekey again. 

Milly frowning petulantly continued her examination of the dirty yellowbrick face of her new home. She could not yet acquiesce sufficiently inthe fact to mount the long flight of steps that led from the walk to thefront door. She looked on up the street, which ran straight as abowling-alley between two rows of shabby brick houses, --all low, small, mean, unmistakably cheap, --thrown together for little people to live in. West Laurence Avenue was drab and commonplace, --the heart, the crown, the apex of the commonplace. And the girl knew it.... The April breeze, fluttering carelessly through the tubelike street, caught her large hatand tipped it awry. Milly clutched her hat savagely, and something liketears started to her eyes. 

"What did you expect, my dear?" Grandmother Ridge demanded with a subtleundercut of reproof. The little old lady, all in black, with a neatbonnet edged with white, stood on the steps midway between her son andher granddaughter, and smiled icily at the girl. Milly recognized thatsmile. It was more deadly to her than a curse--symbol of mocking age. She tossed her head, the sole retort that youth was permitted to giveage. 

Indeed, she could not have described her disappointment intelligibly. All she knew was that ever since their hasty breakfast in the dirtyrailroad station beside the great lake her spirits had begun to go down, and had kept on dropping as the family progressed slowly in the stuffystreet-car, mile after mile, through this vast prairie wilderness ofbrick buildings. She knew instinctively that they were getting fartherand farther from the region where "nice people" lived. She had neverbefore been in this great city, yet something told her that they werejourneying block by block towards the outskirts, --the _hinterland_ ofthe sprawling city. (Only Milly didn't know the word _hinterland_. ) Shehad gradually ceased to reply to her father's cheerful comments on thefeatures of the West Side landscape. And now she was very near tears. 

She was sixteen--it was the spring of '86. Ever since her mother'sdeath, two years before, the family had done "light housekeeping" inthree rooms in St. Louis. This 212 West Laurence Avenue, Chicago, was tobe her first home--this slab of a dirty yellow wall!

"There!" her father muttered with satisfaction, as, after a last twistof key and thump of knee, he effected an entrance. Grandma Ridge movedup the flight of steps, the girl following reluctantly. 

"See, mother, " little Horatio Ridge said, jingling his keys, "it's freshand clean!"

The new varnish smelt poignantly. The fresh paint clung insidiously tothe feet. 

"And it's light too, mother, isn't it?" He turned quickly from thecavernous gloom of the rear rooms and pointed to a side window in thehall where one-sixteenth of the arc of the firmament was visible betweenthe brick walls of the adjoining houses. 

"The dining-room's downstairs--that makes it roomier, " he continued, throwing open at random a door. "There's more room than you'd think fromthe outside. "

Milly and her grandmother peered downwards into the black hole fromwhich came a mouldy odor. 

"Oh, father, why did you come 'way out here!" Milly wailed. 

"Why not?" Horatio retorted defensively. "You didn't expect a house onthe lake front, did you?"

Just what she had expected from this new turn in the family destiny wasnot clear to herself. But ever since it had been decided that they wereto have a house of their own in Chicago--her father having at lastsecured a position that promised some permanence--the girl's buoyantimagination had begun to soar, and out of all the fragments of herexperience derived by her transient residence in Indianapolis, KansasCity, and Omaha--not to mention St. Louis--she had created a wonderfulcomposite--the ideal American home, architecturally ambitious, suburbanin tone. In some of the cities where she had lived the Ridges hadtarried as long as three years, and each time, since she was a verylittle girl in short dresses and had left Indianapolis crying over thedoll in her arms, she had believed they were permanently settled: thiswas to be their home for always. 

Her mother had had the same forlorn, homesick hope, but each time it wasdoomed to disappointment. Always they had had to move on, --to make a newcircle of temporary acquaintances, to learn the ropes of new streets andshops and schools all over again. Always it was "business" that did themischief, --the failure of "business" here or the hope of better"business" somewhere else that had routed them out of their temporaryshelter. Horatio Ridge was "travelling" for one firm or another in drugsand chemicals: he was of an optimistic and sanguine temperament. Milly'smother, less hopeful by nature, had gradually succumbed under theperpetual tearing up of her thin roots, and finally faded awayaltogether in the light housekeeping phase of their existence in St. Louis. 

Milly was sanguine like her father, and she had the other advantage ofyouth over her mother. So she had hoped again--overwhelmingly--ofChicago. But as she gazed at the row of pallid houses and counted three"To rent" signs in the cobwebby front windows opposite, she knew in herheart that this was not the end--not this, for her! It was anothershift, another compromise to be endured, another disappointment to beovercome. 

"Well, daughter, what d'ye think of your new home?" Little Horatio'sblustering tone betrayed his timidity before the passionate criticism ofyouth. Milly turned on him with flashing blue eyes. 

"I think, my dear, " her grandmother announced primly, "that instead offinding fault with your father's selection of a home, you had betterlook at it first. "

Grandma Ridge was a tiny lady, quite frail, with neat bands of iron-grayhair curling over well-shaped ears. Her voice was soft and low, --thekind of voice which her generation described as "ladylike. " But Millyknew what lay beneath its gentle surface. Milly did not love hergrandmother. Milly's mother had not loved the little old lady. It wasextremely doubtful if any one had ever loved her. Mrs. Ridge embodiedunpleasant duties; she was a vessel of unwelcome reproof that could becounted upon to spill over at raw moments, like this one. 

"You'll like it first rate, Milly, " her father continued robustly, "onceyou get settled in it. It's a great bargain, the real estate man saidso, almost new and freshly painted and papered. It's close to the carsand Hoppers'"--Hoppers' was the Chicago firm that had offered Horatiohis latest opportunity. "And I don't care about travelling all overIllinois to get to my work.... "

Curiosity compelled Milly to follow the others up the narrow stairs thatreached from the hall to the floor above. Milly was a tall, well-developed girl for sixteen, already quite as large as her fatherand enough of a woman physically to bully the tiny grandmother when shewished to. Her face was now prettily suffused with color due to herresentment, and her blue eyes moist with unshed tears. She glanced intothe small front chamber which had been decorated with a pink paper androbin's-egg blue paint. 

"Pretty, ain't it?" Horatio observed, seeking his crumb of appreciation. 

"It's a very nice home, Horatio--I'm sure you displayed excellent tastein your choice, " his mother replied. 

"Pretty? ... It's just awful!" Milly burst forth, unable to controlherself longer. She felt that she should surely die if she werecondemned to sleep in that ugly chamber even for a few months. Yet thehouse was on the whole a better one than any that the peripatetic Ridgeshad thus far achieved. It was fully as good as most of those that heracquaintances lived in. But it cruelly shamed Milly's expectations. 

"It's perfectly horrid, --a nasty, cheap, ugly little box, and 'way outhere on the West Side. " Somehow Milly had already divined the comingdegradation of the West Side. "I don't see how you can tell father suchstories, grandma.... He ought to have waited for us before he took ahouse. "

With that she turned her back on the whole affair and whisked down thenarrow stairs, leaving her elders to swallow their emotions whileinspecting the tin bath-tub in the closet bath-room. 

"Milly has her mother's temper, " Mrs. Ridge observed sourly. 

"She'll come 'round all right, " Horatio replied hopefully. 

Milly squirmed, but on the whole she "took her medicine" as well as mosthuman beings.... 

Meantime she stood before the dusty window in the front room eyeing thedirty street, dabbing the tears from her eyes with her handkerchief, welling with resentment at her fate. 

 * * * * *

Years later she remembered the fierce emotions of that dreary April daywhen she had first beheld the little block house on West LaurenceAvenue, recalling vividly her rage of rebellion at her father and herfate, the hot disgust in her soul that she should be forced to enduresuch mean surroundings. "And, " she would say then to the friend to whomshe happened to be giving a vivacious account of the incident, "it wasjust as mean and ugly and depressing as I thought it.... I can see theplace now--the horror of that basement dining-room and the smells! Mydear, it was just common West Side, you know. "

But how did Milly Ridge at sixteen perceive all this? What gave her thesense of social distinctions, --of place and condition, --at her age, withher limited, even if much-travelled experience of American cities? Toread this mystery will be to understand Milly Ridge--and something ofAmerica as well. 

II

A VICTORY FOR MILLY

The lease for the house had been signed, however, and for a five years'term. The glib agent had taken advantage of Horatio's new fervor forbeing settled, as well as his ignorance of the city. The lease was afact that even Milly's impetuous will could not surmount--for thepresent. 

Somehow during the next weeks the Ridge furniture was assembled from thevarious places where it had been cached since the last impermanentexperiment in housekeeping. It was a fantastic assortment, as Millyrealized afresh when it was unpacked. As a basis there were a few piecesof old southern mahogany, much battered, but with a fine air about themstill. These were the contributions of Milly's mother, who had been of aKentucky family. To these had been added here and there pieces of manydifferent styles and shades of modern inelegance. One layer of theconglomerate was specially distasteful to Milly. That was theblack-walnut "parlor set, " covered with a faded green velvet, thecontribution of Grandma Ridge from her Pennsylvania home. It stillseemed to the little old lady of the first water as it had been when itadorned Judge Ridge's brick house in Euston, Pa. Milly naturally hadother views of this treasure. Somewhere she had learned that the livingroom of a modern household was no longer called the "parlor, " by thosewho knew, but the "drawing-room, " and with the same unerring instinctshe had discovered the ignominy of this early Victorian heritage. Shedid not loathe the shiny "quartered oak" dining-room pieces--herfather's venture in an opulent moment--nor the dingy pine bedroom sets, nor even the worn "ingrain" carpets, as she did these precious relics ofher grandmother's home. 

Over them she fought her first successful battle with the oldergeneration for her woman's rights--and won. She directed the colored menwho were hired to unpack the household goods to put the green velvethorrors in the obscure rear parlor. In the front room she had placed thebattered mahogany, and had just rejected the figured parlor carpet whenher grandmother came upon her unawares. The old lady had slipped innoiselessly through the area door. 

"My dear!" she remarked softly, a deceitful smile on her thin lips. "Why, my dear!" Milly hated this tender appellation, scenting thehypocrisy in it. "Haven't you made a mistake? I _think_ this is theparlor. "

"Of course it is the parlor, " Milly admitted briskly, wheeling to meetthe cold gray eyes that were fixed on her. 

"Then why, may I ask, is the parlor furni--"

"Because I am doing this to suit myself, " the girl promptly explained. "In _this_ house, I mean to have things suit _me_, grandma, " she addedfirmly. It was just as well to settle the matter at once. 

"But, my dear, " the old lady stammered, helpless before the audacity ofthe revolt. "I'm sure nobody wants to cross you--but--but--where's thecarpet?"

"I'm not going to have that ugly green rag staring at me any longer!"

"My dear--"

"Don't 'my dear' me any more, grandma, please!"

Mrs. Ridge gasped, closed her thin lips tightly, then emitted, --

"Mildred, I'm afraid you are not quite yourself to-day, " and sheretreated to the rear room, where in the gloom were piled her rejectedidols. 

After an interval she returned to the fight, gliding noiselessly forthfrom the gloom. She was a very small and a very frail little body, andas Milly put it she was "always sneaking about the house like a ghost. "

"I see that the kitchen things have not been touched, and thedining-room furniture--"

"And they won't be--until I have this room to suit me.... Sam, pleasemove that desk a little nearer the window.... There!"

It was characteristic of Milly to begin with the show part of thepremises first and then work backwards to the fundamentals, pushingconfusion slowly before her. The old lady watched the colored man movethe rickety mahogany back and forth under Milly's orders for a few moreminutes, then her thin lips tightened ominously. 

"I think your father may have something to say about this, Mildred!"

"He'll be all right if you don't stir him up, " the girl replied withassurance. She walked across the room to her grandmother. "See here, grandma, I'm 'most seventeen now and big for my age--"

"Please-say 'large, ' Mildred. "

"Large then--'most a woman. And this is my father's home--and_mine_--until he gets married again, which of course he won't do as longas I am here to look after him.... And, grandma, I mean to be the headof this house. "

The old lady drooped. 

"Very well, my dear, I see only too plainly the results of your poormother's--"

"Grandma!" the girl flashed warningly. 

"If I'm not wanted here--"

"You're not--now! The best thing for you to do is to go straight back tothe boarding-house and read your _Christian Vindicator_ until I'm readyfor you to move in. "

"At the rate you are going it will be some days before your father canhave the use of his home. "

"A week at least I should say. "

"And he must pay board another week for all of us!"

"I suppose so--we must live somewhere, mustn't we?" Milly remarkedsweetly. 

So with a final shrug of her tiny shoulders the little old lady letherself out of the front door, stealthily betook herself down the longflight of steps and, without a backward glance, headed for theboarding-house. Milly watched her out of sight from the front window. 

"Thank heaven, she's really gone!" she muttered. "Always snooping aboutlike a cat, --prying and fussing. She's such a nuisance, poor grandma. "

It was neither said nor felt ill-naturedly. Milly was generous with allthe world, liked everybody, including her grandmother, who was aperpetual thorn, --liked her least of anybody in the world because of herstealthy ways and her petty bullying, also because of the close watchshe kept over the family purse when Milly wished to thrust her prodigalhand therein. She made the excuse to herself when she was harsh with theold lady, --"And she was so mean to poor mama, --" that gentle, soft, weaksouthern mother, whom Milly had abused while living and now adored--asis the habit of imperfect mortals.... 

So with a lighter heart, having routed the old lady, at least for thisafternoon, Milly continued to set up the broken and shabby householdgoods to suit herself. She coaxed the colored boys into considerableactivity with her persuasive ways, having an inherited capacity forgetting work out of lazy and emotional help, who respond to thepersonal touch. By dusk, when her father came, she had the twofront rooms arranged to her liking. Sam was hanging a bulky steelengraving--"Windsor Castle with a View of Eton"--raising and lowering itpatiently at Milly's orders. It was the most ambitious work of art thatthe family possessed, yet she felt it was not really suited, andaccepted it provisionally, consigning it mentally to the largescrap-heap of Ridge belongings which she had already begun in the backyard. 

"Well, daughter, " Mr. Ridge called out cheerily from the open door, "howyou're getting on?"

"Oh, papa!" (Somewhere in the course of her wanderings Milly had learnednot to say "paw. ")

She flew to the little man and hugged him enthusiastically. 

"I'm so dead tired--I've worked every minute, haven't I, Sam?"

"She sure has, " the boy chuckled admiringly, "kep us all agoin' too!"

"How do you like it, papa?"

Milly led the little man into the front room and waited breathlessly forhis approbation. It was her first attempt in the delicate art ofhousehold arrangement. 

"It's fine--it's all right!" Horatio commented amiably, twisting anunlighted cigar between his teeth and surveying the room dubiously. Histone implied bewilderment. He was a creature of habits, even if theywere peripatetic habits: he missed the parlor furniture and the greenrug. They meant home to him. Looking into the rear cavern where Millyhad thrust all the furniture she had not the courage to scrap, heobserved slyly, --"What'll your grandmother say?"

"She's said it, " Milly laughed. 

Horatio chuckled. This was woman's business, and wise male that he washe maintained an amused neutrality. 

"Ain't you most unpacked, Milly? I'm getting dead tired of boarding. "

"Oh, I've just begun, really! You don't know what time it takes tosettle a house properly. "

"Didn't think we had so much stuff. "

"We haven't _anything_ fit to use--that's the trouble. We must get somenew things right away. I want a rug for this room first. "

"Isn't there a carpet?"

"A carpet! Papa, they don't use carpets any more. A nice, soft rug, witha border 'round it.... "

Horatio retreated towards the door. But before they had reached theboarding-house, the first advance towards Milly's Ideal of the New Homehad been plotted. The rug was settled. Milly was to meet her father inthe city at noon on the morrow and select one. Arm in arm, father anddaughter came up the steps, --charming picture of family intimacy. 

"So nice to see father and daughter such friends!" one of theboarding-house ladies observed to Grandma Ridge. 

"Oh, yes, " the old lady admitted with a chilly smile. She knew whatthese demonstrations cost in cash from her son's leaky pockets. If shehad lived later, doubtless she would have called Milly a cunninggrafter. 

Milly smiled upon the interested stranger, good humoredly, as she alwayssmiled. She was feeling very tired after her day's exertions, buthappily content with her first efforts to realize her ambition, --to have"some place for herself. " What she meant by having a place for herselfin the world she did not yet understand of course. Nor what she could dowith it, having achieved it. It was an instinct, blind in the manner ofinstincts, of her dependent womanhood. She was quite sure that somethingmust happen, --a something that would give her a horizon more spaciousthan that of the West Side. 

 * * * * *

Meantime she ate the unappetizing food put before her with good grace, and smiled and chatted with all the dreary spinsters of theboarding-house table. 

III

MILLY GOES TO CHURCH

The ugly little house was at last got to rights, at least as much so asMilly's limited means permitted. Horatio's resources were squeezed tothe last dollar, and the piano came in on credit. Then the family movedin, and soon the girl's restless gaze turned outwards. 

She must have people for her little world, --people to visit with, totalk to. From her doll years Milly had loved people indiscriminately. She must have them about her, to play with, to interest, to arouseinterest in herself. Wherever she derived this social passion--obviouslynot from Grandma Ridge--it had been and would always be the dominantnote of her life. Later, in her more sophisticated and moreintrospective phase, she would proclaim it as a creed: "People are themost interesting thing in life--just humans!" And she would count hergregariousness as a virtue. But as yet it was unconscious, an animalinstinct for the herd. And she was lonely the first days at WestLaurence Avenue. 

Everywhere the family had put foot to earth in its wanderings, Milly hadacquired friends easily, --at school, in church, among theneighbors, --what chance afforded from the mass. She wept even on herdeparture from St. Louis, which she had hated because of the lighthousekeeping, at the thought of losing familiar faces. A number of hercasual friends came to the station to see her off, as they always did. She kissed them all, and swore to each that she would write, which shepromptly forgot to do. But she loved them all, just the same. And nowthat the Ridge destiny seemed to be settled with fair prospects ofpermanency in this new, untried prairie city, --a huddle of a million ormore souls, --she cast her eager eyes about for the conquest that must bemade.... 

The social hegira from the West Side of the city had already begun: themore prosperous with social aspirations were dropping away, moving tothe north or the south, along the Lake. Some of the older families stilllingered, rooted in associations, hesitant before new fashions, andthese, Milly at once divined, lived in the old-fashioned brick and stonehouses along the Boulevard that crossed West Laurence Avenue just belowthe Ridge home. These seats of the mighty on Western Boulevard might notbe grand, but they alone of all the neighborhood had something of thearistocratic air. 

This spacious boulevard was the place she chose for her daily strollwith her grandmother, taking the old lady, who had betrayed an interestin a cemetery, up and down Western Boulevard, past the large houseswhere the long front windows were draped with spotless lace curtains. She learned somehow that the old-fashioned brick house, with broad eavesand wooden pillars, belonged to the Claxtons. The grounds about thehouse ran even to the back yards of the West Laurence Avenueblock, --indeed had originally included all that land, --for the Claxtonswere an old family as age went in Chicago, and General Claxton was aprominent man in the state. She also knew that the more modern stonehouse on the farther corner was occupied by the Walter Kemps; that Mrs. Kemp had been a Claxton; and that Mr. Kemp was a rising young banker inthe city. How Milly had found out all this in the few days she had livedin the neighborhood would be hard to explain: such information sheacquired unconsciously, as one does the character of the weather.... 

On the next corner north of the Claxton place was a large church, with atall spire, and an adjoining parish house. They were built of the samecream-colored stone, which had grown sallow under the smoke, withchocolate-brown trimmings, like a deep edging to a mourninghandkerchief. Its appearance pleased Milly. She felt sure that the bestpeople of the neighborhood worshipped here, and so to this dignifiededifice she led her father and grandmother the first Sunday after theywere installed in their new home. 

It proved to be the Second Presbyterian Church. The Ridges wereorthodox, _i. E. _ Congregational: the judge had been deacon in Euston, Pa. , and Mrs. Ridge talked of "sending for her papers" and finding thenearest congregation of her old faith. But Milly promptly announced that"everybody went to the Presbyterian church here. " She was satisfied withthe air and the appearance of the congregation that first Sunday andmade her father promise to take seats for the family. The old lady, content to have the wayward Horatio committed to any sort ofchurch-going, made slight objection. It mattered little to Horatiohimself. In religion he was catholic: he was ready to stand up in anyevangelical church, dressed in his best, and boom forth the hymns in hisbass voice. The choice of church was a matter to be left to the women, like the color of the wallpaper, or the quality of crockery, --affairs ofdelicate discrimination. Moreover, he was often out of the city overSunday on his business trips and did not have to go to church. 

It was impossible that Milly, dressed very becomingly in her new graysuit, should escape notice after the first Sunday. Her lovely bronzehair escaped from her round hat engagingly. Her soft blue eyes looked upat the minister appealingly. She had the attractive air of youth andhealth and good looks. The second Sunday the minister's wife, promptedby her husband, spoke to Mrs. Ridge and called soon after. She likedMilly--minister's wives usually did--and she approved of thegrandmother, who had an aristocratic air, in her decent black, her thin, gray face. "They seem really nice people, " Mrs. Borland reported to herhusband, "but a very ordinary home. He travels for the Hoppers'. Hermother was a southerner. " (Milly had got that in somehow, --"My mother'shome was Kentucky, you know. ")... So, thanks to the church, here wasMilly at last launched on the West Side and in a fair way of knowingpeople. 

She began going to vespers--it was a new custom then, during Lent--andshe was faithful at the Wednesday evening prayer meetings. The Borlandshad a daughter, of about Milly's age, --a thin, anæmic girl who took toMilly's warmth and eagerness at once. As Milly succinctly summed up theminister's family, --"They're from Worcester, Mass. " To come from NewEngland seemed to Milly to give the proper stamp of respectability, while Virginia gave aristocracy. 

Mrs. Borland introduced Milly to Mrs. Walter Kemp after the service oneSunday. Milly knew, as we have seen, that Mrs. Kemp had been a Claxton, and that the general still lived in the ample mansion which he had builtin the early fifties when he had transferred his fortunes from Virginiato the prairie city. They were altogether the most considerable peopleMilly had ever encountered. And so when Eleanor Kemp called at thelittle West Laurence Avenue house, Milly was breathless. Not that Millywas a snob. She was as kind to the colored choreman as to the minister'swife, smiling and good-humored with every one. But she had a keen senseof differences. Unerringly she reached out her hands to the "best" asshe understood the best, --the men and women who were "nice, " who werepleasant to know. And Mrs. Kemp, then a young married woman oftwenty-seven or eight, seemed to the enthusiastic girl quite adorable. She was tall and slender, with fine oval features and clear brown skinand dark hair. Her manner was rather distant at first and awed Milly. 

"Oh, you're so beautiful, --you don't mind my saying it!" she exclaimedthe first time they were alone in the Kemp house. 

"You funny child!" the older woman laughed, quite won. And that was thephrase she used invariably of Milly Ridge, --"That funny child!" variedoccasionally by "That astonishing child!" even when the child had becomea woman of thirty. There would always be something of the breathless, impulsive child in Milly Ridge. 

After that first visit Milly went home to arrange a tea-table likeEleanor Kemp's. She found among the discarded remnants of the familyfurniture a small round table without a leg. She had it repaired and setup her tea-table near the black marble fireplace. The next time thebanker's wife came to call she was able to offer her a cup of tea, withsliced lemon, quite as a matter of course, after the manner that Mrs. Kemp had handed it to her the week before. Milly was not crudelyimitative: she was selectively imitative, and for the present she hadchosen Mrs. Kemp for her model. 

For the most part they met at the Kemp house. The young married womanliked her new rôle of guide and experienced friend to Milly; she alsoliked the admiration that Milly sincerely, copiously poured forth on alloccasions. When Milly praised the ugly house and its furniture, shemight smile in a superior way, for she was "travelled, " had visited "thechief capitals of Europe, "--as well as Washington and New York, --andknew perfectly well that the solid decoration of her library anddrawing-room was far from good style. The Kemps had already securedtheir lot on the south side of the city near the Lake. The plans fortheir new house were being drawn by a well-known eastern architect, andthey were merely waiting before building until Mr. Kemp should findhimself sufficiently prosperous to maintain the sort of house that thearchitect had designed for a rising young western banker. 

"Oh, dear, " Milly sighed, "you will be moving soon--and there'll benobody left around here for me to know. "

Eleanor Kemp smiled. 

"You know what I mean!... People like you and your mother. "

"You may not live here always, " her friend prophesied. 

"I hope not. But papa seems perfectly content--he's taken a five years'lease of that horrid house. I just knew it wasn't the right place assoon as I saw it!"

The older woman laughed at Milly's despair. 

"There's time yet for something to happen. "

Milly blushed happily. There was only one sort of something to happenfor her, --the right sort of marriage. Milly, as Mrs. Kemp confided toher husband, was a girl with a "future, " and that future could be only amatrimonial one. Her new friend good naturedly did what she could forMilly by putting her in the way of meeting people. At her own house andher mother's, across the street, Milly saw a number of people who cameinto her life helpfully later on. General Claxton was still at that timea considerable political figure in the middle west, had been congressmanand was spoken of for Senator. Jolly, plump Mrs. Claxton maintained alarge, informal hospitality of the Virginia sort, and to the big brickhouse came all kinds of people, --southerners with quaint accents andformal manners, young Englishmen on their way to the wild northwest, down-state politicians, as well as the merchant aristocracy of the city. Thus Milly as a mere girl had her first opportunity of peeping at thelarger world in the homely, high-studded rooms and on the generousporches of the Claxton house, and enjoyed it immensely. 

The church had thus far done a good deal for Milly. 

For some time it remained the staple of her social existence, --thatsallow, cream-colored pile, in which the congregation had already soshrunken by removals that the worshippers rattled around in the bigbuilding like dried peas in a pod. Milly became a member of the pastor'sBible class and an ardent worker in the Young Women's Guild. She waslooked upon favorably as a right-minded and religious young woman. Shehad joined the church some years before, shortly after the death of hermother. Her first religious fervor lasted rather more than a year andwas dying out when the family moved from St. Louis. Its revival at theSecond Presbyterian was of a purely institutional character. Althougheven Grandma Ridge called her a "good girl, " Milly was too healthy ayoung person to be really absorbed by questions of salvation. Herreligion was a social habit, like the habit of wearing freshunderclothes and her best dress on the seventh day, having a latebreakfast and responding to the din of the church bells with otherceremonially dressed folk. She believed what she heard in church as shebelieved everything that was spoken with authority. It would have seemedto her very dreadful to question the great dogmas of Heaven, Hell, theAtonement, the Resurrection, etc. But they meant absolutely nothing toher: they did not come into practical relation with her life as did theugly little box of her home and the people she knew, and she had notaste for abstractions. 

Milly was "good. " She tried to have a helpful influence upon hercompanions, especially upon young men who seemed to need an influencemore than others: she wanted to induce them not to swear, to smoke, todrink--or be "bad, "--a vague state of unrealized vice. She encouragedthem to go to church by letting them escort her. It was the proper wayof displaying right intentions to lead good lives. When one young manwho had been a member of the Bible class was found to have taken moneyfrom Mr. Kemp's bank, where he was employed, and indulged in riotousliving with it, Milly felt depressed for several days, --accused herselfof not having done her utmost to bring this lost soul to the Saviour. 

Yet Milly was no prig, --at least not much of a one. For almost all herwaking hours her mind was occupied with totally mundane affairs, and shewas never much concerned about her own salvation. It seemed so faroff--in the hazy distances of stupid middle age or beyond. So, likethousands upon thousands of other young women of her day, she appearedat the Second Presbyterian every Sunday morning, looking her freshestand her best, and with engaging zest, if with a somewhat wandering mind, sang, --

 "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord!"

It was a wholly meaningless social function, this, and useful to thegirl. Later charity might take its place. Horatio Ridge, who had neverqualified as a church member while his wife lived, knowing his ownunregenerate habits and having a healthy-minded male's aversion tohypocrisy, now went to church with his daughter quite regularly. He feltthat it was a good thing, --the right thing for the girl, in some wayinsuring her woman's safety in this wicked world, if not her salvationin the next. 

They made a pretty picture together, father and daughter, --the girl withthe wide blue eyes and open mouth, standing shoulder to shoulder withthe little man, each with one gloved hand grasping an edge of thehymn-book and singing, Milly in a high soprano, --

 "Nearer, my God, to Thee!"

and Horatio, rumbling behind a little uncertainly, --

 "Nearer to Thee--to THEE!"

IV

MILLY COMPLETES HER EDUCATION

"Milly, " Mrs. Kemp remarked thoughtfully, "aren't you going to completeyour education?"

Milly translated this formidable phrase in a flash, --

"You mean go to school any more? Why should I?"

It was a warm June day. Milly had been reading to Mrs. Kemp, who wassewing. The book was "Romola. " Milly had found quite dull its solidpages of description of old Florence sparsely relieved by conversation, and after a futile attempt to discover more thrilling matter farther onhad abandoned the book altogether in favor of talk, which alwaysinterested her more than anything else in the world. 

"Why should I go to school?" she repeated. 

"You are only sixteen. "

"Seventeen--in September, " Milly promptly corrected. 

Mrs. Kemp laughed. 

"I didn't finish school until I was eighteen. "

"School is so stupid, " Milly sighed, with a little grimace. "I hategetting things out of books. "

She had never been distinguished in school, --far from it. Only by reallabor had she been able to keep up with her classes. 

"I guess the schools I went to weren't much good, " she added. 

She saw herself behind a desk at the high school she had last attendedin St. Louis. In front of her sat a dried, sallow, uncheerful woman ofgreat age, ready to pounce upon her and expose her ignorance before thejeering class. The girls and the boys at the school were not"refined"--she knew that now. No, she did not want any more school ofthat sort.... Besides, what use could an education be, if she were notto teach? And Milly had not the faintest idea of becoming a teacher. 

"Do you think a girl needs to know a lot of stuff--stupid things inbooks?" she asked. 

"Women must have a better education than they once did, " Eleanor Kempreplied with conviction. She refrained from explaining that a girl likeMilly, with no social background, might marry "to advantage" on herlooks, but she would need something more to maintain any desirableposition in the world. Such ideas were getting into the air these days. 

"I'm going to take some music lessons, " Milly yawned. 

"You have a good mind, " her friend persisted flatteringly. "Do you knowFrench. "

"A little, " Milly admitted dubiously. 

"German?"

Milly shook her head positively. 

"Latin?"

"Latin! What for?"

"I had two years of Latin. It's ... It's cultivating. "

Milly glanced at the load of new books on the library table. She knewthat the Kemps read together a great deal. They aspired to "stand forthe best things" in the ambitious young city, --for art, music, and allthe rest. She was somewhat awed. 

"But what's the use of a girl's knowing all that?" she demandedpractically. 

If a woman knew how to "write a good letter, " when she was married, andcould keep the house accounts when there were any, and was bright andentertaining enough to amuse her wearied male, she had all the educationshe needed. That was Milly's idea. 

"French, now, is so useful when one travels, " Mrs. Kemp explained. 

"Oh, if one travels, " Milly agreed vaguely. 

Later Mrs. Kemp returned to the attack and extolled the advantages, social and intellectual, that came with a Good Education. She describedthe Ashland Institute, where she had completed her own education and ofwhich she was a recently elected trustee. 

"Mrs. Mason, the principal, is a very cultivated lady--speaks all themodern languages and has such a refining influence. I know you wouldlike her. "

Milly had always attended public school. It had never occurred to herfather that while the state was willing to provide an education heshould go to the expense of buying one privately for his daughter. Ofcourse Milly knew that there were fashionable boarding-schools. Shewanted to attend a Sacred Heart convent school where one of herintimates--a Louisville girl--had been sent, but the mere idea hadshocked Mrs. Ridge, senior, unutterably. 

It seemed that the Ashland Institute, according to Mrs. Kemp, was analtogether superior sort of place, and Milly was at last thoroughlyfired with the idea that she should "finish herself" there. Hergrandmother agreed that more schooling would not hurt Milly, butdemurred at the expense. Horatio was easily convinced that it was theonly proper school for his daughter. So the following September Millywas once more a pupil, enrolled in classes of "literature" (with ahandbook), "art" (with a handbook), "science" (handbook), "mental andmoral philosophy" (lectures), and French (_La tulipe noire_). Millyliked Mrs. Mason, a personable lady, who always addressed her pupils as"young ladies. " And Milly was quickly fascinated by the professor ofmental and moral philosophy, a delicate-looking young college graduate. She worked very hard, studying her lessons far into the night, memorizing long lists of names, dates, maxims, learning by rote whateverwas contained in those dreary handbooks. 

Even in those days this was not all there was to education for girlslike Milly. There were a few young women, east and west, bold enough togo to college. But as yet their example had no influence upon thegeneral education dealt out to girls. Most girls whose parents had anysort of ambition went through the high school with their brothers, andthen went to work--if they had to--or got married. Even for theprivileged few who could afford "superior advantages" the ideas aboutwomen's education were chaos. Mrs. Mason solved the problem at theAshland Institute as well as any, with a little of this and of that, elegant information conveyed chiefly in handbooks about "literature" and"art"; for women were assumed to be the "artistic" sex as they were theornamental. There were, besides, deportment, dancing, and music, alsoornamental. The only practical occupations were keeping house andnursing, and if a girl was obliged to do such things, she did not seekthe aristocratic "finishing school. " The "home" was the proper place forall that. In Milly's case the "home" was adequately run by hergrandmother with the help of one colored servant. So Horatio, being justable to afford the tuition, Milly was privileged to "finish herself. "

Of course she forgot all the facts so laboriously acquired within ashort six months after she read her little essay on "Plato's Conceptionof the Beautiful" at the graduation exercises. (That effort, by the way, lay heavy on the neighborhood for weeks, but was pronounced a triumph. It was certainly a masterpiece of fearless quotation. )... Learningpassed over Milly like a summer sea over a shining sandbar and left notrace behind, none whatever. It was the same way with music. Milly couldsing church hymns in a pleasant voice and thumped a little heavily onthe piano after learning her piece.... She used to say, yearsafterward, --"I have no gifts; I was never clever with books. I likelife, people!" and she would stretch out her hands gropingly to thebroad horizon. 

This year at the Ashland Institute helped to enlarge that horizonsomewhat. And one other thing she got with the absurd meal ofschooling, --a vague but influential something, --an "ideal of Americanwomanhood. " That was the way Mrs. Mason phrased it in her eloquent talksto the girls. 

The other teachers, especially the pale young professor of mental andmoral philosophy, referred to it indirectly as the moving force of thenew world. This was the "formative influence" of the school, --thequality that the Institute prided itself on above all else. 

It was of a poetic shade, composed in equal parts of art, literature, and religion. Milly absorbed it at church, where the minister spokealmost tearfully about "the mission of young womanhood to elevate theideals of the race, " or more colloquially in Bible class as the duty of"being a good influence" in life, especially men's lives. She got italso in what books she read, --especially in Tennyson and in every novel, as well as in the few plays she saw. There it was embodied as Woman ofRomance, --sublime, divine, mysterious, with a heavenly mission toreform, ennoble, uplift--men, of course, --in a word to make over theworld. The idea of it had come down from the darkness of the middleages, --that smelly and benighted period, --had inflamed all romance, andwas now spreading its last miasmatic touch over the close of thenineteenth century. All this, to be sure, Milly never knew. 

She merely began to feel self-conscious, as a member of her sex, --abeing apart from men and somehow superior to them, without the sameappetites and low ideals, and with her own peculiar and sacred functionto perform for humanity. Ordinarily this heavy ideal of her sex did notburden Milly. She obeyed her thoroughly healthy instincts, chief ofwhich was "to have a good time, " to be loved and petted by people. Butoccasionally in her more emotional moods, when she was singing hymns orwatching the sun depart in golden mists, she experienced exaltedsensations of the beauty and the glory of life--of _her_ life--and whatit all might mean to Some One (a man). 

When she undressed before the tiny mirror, she considered her attractiveyoung body with a delicious sense of mystery that would some day berevealed, then plunged into bed, and buried herself chastely beneath thecover, her heart throbbing. 

If Milly had had any real education, she might have recalled theteaching of science in such moments and realized that her soft tissuewas composed of common elements, her special function was but auniversal means to a universal end; that even her long, thick hair withits glint of gold, her soft eyes, her creamy skin and rounding breastsand sloping thighs were all designed for the simple purpose ofcontinuing the species. (But in those days they did not talk of suchthings even in the handbooks, and Milly would have called any one whodared mention them in her presence a "materialist"--a word she had heardin the philosophy class. ) Having no one to mention to her such impropertruths, she remained in the pleasant illusion of literature and religionthat she was altogether a superior creation, --something mysterious to beworshipped and preserved. Not colored Jenny in the kitchen, who hadthree or four illegitimate children! Not even all the girls in herSunday-school class, some of whom worked in stores, but the cultivated, refined women who made Homes for Heroes. This belief was like Poetry: itsatisfied and sustained--and it gave an unconscious impulse to her wholelife, that she was never able wholly to escape.... 

And this was what they called Education in those days. 

V

MILLY EXPERIMENTS

Of course Milly had "beaux, " as she called them then. There had neverbeen a time since she was trusted to navigate herself alone upon thestreet when she had not attracted to herself other littlepersons--chiefly girls, to be sure. For as Milly was wont to confess inher palmiest days when men flocked around her, she was a "woman's woman"(and hence inferentially a man's woman, too). Milly very sincerelypreferred her own sex as constant companions. They were more expressive, communicative, rational. Men were useful: they brought candies, flowers, theatre parties. 

But now the era of young men as distinguished from girls had arrived. Boys in long trousers with dark upper lips hung about the West LaurenceAvenue house on warm evenings, composing Milly's celebrated "stoopparties, " or wandered with her arm in arm up the broad boulevard to thePark. And at the Claxtons and the Kemps she met older men who paidattention to the vivacious, well-developed school-girl. 

"Milly will take care of herself, " Mrs. Claxton remarked to her daughterwhen the school question was up, and when the latter deplored theunchaperoned condition of her young friend, she added, --

"That was the way in Virginia. A girl had a lot of beaux--and she got noharm from it, if she were a good girl. "

Milly was a good girl without any doubt, astonishing as it may seem. Milly Ridge had passed through the seventeen years of her existence andat least four different public schools without knowing anything about"sex hygiene. " That married women had babies and that somehow these weredue to the presence of men in the household was the limit of her sexknowledge. Beyond that it was not "nice" for a girl to delve, and Millywas very scrupulous about being "nice. " Nice girls did not discuss suchthings. Once when she was fifteen a woman she knew had "gone to the bad"and Milly had been very curious about it, as she was later about theexistence of bad women generally. This state of virginal ignorance wasdue more to her normal health than to any superior delicacy. As one manmeaningly insinuated, Milly was not yet "awake. " He apparently desiredthe privilege of awakening her, but she eluded him safely. 

When these older men began to call, Milly entertained them quiteformally in the little front room, discussing books with them andtelling her little stories, while her father smoked his cigar in therear room. She was conscious always of Grandma Ridge's keen ears prickedto attention behind the smooth curls of gray hair. It was astonishinghow much the old lady could overhear and misinterpret!... 

Almost all these young men, clerks and drummers and ranchers, werehopelessly, stupidly dull, and Milly knew it. Their idea ofentertainment was the theatre or lopping about the long steps, listeningto her chatter. When they took her "buggy-riding, " they might tryclumsily to put their arms around her. She would pretend not to noticeand lean forward slightly to avoid the embrace.... 

Her first really sentimental encounter came at the end of a long day'spicnicking on the hot sands of the lake beach. Harold--ultimately sheforgot his last name--had taken her up the shore after supper. They hadscrambled to the top of the clayey bluff and sat there in a thicket, looking out over the dimpled water, hot, uncomfortable, self-conscious. His hand had strayed to hers, and she had let him hold it, caress thestubby fingers in his thin ones, aware that hers was quite a homelyhand, her poorest "point. " She knew somehow that he wanted to kiss her, and she wondered what she should do if he tried, --whether she should beoffended or let him "just once. " He was a handsome, bashful boy, and shefelt fond of him. 

But when he had got his courage to the point, she drew off quickly, andto distract his attention exclaimed, --"See! What's that?" They lookedacross the broad surface of the lake and saw a tiny rim of pure goldswell upwards from the waves. 

"It's just the moon!"

"How beautiful it is, " Milly sighed. 

Again when his arm came stealing about her she moved away murmuring, "No, no. " And so they went back, awkwardly silent, to the others, whowere telling stories about a blazing camp-fire they had thought itproper to build.... After that Harold came to see her quite regularly, and at last declared his love in a stumbling, boyish fashion. But Millydismissed him--he was only a clerk at Hoppers'--without hesitation. "Weare both too young, dear, " she said. He had tried to kiss her hand, andsomehow he managed so awkwardly that their heads bumped. Then he hadgone away to Colorado to recover. For some months they exchanged boy andgirl letters, which she kept for years tied up with ribbon. After a timehe ceased to write, and she thought nothing of it, as her busy littleworld was peopled with new figures. Then there came wedding cards fromDenver and at first she could not remember who this Harold Stevens aboutto marry Miss Glazier, could be. Her first affair, a pallid littleromance that had not given her any real excitement!

Afterwards in moods of retrospection Milly would say: "However I didn'tget into trouble as a girl, with no mother, and such an easy, unsuspecting father, I don't know. Think of it, my dear, out almostevery night, dances, rides, picnics, theatres. Perhaps the men werebetter those days or the girls more innocent. "

There was one episode, however, of these earlier years that left adeeper mark. 

VI

MILLY LEARNS

The friend who at the opportune moment had offered Horatio his point ofstability at Hoppers' was Henry Snowden, --a handsome, talkative man offorty-five. He was manager of a department in the mail-order house, withthe ambition of becoming one of the numerous firm. It was he who had putHoratio in the hands of the real estate firm that had resulted in theWest Laurence Avenue House. Snowden, with his wife and two grownchildren, lived up the Boulevard, some distance from the Kemps. Mrs. Snowden was a rather fat lady a few years older than her husband, with amid-western nasal voice. Milly thought her "common, "--a word she hadlearned from Eleanor Kemp, --and the daughter, who was in one of thelower classes of the Institute, was like her mother. During the firstmonths in Chicago the Snowdens were the people Milly saw most of. 

Horatio liked to have the Snowdens in for what he called a "quiet rubberof whist" with a pitcher of cider, a box of cheap cigars, and a plate ofapples on the table. Grandma Ridge sat in the dining-room, reading her_Christian Vindicator_, while Milly entertained her friends on the stepsor visited at the Kemps. Occasionally she was induced to take a hand inthe game. She liked Mr. Snowden. He was more the gentleman than most ofher father's business friends. With his trim, grizzled mustache and hiseye-glass he looked almost professional, she thought. He treated Millygallantly, brought her flowers occasionally, and took her with hisdaughter to the theatre. He seemed much younger than his wife, and Millyrather pitied him for being married to her. She felt that it must havebeen a mistake of his youth. Her father was proud of the friendship andwould repeat often, --"Snow's a smart man, I can tell you. There's agreat future for Snow at Hoppers'. "

The Snowdens had an old-fashioned house with a stable, and kept a horse. Mr. Snowden was fond of driving, and had always a fast horse. He wouldcome on a Saturday afternoon or Sunday and take Ridge for a drive. OneSaturday afternoon he drove up to the house, and seeing Milly in thefront window--it was a warm April day of their second year--motioned herto come outside. 

"Papa is not home yet, " she said, patting the horse. 

"I know he isn't, " Snowden remarked jerkily. "Didn't come for him--camefor _you_--jump in!"

Milly looked at him joyously with her glowing, child's eyes. 

"Really? You want me! But I'm not dressed. "

"You're all right--jump in--it's warm enough. " And Milly without furtherurging got into the buggy. 

They went out through the boulevard to the new parkway, and when theyreached the broad open road in the park, Snowden let his horse out, andthey spun for a mile or more breathlessly. Milly's cheeks glowed, andher eyes danced. She was afraid that he might turn back at the end ofthe drive. But he kept on into a region that was almost country. Snowdentalked in nervous sentences about the horse, then about Horatio, who, hesaid, was doing finely in the business. "He'll get on, " he said, andMilly felt that Mr. Snowden was the family's good genius. 

"He's a good fellow--I suppose he'll marry again, one of these days. "

"No, he won't!" Milly replied promptly. "Not so long as he has me. "

"What'll he do when he loses you?"

"He won't lose me. "

"Oh, you'll be married, Milly, 'fore you know it. "

She shook her head. 

"Not until I meet the right man, " she said, and she explained volublyher lofty ideals of matrimony. 

Snowden agreed with her. He became personal, confiding, insinuatedeven that his marriage had been a mistake--of ignorance and youth. Milly, who was otherwise sympathetic, thought this was not nice of him, even if Mrs. Snowden was pudgy and common and old. A woman gave somuch, she felt, in marriage that she should be insured against herdefects.... Snowden said that he was living for his children. Millythought that quite right and tried to turn the conversation. 

The horse looked around as if to ask how much farther his master meantto go over this rough country road. It was getting late and the sun wassinking towards the flat prairie. Milly began to feel unaccountablyworried and suggested turning back. Instead the man cut the horse withhis whip so that he shot forward down the narrow road. The buggy rockedand swayed, while Milly clung to the side. Snowden looked at her andsmiled triumphantly. His face came nearer hers. Milly thought ithandsome, but it was unpleasantly flushed, and Milly drew away. 

Suddenly she found herself in the grasp of her companion's free arm. Hewas whispering things into her ear. 

"You make me mad--I--"

"Don't, Mr. Snowden, --please, please don't!" Milly cried, struggling. 

The horse stopped altogether and looked around at them. 

"Let me go!" she cried. But now abandoning the lines he held her in bothhis arms, his hot breath was close to her face, his lips seeking hers. Then she bit him, --bit him so hard with her firm teeth that he drew awaywith a cry, loosening his grip. She wriggled out of his embrace andscrambled to the ground before he knew what she was doing and began torun down the road. Snowden gathered up the lines and followed after her, calling, --"Milly, Milly--Miss Ridge, " in a penitent, frightened voice. For some time she paid no attention until he shouted, --"You'll never getanywhere that way!" The buggy was abreast of her now. "Do get in! Iwon't--touch you. "

She turned upon him with all the fire of her youth. 

"You--a respectable man--with a wife--and my father's friend--you!"

"Yes, I know, " he said, like a whipped dog. "But don't run off--I'll getout and let you drive back alone. "

There was a cart coming on slowly behind them. Milly marched past thebuggy haughtily and walked towards it. Snowden followed close behind, pleading, apologizing. She knew that he was afraid she would speak tothe driver of the cart, and despised him. 

"Milly, don't, " he groaned. 

She walked stiffly by the cart, whose driver eyed the scene with a slowgrin. She paid no attention, however, to Snowden's entreaties. She wassecretly proud of herself for her magnanimity in not appealing to thestranger, for the manner in which she was conducting herself. But aftera mile or so, it became quite dark and she felt weary. She stumbled, satdown beside the road. The buggy stopped automatically. 

"If you'll only get in and drive home, Miss Ridge, " Snowden said humbly, and prepared to dismount. "It's a good eight miles to the boulevard andyour folks will be worried. "

With a gesture that waved him back to his place Milly got into the buggyand the horse started. 

"I didn't mean--I am sorry--"

"Don't speak to me ever again, Mr. Snowden, " Milly flamed. She sat boltupright in her corner of the seat, drawing her skirt under her as ifafraid it might touch him. Snowden drove rapidly, and thus without aword exchanged they returned. As they came near the corner of WestLaurence Avenue, Snowden spoke again, --

"I know you can't forgive me--but I hope you won't let your father know. It would hurt him and--"

It was a very mean thing to say, and she knew it. Afterwards she thoughtof many spirited and apposite words she might have spoken, but at themoment all she could do was to fling herself haughtily out of the buggyas it drew up before the curb and without a word or glance march stifflyup the steps, where her father sat smoking his after-dinner cigar. 

"Why, Milly, " he exclaimed, "where've you been?"

She stalked past him into the house. She could hear her father askSnowden to stop and have some supper, and Snowden's refusal. 

"You'll be over for a game later, Snow?"

"Guess not, Horace, " and the buggy drove off. 

Then for the first time it came over her what it would mean if sheshould follow her first impulse and tell her father what had happened. Mr. Snowden was not merely his most intimate friend, but in a way hissuperior. If she should make things unpleasant between them, it might beserious. So when her grandmother came tiptoeing into Milly's room to seewhy she did not come down for her supper, Milly merely said she was tootired to eat. 

"What's happened?"

"That nasty Snowden man, " Milly spluttered, "tried to kiss me and I hadto--to fight him.... Don't tell father!"

The little old lady was very much disturbed, but she did not tell herson. Her policy was one of discreet silence about "unpleasant things" ifthey could be covered up. And this was the kind of event that women werecapable of managing themselves, as Milly had managed.... 

Milly lay awake long hours that night, her heart beating loudly, herbusy mind reviewing the experience, and though her resentment did notlessen as the hours wore on and she murmured to herself, --"Horrid, nastybeast!" yet she became aware of another sensation. If--if things hadbeen different--she--well--it--might, and then she buried her head inthe pillow more ashamed than ever. 

At last she had learned something of the real nature of men, and neveragain in her long experience with the other sex was she unaware of "whatthings meant. " Whenever a man was concerned, one must always expect thispossibility. And she began to despise the weaker sex. 

For some days the Snowdens did not come for cards. Horatio seemeddepressed. He would sit reading his paper through to the smalladvertisements, or wander out by himself to a beer garden near by. Whenthe social circle is as small as the Ridges', such a state of affairsmeans real deprivation, and Milly, who did not approve of the beergarden any more than did her grandmother, wondered how she could restorethe old harmony between the two families. 

But before anything came of her good-natured intention fate arrangedpleasantly to relieve her of the responsibility. 

VII

MILLY SEES MORE OF THE WORLD

The Kemps had a cottage at one of the Wisconsin lakes, and Eleanor Kempinvited Milly to make them a month's visit. The girl's imagination wasaflame with excitement: it was to her Newport or Bar Harbor or Aix. There was first the question of clothes. Although Mrs. Kemp assured herthat they lived very quietly at Como, Milly knew that the Casses, theGilberts, the Shards had summer homes there, and the place was as gay asanything in this part of the country. Mrs. Kemp might say, "Milly, you're pretty enough for any place just as you are!" But Milly was womanenough to know what _that_ meant between women. 

Her allowance was spent, four months in advance as usual, but Horatiowas easily brought to see the exceptionality of this event, and even oldMrs. Ridge was moved to give from her hoard. It was felt to be somethingin the nature of an investment for the girl's future. So Milly departedwith a new trunk and a number of fresh summer gowns. 

"Have a good time, daughter!" Horatio Ridge shouted as the car movedoff, and he thought he had done his best for his child, even if he hadhad to borrow a hundred dollars from his friend Snowden. 

Milly was sure she was about to have the most wonderful experience ofher life. 

Afterwards she might laugh over the excitement that first country-housevisit had caused, and recall the ugly little brown gabled cottage on theshore of the hot lake, that did not even faintly resemble its Italiannamesake, with the simple diversions of driving about the dusty, flatcountry, varied by "veranda parties" and moonlight rows with the rareyoung men who dared to stay away from business through the week. All oflife, the sages tell us, is largely a matter of proportion. Como, Wisconsin, was breathless excitement to Milly Ridge at eighteen, as shetestified to her hostess in a thousand joyous little ways. 

And there was the inevitable man, --a cousin of the Claxton tribe, whowas a young lawyer in Baltimore. He spent a week at the lake, almostevery minute with Milly. 

"You've simply fascinated him, my dear, " Eleanor Kemp reported, delightedly. "And they're very good people, I assure you--he's a Harvardman. "

It was the first time Milly had met on intimate terms a graduate of alarge university. In those days "Harvard" and "Yale" were titles ofaristocratic magic, as good as Rome or Oxford. 

"He thinks you so unspoiled, " her friend added. "I've asked him to stayanother week. "

So the two boated and walked and sat out beside the lake until the starsgrew dim--and nothing ever came of it! Milly had her little extravagantimaginings about this well-bred young man with his distinguished manner;she did her best to please--and nothing came of it. Why? she askedherself afterward. He had held her hand and talked about "the woman whogives purpose to a man's life" and all that. (Alas, that plebeian paw ofMilly's!)

Then he had left and sent her a five-pound box of candy from themetropolis, with a correct little note, assuring her that he could neverforget those days he had spent with her by the lake of Como. Yearsafterward on an Atlantic steamer she met a sandy-haired, stoutishAmerican, who introduced himself with the apology, --

"You're so like a girl I knew once out West--at some lake inWisconsin--"

"And you are Harrison Plummer, " she said promptly. "I shouldn't haveknown _you_, " she added maliciously, surveying the work of time. Shefelt that her plebeian hands were revenged: he was quite ordinary. Hiswife was with him and four uninteresting children, and he seemedbored.... That had been her Alpine height at eighteen. The heights seemlower at thirty-five. 

Even if this affair didn't prove to be "the real, right thing, " Millygained a good deal from her Como visit. Her social perspective wasgreatly enlarged by the acquaintances she made there. It was long beforethe day of the motor, the launch, the formal house party, but thefamilies who sought rural relief from the city along the shores of theWisconsin lake lived in a liberal, easy manner. They had horses andcarriages a plenty and entertained hospitably. They did not use redcotton table-cloths (which Grandma Ridge insisted upon to save washing), and if there were few men-servants, there was an abundance of tidymaids. It gave Milly unconsciously a conception of how people lived incircles remote from West Laurence Avenue, and behind her pretty eyesthere formed a blind purpose of pushing on into this unknown territory. "I had my own way to make socially, " she said afterwards, half inapology, half in pride. "I had no mother to bring me out in society--Ihad to make my own friends!"

It was easy, to be sure, in those days for a pretty, vivacious girl withpleasant manners to go where she would. Society was democratic, in aflux, without pretence. Like went with like as they always will, but thesocial game was very simple, not a definite career, even for a woman. Many of these good people said "folks" and "ain't" and "doos, " andnobody thought the worse of them for that. And they were kind, --quick tohelp a young and attractive girl, who "would make a good wife for someman. "

So after her month with Mrs. Kemp, Milly was urged to spend a week atthe Gilberts, which easily stretched to two. The Gilberts were young"North Side" people, and much richer than the Kemps. Roy Gilbert had therare distinction in those days of describing himself merely as"capitalist, " thanks to his father's exertions and denials. He was lazyand good-natured and much in love with his young wife, who was undulyreligious and hoped to "steady" Milly. Apart from this obsession she wasan affectionate and pretty woman, rather given to rich food andsentimental novels. She had been a poor girl herself, of a good New Yorkfamily, and life had not been easy until one fine day Roy Gilbert hadsailed into Watch Hill on his yacht and fallen in love with her. Somesuch destiny, she hoped, would come to Milly Ridge.... 

When at last, one drearily hot September day, Milly got back to thelittle box of a house on West Laurence Avenue, home seemed unendurablysordid and mean, stifling. Her father was sitting on the stoop in hisshirt-sleeves, and had eased his feet by pushing off his shoes. Discipline had grown lax in Milly's absence. Her first sensation ofrevolt came at that moment. 

"Oh, father--you oughtn't to look like that!" she said, kissing him. 

"What's the harm? Nobody's home 'round here. All your swell friends areat the seashore. "

"But, father!"

"Well, Milly, so you decided to come home at last?"

Grandma Ridge had crept out from the house and was smiling icily. Secretly both the older people were pleased with Milly's social success, but they tempered their feelings in good puritan fashion with a note ofreproof. 

That evening the Snowdens came in for the game of cards. Snowden wasplainly embarrassed at meeting Milly. "Good evening, Mr. Snowden, howare you? and Mrs. Snowden?" she asked graciously, with her new air ofaloofness, as if he were an utter stranger. "You've come to play cards. I'm so glad--papa enjoys having you so much!"

She felt that she was handling the situation like a perfect lady, andshe no longer had any real resentment. She even consented to take a handin the game. They were much excited about an atrocious murder that hadhappened only a few doors away. Old Leonard Sweet, who had grown rich inthe contracting business, had been found dead in his kitchen. Hisson-in-law--a dissipated young man whom Milly knew slightly--wassuspected of the crime. It was thought that the two had had a quarrelabout money, and the young man had shot his father-in-law. Millyremembered old Sweet quite vividly. He used to sit on his stoop in hisstocking feet, even on Sundays when all the neighborhood was going by tochurch, --very shocking to Milly's sense of propriety. And the boy hadhung around saloons. Now where was he?

"Well, daughter, can't you tell us what you did at Co-mo?" Horatiourged.... 

No, decidedly, this sort of thing would not do for Milly!

VIII

MILLY'S CAMPAIGN

Almost at once Milly began the first important campaign of her life--tomove the household to a more advantageous neighborhood. One morning shesaid casually at breakfast, --

"The Kemps are going to their new house when they come in from theLake.... Why can't we live some place where there are nice people?"

"What's the matter with this?" Horatio asked, crowding flannel cakesinto his mouth. 

"Oh!" Milly exclaimed witheringly. "My friends are all moving away. "

"You forget that your father has two years more of his lease of thishouse, " her grandmother remarked severely. 

And the campaign was on, not to be relaxed until the family abandonedthe West Side a year later. It was a campaign fought in many subtlefeminine ways, chiefly between Milly and her grandmother. Needless tosay, the family atmosphere was not always comfortable for the mildHoratio. 

"It all comes of your ambition to go with rich people, " Mrs. Ridgedeclared. "Since your visit at the Lake, you have been discontented. "

"I was never contented with _this_!" Milly retorted quite truthfully. What the old lady regarded as a fault, Milly considered a virtue. 

"And you are neglecting your church work to go to parties. "

"Oh, grandma!" the girl exclaimed wearily. "Chicago isn't Euston, Pa. , grandma!"

As if the young people's clubs of the Second Presbyterian Church couldsatisfy the social aspirations of a Milly Ridge! She was fast becomingconscious of the prize that had been given her--her charm and herbeauty--and an indefinable force was driving her on to obtain thenecessary means of self-exploitation. 

It was true, as her grandmother said, that more and more this autumnMilly was away from her home. Mrs. Gilbert had not forgotten her, northe other people she had met at the Lake. More and more she was beingasked to dinners and dances, and spent many nights with good-naturedfriends. 

"She might as well board over there, " Horatio remarked forlornly, "forall I see of the girl. "

"Milly is a selfish girl, " her grandmother commented severely. 

"She's young, and she wants her fling. Guess we'd better see if we can'tgive it to her, mother. "

Horatio was no fighter, especially of his own womenkind. Even the oldlady's judgment was disturbed by the dazzle of Milly's social conquests. 

"She'll be married before long, " they said. 

Meanwhile Milly was learning the fine social distinctions between thesouth and the north sides of the city. The Kemps' new house on GrangerAvenue was very rich and handsome like its many substantial neighbors, but Milly already knew enough to prefer the Gilberts' on the NorthDrive, which, if smaller, had more style. And in spite of all the milesof solid prosperity and comfort in the great south side of the city, Milly quickly perceived that the really nicest people had tuckedthemselves in along the north shore. 

Somewhere about this time Milly acquired two lively young friends, Sallyand Vivie Norton, daughters of a railroad man who had recently beenmoved to Chicago from the East. Sally Norton was small and blonde andgay. She laughed overmuch. Vivie was tall and sentimental, --a brunette. They came once to the West Laurence Avenue house for Sunday supper. Horatio did not like the sisters; he called them in his simple way"Giggle" and "Simper. " The Nortons lived not far from the Lake on EastAcacia Street, and that became for Milly the symbol of theall-desirable. She spoke firmly of the advantages of East Acacia Streetas a residence--she had even picked out the house, the last but one inthe same row of stone-front boxes where the Nortons lived. 

It made Horatio restless. Like a good father he wished to indulge hisonly child in every way--to do his best for her. But with his salary ofthree thousand dollars he could barely give Milly the generous allowanceshe needed and always spent in advance. Rise at Hoppers' was slow, although sure, and the only way for him to enlarge Milly's horizon wasby going into business for himself. He began to talk of schemes, said hewas tired of "working for others all his life. " Milly's ambitions werecontagious. 

After one of the family conflicts, Grandma invaded Milly's bedroom, which was quite irritating to the young woman. 

"Mildred, " she began ominously. "Do you realize what you are doing toyour father?"

"The rent is only thirty dollars a month more, grandma, " Milly replied, reverting to the last topic under discussion. "Papa can take it out ofmy allowance. " (Milly was magnificently optimistic about theexpansiveness of her allowance. ) "Anyhow, I don't see why I can't livenear my friends and have a decent--"

The old lady's lips tightened. 

"In my days young girls did not pretend to decide where their parentsshould live. "

"These aren't your days, grandma, thank heaven!... If a girl is going toget anything out of life--"

"You've had a great deal--"

"Thanks to the friends I've made for myself. "

"It might be better if you cared less to go with folks above you--"

"Above me!" the exasperated girl flashed. "Who's above me? Nelly Kemp?Sally Norton?--Above me!"

That was the flaming note of Milly's intense Americanism. As a social, human being she recognized no superiors. There were richer, cleverer, better educated women, no doubt, but in this year of salvation and hope, 1890, there were none "above her. " Never!... 

Mrs. Ridge discreetly shifted the point of attack. 

"It might be disastrous for your father if you were to break up hishome. "

"You talk so tragically, grandma! Who's thinking of breaking up homes?Just moving a couple of miles across the city to another house inanother street. What difference does it make to a man what old house hecomes home to after his work is done?"

"You forget his church relations, Milly. "

"You seem to think there are no churches on the North Side. "

"But he's made his place here--and Dr. Barlow has a good influence uponhim. "

Milly knew quite well the significance of these words. There had been atime when Horatio did not come home every night sober, and did not go tochurch on Sundays. When the little old lady wished to check the soaringambition of her granddaughter, she had but to refer to this dark periodin the Ridge history. Milly did not like to think of those dreary days, and was inclined to put the responsibility for them upon her deadmother. "If she'd only known how to manage him--" For with all men Millythought it was simply a question of management. 

"Well, " she announced at last. "I'm tired and want to go to bed. Come, Cheriki, darling!" Cheriki was a fuzzy toy spaniel, the gift of anadmirer. Milly poked the animal from her bed, and the old lady, wholoathed dogs, scuttled out of the room. She had been routed again. Knowing Milly's obstinate nature, she felt that she must battle dailyfor the right. 

But Milly did not return to the attack for some time. She stayed at homefor several evenings and was very sweet with her father. Sheostentatiously refused some alluring invitations and was quite cheerfulabout it. "She must give up these parties--she could not always beaccepting the Nortons' hospitality, etc. " But Milly was not a nagger, atleast not with men. Hers was a pleasant, cheerful nature, and she bathedthe West Laurence Avenue house in several beams of sunshine. 

"She's a good girl, mother, " Horatio said proudly. "And she's all we'vegot. It would be a pity not to give her what she wants. "

A complete expression of the submissive attitude of the new parent!

"It may not be good for her, " Grandma Ridge objected, after hergeneration. 

"Well, if she only marries right. "

More and more it was in their minds that Milly was destined to make "agreat match. " Purely as a business matter that must be taken intoaccount. So Horatio thought harder about getting into business forhimself, and his little corner of the world revolved more and more aboutthe desires of a woman. 

 * * * * *

Fortunately for the peace of the Ridge household, the Kemps invitedMilly to go to New York with them in the spring. They were stillfurnishing the new house and had in mind some pictures. Mr. Kemp hadrather "gone in for art" of late, and the banking business had beengood.... To Milly, who had never been on a sleeping-car in her life (theRidge migrations hitherto having been accomplished in day coachesbecause of economy and because Grandma Ridge dreaded night travel), itwas a thrilling prospect. Her feeling for Eleanor Kemp had been dimmedsomewhat by the acquisition of newer and gayer friends, but it revivedinto a brilliant glow. 

"You dear thing!... You're sure I won't be in the way?... It will be tooheavenly for words!"

To her husband Mrs. Kemp reported Milly's ecstasy laughingly, saying, --

"If any one can enjoy things as much as Milly Ridge, she ought to havethem, " to which the practical banker observed, --"She'll get them whenshe picks the man. "

So they made the wonderful journey and put up at the pleasant oldWindsor on the avenue, for the era of vast caravansaries had not yetbegun. Fifth Avenue in ninety was not the cosmopolitan thoroughfare itis to-day. Nevertheless, to Milly's inexperienced eyes, accustomed tothe gloom of smoke, the ill-paved, dirty streets of mid-western cities, New York was even noble in its splendor. They went to the MetropolitanMuseum, to the private galleries of the dealers, to Tiffany's, where thebanker bought a trinket for his wife's young friend, and the women wentto dressmakers who intimidated Milly with their airs and their prices. 

Of course they went to Daly's and to hear "Aida, " and supped afterwardsat the old Delmonico's. And a hundred other ravishing things werecrowded into the breathless fortnight of their visit. When she was oncemore settled in her berth for the return journey, Milly sighed withregret and envisaged the dreary waste of West Laurence Avenue. 

"If we only lived in New York, " she thought, and then she was wiseenough to reflect that if the Ridges lived in New York, it would not beparadise, but another version of West Laurence Avenue. 

"Some day you will go to Paris, my dear, " Mrs. Kemp said, "and then NewYork will seem like the West Side. "

"Never, that!" Milly exclaimed, shocked. 

The approach to Chicago under all circumstances is bleak and stern. Butthat early April day it seemed to Milly unduly depressing. The squalidlittle settlements on the outskirts of the great city were likeeruptions in the low, flat landscape. Around the factories and mills thelittle houses were perched high on stilts to keep their feet out of themud of the submerged prairie. All the way home Milly had been makingvirtuous resolutions not to be extravagant and tease her father, to bepatient with her grandmother, etc. , --in short, to be content with thatstate of life unto which God had called her (for the present), as thecatechism says. But she felt it to be very hard that Milly Ridge shouldbe condemned to such a state of life as the West Side of Chicagoafforded. After the cultivated, mildly luxurious atmosphere of theKemps, she realized acutely the commonness of her home.... 

Her father was waiting for her in the train-shed, and she hugged himaffectionately and went off on the little man's arm, quite gayly, wavinga last farewell to Eleanor Kemp as the latter stepped into her waitingcarriage. 

"Well, daughter, had a good time?"

IX

ACHIEVEMENTS

"But, papa, " Milly interrupted her chatter about her marvellous doingsin the East, long enough to ask, --"where are you going?"

Instead of taking the familiar street-car that would plunge them into anoisome tunnel and then rumble on for uncounted miles through the drabWest Side, Horatio had turned towards the river, and they were in thewholesale district, where from the grimy stores came fragrant odors ofcomestibles, mingled in one strong fusion of raw food product. Horatiosmiled at the question and hurried at a faster pace, while Milly, raising her skirts, had to scuttle over the "skids" that lay across thesidewalk like traps for the unwary. 

"I've an errand down here, " he said slyly. "Guess it won't hurt you totake a little walk. "

His air was provocative, and Milly followed him breathlessly, her blueeyes wide with wonder. He stopped opposite a low brick building at theend of Market Street, and pointed dramatically across. At first Millysaw nothing to demand attention, then her quick eyes detected the blazonof a new gilt sign above the second-story windows, which read:--

 H. RIDGE & CO. , IMPORTERS TEAS AND COFFEES

Horatio broke into an excited grin, as Milly grasped his arm. 

"Oh, papa--is it _you_?"

"It's _me_ all right!" And he flung out a leg with a strut ofproprietorship. "Opened last week. Want to see the inside?"

"And Hoppers'?" Milly inquired as they crossed the muddy street, dodgingthe procession of drays. 

"Hoppers'--I just chucked it, " Horatio swaggered. "Guess I'm old enoughto work for myself if I'm ever going to--no money in working for theother feller. "

When they had climbed the narrow, dark stairway to the second floor, Horatio flung open the door to the low, unpartitioned room that ranclear to the rear of the building. A man rose from behind the solitarydesk near the front window. 

"Let me introduce you to the Company, " Horatio announced with gravity. "Mr. Snowden, my daughter!"

They laughed, and Milly detected an air of embarrassment as the man cameforward. In the clear light of the window his hair and mustache seemedblacker than she remembered; she suspected that they had been dyed. AsMilly shook hands with the "Company, " she had her first moment of doubtabout the enterprise. 

"My daughter, Miss Simpson, " and Milly was shaking hands with a quiet, homely little woman in spectacles, who might have been twenty-five orfifty, and who gave Milly a keen, suspicious, commercial look. She wasevidently all that was left of the "company, "--bookkeeper, stenographer, clerk. 

Beside the desk there was a large round table with some unwashed cupsand saucers, a coffee boiler, and in the rear sample cases andbundles, --presumably the results of importations. Milly admiredeverything generously. She was bothered by discovering Snowden as "thecompany" and considered whether she ought to confide to her father whatshe knew of the man. "He's no gentleman, " she thought. "But that wouldnot be any reason for his being a bad business man, " she reflectedshrewdly. And in spite of her woman's misgivings of any person who waserrant "that way, " she decided to be silent. "He may have regrettedit, --poor old thing. "

Snowden left the place with them. Drawn up in front of the building wasa small delivery wagon, with a spindly horse and a boy. Freshly paintedon the dull black cover was the legend: "H. Ridge & Co. TEAS ANDCOFFEES. "

"City deliveries, " Horatio explained. Snowden smiled wanly. Somehow thespindly horse did not inspire Milly with confidence, nor the small boy. But the outfit might answer very well for "city deliveries. " Milly wasdetermined to see nothing but a rosy future for the venture. Shelistened smilingly to Horatio, who bobbed along by her side, talking allthe time. 

Evidently things had been moving with the Ridges since her departure. Milly's insistent ambitions had borne fruit. She had roused thequiescent Horatio. Hoppers' mail-order house offered a secure berth fora middle-aged man, who had rattled half over the American continent insearch of stability. But, he told himself, the fire was not all out ofhis veins yet, and Milly supplied the incentive this time "to betterhimself. " After some persuasion he had hired his friend Snowden, who hadnot yet been invited to become a partner at Hoppers', and who agreed toput ten thousand dollars into the new business, which Horatio was tomanage. And Grandma Ridge had been persuaded to invest five thousanddollars, half of what the judge had left her, in her son's new venture. Then a chance of buying out the China American Tea Company had come. Horatio, of course, knew nothing about tea, and less about coffee; hisexperience had been wholly in drugs. But he argued optimistically thattea and coffee in a way were drugs, and if a man could sell one sort ofdrugs why not another? He saw himself in his own office, signing thefirm's name, --his own name!

"Father!" Milly exclaimed that evening, throwing her arms boisterouslyabout the little man, in the hoydenish manner so much deplored by hergrandmother, --"Isn't it great! Your own business--and you'll make lotsof money, lots--I'm perfectly sure. "

Her ambitions began to flower. There was a delicious sense of venture tothe whole thing: it offered that expansible horizon so necessary to thehappiness of youth, though it might be hard to see just why HoratioRidge's entering upon the wholesale tea and coffee business at themature age of fifty should light the path to a gorgeous future. 

Mrs. Ridge was a rather wet blanket, to be sure, but Grandma was a timidold lady who did not like travelling in the dark. 

"I hope it will come out right--I hope so, " she repeated lugubriously. 

For a few fleeting moments Milly recalled the spindly horse and thescrubby boy of the delivery wagon, but for only a few moments. Then hernatural buoyancy overcame any doubts. 

"I'm sure father will make a great success of the business!" and shegave him another hug. Was he not doing this for her? Horatio, twistinghis cigar rapidly between his teeth, strode back and forth in the littleroom and nodded optimistically. He was a merchant.... 

 * * * * *

One pleasant Sunday in May, father and daughter took the street-car tothe city and strolled north towards the river past "the store. " Horatioglanced proudly at the sign, which was already properly tarnished by thesmoke. Milly turned to gaze at a smart new brougham that was climbingthe ascent to the bridge. There were two men on the box. 

"That's the Danners' carriage, " she said knowingly to her father, "andMrs. George Danner. "

There were few carriages with two men on the box in the city those days, and they were well worth a young woman's attention. The Danners had cometo Chicago hardly a generation before, "as poor as poverty, " as Millyknew. Now their mammoth dry goods establishment occupied almost a cityblock, and young Mrs. Danner had two men on the box--all out of drygoods. Why should not coffee and tea produce the same results? Fatherand daughter crossed the bridge, musingly, arm in arm. 

From the grimy fringe of commerce about the river they penetrated theresidence quarter beside the Lake. Milly made her father observe thefreshness of the air coming from the water, and how clean and quiet thestreets were. Indeed this quarter of the noisy new city had something ofthe settled air of older communities "back east" that Horatio rememberedhappily. Milly led him easily around the corner of Acacia Street to theblock where the Nortons lived. 

"Aren't they homey looking, father? And just right for us.... Now thatone at the end of the block--it's empty.... You can see the lake fromthe front windows. Just think, to be able to _see_ something!"

They went up the steps of the vacant house, and to be sure a littleslice of blue water closed the vista at the end of the street. Horatioswung his cane hopefully. The pleasant day, the sense of "being his ownman" exhilarated him: he dealt lightly with the "future. "

"It's a tony neighborhood, all right, " he agreed. "What did you saythese houses rent for?"

"Eighty dollars a month--that's what the Nortons pay. "

"Eighty a month--that's not bad, considering what you get!" Horatioobserved largely. 

It was a bargain, of course, as father and daughter tried to convinceMrs. Ridge. But the old lady, accustomed to Euston, Pa. , rents, thoughtthat the forty dollars a month they had to pay for the West Laurence boxwas regal, and when it was a question of subletting it at a sacrificeand taking another for twice the sum she quaked--visibly. 

"Don't you think, Horatio, you'd better wait and see how the newbusiness goes?"

But the voice of prudence was not to the taste of the youngergenerations. 

"It'll be so near the store, " Milly suggested. "Papa can come home forhis lunch. "

"You've got to live up to your prospects, mother, " Horatio pronouncedrobustly. 

The old lady saw that she was beaten and said no more. With compressedlips she contemplated the future. Father and daughter had no doubts:they both possessed the gambling American spirit that reckons theharvest ere the seed is put in the ground. 

That evening after Milly had departed Horatio explained himselffurther, --

"You see, mother, we must start Milly the best we can. She's made a lotof real good friends for herself, and she'll marry one of these days. It's our duty to give her every chance. "

It never occurred to Horatio that a healthy young woman of twenty withno prospect of inheritance might find something better worth doing inlife than amusing herself while waiting for a husband. Such strenuousideas were not in the air then. 

"She'll always have a home so long as I'm alive and can make one forher, " he said sentimentally. "But she'll get one for herself, you see!"

He was vastly proud of "his girl, "--of her good looks, her social power, her clever talk. And the old lady was forced to agree--they must giveMilly her chance. 

 * * * * *

So that autumn the Ridges trekked again from West Laurence Avenue to thesnug little house on Acacia Street, "just around the corner from theDrive. " At last Milly had won her point and translated herself from thedespised West Side to the heart of the "nicest" neighborhood in thecity. After the turmoil of moving she went to her bed in the third floorfront room, listening to the splash of the lake on the breakwater, dreaming of new conquests. 

What next?

PART TWO

GETTING MARRIED

I

THE GREAT OUTSIDE

All this time, while Milly Ridge was busily spinning her little cocoonin the big city, other and more serious life had been going on there, itis needless to say. Out of the human stream Milly was gathering to herattractive individualities, and Horatio was faithfully performing hisminor function in the dingy brick establishment of the Hoppers'. Manyhundreds of thousands, men and women, were weaving similar webs. Forthere was hardly a more stirring corner of the earth's broad platterthan this same sprawling prairie city at the end of the great lake. Allthis time it had been swelling, much to the gratification of itsboastful citizens, --getting busier, getting richer, getting dirtier. There had been many a civic throb and groan, --rosy successes and drearyfailures. 

But of all this surrounding life Milly was not faintly conscious. Shecould tell you just when the custom of giving afternoon teas firstreached Chicago, when "two men on the box" became the rule, when thefirst Charity Ball was held and who led the grand march and why, andwhen women wore those absurd puffed sleeves and when they first appearedwith long tails to their coats. But of the daily doings of men folk whenthey disappeared of a morning into the smoky haze of the city, and ofall the mighty human forces around her, she had not the slightestconception, as indeed few of her sisters had at that time. To allintents and purposes she might as well have lived in the eighteenthcentury or in the Colorado desert, as in Chicago in the eighties andearly nineties of this marvellous nineteenth century. 

Horatio often referred to Chicago as a "real live town, " andcongratulated himself for being part of it. It was the one place in allthe world to do business in. It grew over night, so the papers said eachmorning, and was manifestly destined to be the metropolis of the westernhemisphere, etc. , etc. All that was in the opulent future, for whichevery one lived. Even Horatio, who spent all his waking hours among men, did not in the least comprehend what it might be to live in this centreof expanding race energy. Yet he would point out to Milly appreciativelyon their Sunday walks the acres of new building growing mushroomlikefrom the sandy soil, with the miles of tangled railroad tracks, theforest of smoking chimneys, and the ever widening canopy of black smoke. It was all ugly and dirty, the girl thought. She preferred the drivealong the lake shore, and the Bowman's new palace with its machicolatedcornice. 

It was all business, intensely business: business affected even socialmoments. Later, when Milly became sophisticated enough to generalize, she complained that the men were "all one kind"; they could "talk ofnothing but business to a woman. " Even their physique, heavy and flabby, showed the office habit, in contrast with the bony and ruddy Englishmen, who drifted through the city from time to time. That Chicago was ahuge pool into which all races and peoples drained, --that was a factof which Milly was only dimly conscious. "You see so many queer, foreign-looking people on the street, " she might observe. "Polacks andDagoes!... Ugh.... Wish they'd stay at home!" Horatio would growl inresponse. Milly supposed they came from the "Yards, " where hordes ofthese savage-looking foreigners were employed in the disagreeable taskof slaughtering cattle. Their activity was only too evident certain dayswhen the wind veered to the southwest and filled the city with an awfulstench. 

Of what it all meant, this huddling together of strange peoples from thefour quarters of the globe, Milly never took the time to think. Shenever had the least conception of what it was, --the many miles of bricksand mortar, the tangled railroads, the ceaseless roar of the great citylike the din of a huge factory. Here was the mill and the market--herewas LIFE in its raw material. When she crossed the murky, slimy river, as she had occasion to do almost daily, after the removal to the NorthSide, she thought merely how dingy and dirty the place was, and what apity it was one had to go through such a mess to reach the best shopsand the other quarters of the city where "nice" people lived. She sawneither the beauty nor the significance of those grimy warehousesthrusting up along the muddy river amid the steam and the smoke--cavernsthat concealed hardware, tools, groceries, lumber, --all the rawprotoplasm of life. An artist remarked once to Milly, "It's likeHell--and like Paradise, all in one, --this river!" She thought himrather silly. 

One evening, however, out of this roaring hive of men and women strivingto feed and clothe and house themselves came a flash of vivid lightningin the murky sky, --the bomb of the anarchist. That was enough to startleeven the Milly Ridges, --spitting forth its vicious message only a mileor two from where the very "nicest" people had their homes! The soddenconsciousness of the city awoke in a hideous nightmare of fear. Thenewspapers were filled with the ravings of excited ignorance. Nobodytalked of anything else. Horatio declaimed against the ungratefuldogs, --those "Polack beasts, "--who weren't fit to enjoy all that Americagave them. At dinner parties grave and serious men debated in low tonesthe awful deed and its meaning. Even women spoke of the bomb instead ofdiscussing whether "you could get this at Field's" or "should tryMandel's. " A fearful vision of Anarchy stalked the commonplace streetsand peered into comfortable houses. Milly imagined that somehow thoseevil-looking barbarians had got loose from the stockyards and mightdescend at any moment upon the defenceless city in a howling mob, as shehad read of their doing in her history books. For the first few days itwas an excitement to venture into the streets at night, even with astrong male escort. Horatio spoke solemnly, with an arousedconsciousness of citizenship, of "teaching the mob lessons and awholesome respect for the law. " Then there were the rumors fresh everyhour of plots against leading men and wholesale slaughter by these samebloodthirsty anarchists, and the theatrical discoveries of thepolice--it was a breathless time, when even Milly seized upon thenewspaper of a morning. Then gradually, as the police gathered in thelittle band of scapegoats, the tension relaxed: people went to thecelebrated Haymarket to gape at the spot where the crime against societyhad taken place.... 

The excitement flamed up once more when the anarchists were brought totrial. Women fought for the chance to sit in the noisome littlecourt-room, to see the eight men caught like rats in the nets ofJustice. When life emerges dramatically in the court-room, it intereststhe Milly Ridges.... One morning Sally Norton came flying into the Ridgehouse. 

"Get your things on, Mil!" she rippled breathlessly. "We're going to theanarchist trial. "

"But the papers say you can't get near the door. "

"Father's given me a card to the judge--he knows him. Come on--Vivie'swaiting at the corner. "

In such heady excitement the three girls raced to the criminal courtbuilding and were smuggled by a fat bailiff through the judge's privatechambers into the crowded scene. There was not six inches of standingroom to be had in the place except beside the judge, and there thebailiff installed the young women in comfortable chairs, much to theenvy of the perspiring throng beneath. 

There, behold, beside the grave judge, facing the court-room, above thecounsel, the reporters, the prisoners, sat Milly Ridge and Sally andVivie Norton, in their best clothes, with the sweeping plumed hats thathad just come into fashion then.... Milly beamed with pleasure andexcitement, casting alluring glances from beneath her great hat at thesevere judge. It was like a play, and she had a very good seat. 

It was a play that went on day after day for weeks, sometimes dull withlegal formalities, sometimes tense with "human" interest. And, day afterday, the three girls occupied their favored seats beside the judge, listening to the evidence of the great conspiracy against Society, watching the prisoners--a sorry lot of men generally--and staringhaughtily down at the jammed court-room. Their presence, of course, wasnoted by the reporters and mentioned as at a social event "among oursociety leaders in daily attendance at the trial. " Their names anddresses were duly recorded, along with pen pictures of the anarchists. It quite fluttered Milly, this prominence, --"the Misses Norton and MissMildred Ridge, etc. "

The three girls became deeply interested in the prisoners and pickedtheir favorites among them. Sally was for a German because he looked tobe "such an interesting devil, " and Vivie was intrigued by the newspaperstories about another. Milly was drawn to the youngest of all, --a merelad, blue-eyed and earnest, who had evidently "got into bad company" andbeen led astray. Vivie sent her man flowers, --a bunch of deep redroses, --and the next day he appeared wearing one conspicuously pinned tohis coat. Sally coaxed the obliging bailiff to smuggle them all into thejail so that they might see the prisoners and talk to them through thebars. But the great event was when Spies made his celebrated speech ofdefiance, breathing scorn and hatred of his captors. Sally Norton rosein her seat and threw him kisses with both hands. A bailiff came, puthis hand on her shoulder, and forced her to be quiet. It made somethingof a scene in court. The judge looked annoyed. Then Sally had a fit ofthe giggles and finally had to leave the room. 

But when the turn of Milly's hero came to speak in his own defence, Milly had a choking sensation in her throat and felt the warm tears runover her cheeks. He, too, was brave. He talked of the wrongs of society, and Milly realized somehow that she was part of the society he wascondemning, --one of the more privileged at the feast of life, who madeit impossible for the many others to get what they wanted. Of course hisviews were wrong, --all the men she knew said so, --but the pity of it allin his case, so young and handsome and brave he appeared!

While counsel wrangled and pleaded, while this little group of menrounded up by the police to stand sponsors for Anarchy and expiate itshorrid creed, so that good citizens might sleep peacefully nights, faceddeath, the three girls sat and stared at the spectacle. It passedslowly, and the prisoners were condemned by a jury of their peers quitepromptly, and the grave judge sentenced them "to hang by their necksuntil dead. " At the dreadful words Milly gasped, then sobbed outright. 

No matter what they had done, at least what _he_ had done, how wrong_his_ ideas about society were, _he_ was too young and too handsome forsuch an awful fate. If he had only had about him from the beginning theright influences, if some woman had loved him and guided himaright, --Milly hoped that he might yet be spared, pardoned if possible. Mopping the tears from her eyes she left the court-room for the lasttime, with a vague sense of the wretchedness of life--sometimes. 

 * * * * *

That very night, however, she was as gay and bright as ever at theKemps' dinner. A fascinating young lawyer was of the party, a newcomerto the city, who dared to raise his voice in that citadel ofrespectability, the Kemps' Gothic dining-room, and declare that thewhole affair was a miserable travesty of justice, --a conspiracy framedup by the police. "They have the city scared, " he said, "and nobodydares say what he thinks. The newspapers know the truth, but the big menmake the papers keep quiet. " It was all quite thrilling, Milly thought. Perhaps, after all, her young man was not a villain. The table of soberdiners sat very still, but afterwards the banker pronounced what theyoung lawyer said to be "loose talk" and "wicked nonsense. " And Millyknew one young man who would never be asked again to the Granger Avenuehouse. 

After the verdict came all sorts of legal delays, and Milly largely lostinterest in the anarchists. The drama had evaporated, and though shecontinued to read what the papers printed about the prisoners, morepersonal affairs crowded in to blot out from her mind that sense of alarge, suffering humanity which she had had for a few moments. When thegovernor was finally induced to intervene and commute some of thesentences, she had a muddled notion that he had deprived Society of itsjust vengeance, that the well-to-do, well-meaning people had failed toget full punishment for the shocking deeds of the anarchists. 

And that was all. 

About a year later the young blue-eyed anarchist, in whom Milly had beeninterested, blew off the top of his head with a bomb. But Milly was verybusy just at that time with other matters. 

II

MILLY ENTERTAINS

Of much more importance to Milly than the fatal bomb was her first realparty. She had long desired to entertain. 

What magic the word has for women of Milly's disposition! It conjuresthe scene of their real triumphs, for woman displays herself when she"entertains" as man does when he fights. She patronizes her friends, worsts her enemies, --then, when she "entertains".... 

Milly's party came off that first spring after the Ridges had moved intothe Acacia Street house, --in 1890 to be exact. Milly had had it in mind, of course, even before the family moved. She had long been conscious ofher social indebtedness, which of late years had accumulated rapidly. Her party should be also an announcement, as well as a review ofprogress. She had consulted with the Nortons and Eleanor Kemp, whoadvised giving a "tea, "--a cheap form of wholesale entertainment then inmore repute than now. Milly would have preferred to "entertain atdinner, " as the papers put it. But that was obviously out of thequestion. The Ridge household with its shabby appointments and onecolored maid was not yet on a dinner-giving basis. Moreover, it wouldhave cost far too much to feed suitably the host that Milly aspired togather together. The moving and necessary replenishment of the householdgoods had quite exhausted Horatio's purse, and the increase in themonthly bills more than consumed all the present profits of the tea andcoffee business. Grandma Ridge was more vinegary than ever these daysover the household bills. Milly called her "mean, " and meanness in hereyes was the most detestable of human vices. 

The famous "tea" marked another advance in Milly's career. It provedbeyond question her gift for the life she had elected. Simple as thisaffair was--"from four until seven"--it had to be created out of wholecloth and involved a marvellous display of energy and tact on Milly'spart. First her father and grandmother had to be accustomed to the idea. "I ain't much on Sassiety myself, " Horatio protested, when the subjectwas first broached. (He had an exasperating habit of becoming needlesslyungrammatical when he wished to "take Milly down. ") Mrs. Ridge observedcoldly, --"It would be a great extravagance. "

That tiresome word, "Extravagance!" Milly came to loathe it most of allthe words in the language. 

"Oh, grandma!" she exclaimed. "Just tea and cakes!"

Her conception grew before the event. Just "tea and cakes" developedinto ices and sherbets and bonbons. Horatio would not permit punch orany form of alcoholic refreshment. After a convivial youth he had becomerigidly temperance. "Tea and coffee's enough, " he said. "You might tellyour friends where they come from--help on the business. " (It was one ofHoratio's rude jokes. )

Eleanor Kemp, from her conservatories at Como, supplied the flowers andplants that did much to disguise the shabbiness of the little house. TheNorton girls collected the silver and china from a radius of eightblocks. There was a man at the door with white gloves, another at thecurb for carriage company, and a strip of dusty red carpet across thewalk. Milly financed all this extra expense, and that and her new gownmade such a deep hole in her budget that she never again caught up withher bills, although Horatio was induced to increase her allowance thenext Christmas. 

Milly and all her friends worked for weeks in preparation. They wrotethe cards, addressed the envelopes, arranged the furniture, anddistributed the flowers. She felt "dead" the day before with fatigue andanxiety, and shed tears over one of Grandma Ridge's little speeches. 

 * * * * *

But it was a triumph! Guests began coming shortly after four, --a fewwomen from the West side, --and by five-thirty the little Acacia Streethouse was jammed to the bursting point, so that the young men whoarrived towards six had to exercise their athletic skill in order toinsert themselves into the crush. Afternoon teas still had someallurement, even for young men, in those primitive days, and Milly hadan army of loyal friends, who would have come to anything out ofdevotion to her. And the affair had got abroad, as all Milly's affairsdid, had become the talk of the quarter; a good many families wereinterested through personal contributions of tableware. There was a lineof waiting cabs and carriages for three blocks in from the Lake. Thestream of smartly dressed people flowed in and out of the house untilafter eight, when the last boisterous young men were literally shooedout of the front door by Milly and her aides, --the two Norton girls. Itwas, as the French put it, furiously successful. 

Through the heat of the fray Mrs. Kemp and Mrs. Gilbert stood besideMilly under the grille that divided the hall from the drawing-room. Grandma Ridge in her best black gown, with her stereotyped cat-smile, sat near by in a corner. Milly had carefully planted the old lady whereshe would be conspicuous and harmless and had impressed upon her thedanger of moving from her eminent position. For once the little old ladywas stirred to genuine emotion as the babble of tongues surged over her. A becoming pink in her white cheeks betrayed the excitement within herwithered breast over the girl's triumph. For even Grandma Ridgepossessed traces of a feminine nature.... And Horatio! He came in latefrom his business, scorning to pay attention to the "women's doings, "sneaked up the back stairs and donned his Sunday broadcloth coat, thenwormed his way cautiously into the press to see the fun. One of the moreexquisite moments of the day, preserved by Sally Norton and widelycirculated among Milly's friends, was the picture of the little manfacing the majestic Mrs. Bernhard Bowman--she of the palace on theshore--and teetering nervously on his heels, with hands thrustnonchalantly into his trousers' pockets, bragging to that distinguishedperson of "Daughter. "

"She's a wonder--mighty smart girl, " he said confidingly. "Done all thisherself you know--her own idee. I'm not much myself for entertaining andall that society business. Give me a friend or two and a quiet game ofcards, etc. , etc. "

The majestic "leader of our most exclusive circle, " as the _Star_ had itthe next Sunday morning, eyed the nervous little man over her broadbosom and across her plate of salad and pronounced gravely herjudgment, --

"Your daughter, Mr. Ridge, must have a remarkable social talent. "

"They all say it--must be so. Guess she got it from her mother'sfolks--not from _me_. " He laughed confidentially. "Well, I tell hergrandmother we must give her some rope--she'll marry one of these days. "

"Of course. "

"Young folks will be young. "

(Afterwards Horatio puffed considerably when he told of his encounterwith the great Mrs. Bowman. "I wasn't the least might 'fraid ofher, --talked to her like anybody else. Who was she, anyway, when old JoeBowman married her? Saleslady in a State Street store. I've seen hermyself sliding the change across the counter and handing out socks. " Inthis the little man must have exaggerated, for it was long before theRidge advent in Chicago that the lady destined to become its socialleader had withdrawn from the retail trade, if indeed there were anytruth in the tale. "And she married a butcher, " Horatio added. "Oh, papa!" from Milly. "Yes, he _was_ a butcher, too--wholesale, maybe, buthe had the West Side Market out beyond Division Street--I've seen thesign. " That might well have been. But long before this the honorableJoseph Bernhard Bowman had died, --God rest his soul in the granitemausoleum in Oakwoods, --and left a pleasant number of millions tofinance his widow's aspirations. In Chicago, in those days, one neverlaid the start up against any assured achievement. )

At any rate Mrs. Bowman's presence at Milly's party was the last touchof success. Milly, though she had met the great lady, had not dared tosend her a card. But Mrs. Gilbert, who realized what it would mean toMilly, had fetched her in her carriage, coaxingly, --"It will please thegirl so, you know, to have you there for a few minutes!" And when theleader towered above Milly, whose flushed face was upturned withglistening, childlike eyes, and said in her ear, "My dear, it's alldelightful, your party, and you are charming, really charming!" Millyfelt that she had received the red ribbon. 

"She has a very magnetic personality, your young friend, " the great ladyconfided afterwards to Mrs. Gilbert, and repeated impressively severaltimes, "A magnetic personality--it's all in that. "

The phrase had not become meaningless then, and it aptly describedMilly's peculiar power. Somehow she reached out unconsciously in everydirection and drew to her all these perspiring, pushing, eating, talkingpeople. She had drawn them all into her shabby little home. "Magnetic, "as the great lady said. It is a power much desired in democraticsocieties where all must be done by the individual of his owninitiative--a power independent of birth, education, money, --with atouch of the mystery of genius in it, of course. 

Milly drew all kinds, indiscriminately, --even men, who didn't count formuch in this woman's game of entertaining, except for the fact that theycame. Yes, Mrs. Bernhard Bowman, who knew that people came to her chillyhalls merely to have it known that they _could_ come, might well envypoor little Milly Ridge her one magnet gift. 

"And so sweet, " Mrs. Gilbert cooed fondly, watching her protégé. 

At the moment Milly was listening to an elderly lady of the speciesfrump, with two homely daughters of the species bore, --obviously WestSide relics, --and she gave them the same whole-hearted interest she hadgiven the majestic one herself. The two older, experienced women gazedat the scene half enviously. This was another magic quality that thegirl possessed, --especially feminine, a tricksy gift of the Gods, quiteoutside the moral categories and therefore desired by all--charm. Charmmade all that mob so happy to be there in the stuffy quarters, struggling to appease their thirst with the dregs of tepid sherbet;charm compelled the warm, enthusiastic speeches to the girl. As EleanorKemp whispered, pinching Milly's plump arm, "My dear, you are a wonder, just a perfect wonder, --I always said so.... I'll run in to-morrow totalk it over.... "

All the women, richer, better placed in the game than Milly, easilydetecting the shabbiness of her home beneath the attempts to furbish up, envied the girl these two gifts. Why? Because they most help a woman tobe what civilization has forced her to be--a successful adventuress. 

 * * * * *

"Milly is such a sweet creature, " Mrs. Gilbert purred to her companion, as she sank back into the silky softness of the brougham that RoyGilbert had provided for her. "I do hope she'll marry well!"

"Of course she must marry properly, --some man who will give her theopportunity of exercising her remarkable social gift, " Mrs. Bowmanpronounced sagely. 

Nettie Gilbert smiled. She felt that she had done a kind act that day. 

"The girl has a career before her, if she makes no mistakes, " the greatlady added. 

And that was the universal verdict of all the experienced women who cameto bid their young hostess farewell and make their pretty speeches. Oneand all they recognized a woman's triumph. In this first attempt she hadshown what she could do "with nothing, positively nothing--that house!"Hers was a talent like any other, not to be denied. The woman's talent. Obviously Horatio could not finance this career on coffee and tea. Somestronger man, better equipped in fortune, must be found and pressed intoservice. Who of all the young and middle-aged men that had come thatafternoon to take the girl's hand and say the proper things wouldundertake this responsibility? From the way they hung about Milly, itmight be seen that she would not have to wait long for her "workingpartner. "

"Next, Milly's engagement!" Vivie Norton suggested daringly. 

"And then!" Sally shouted, waving her arms in abandon at the vision sheconjured. 

"Did you ever see so many men?... And they never go to afternoon thingsif they can help it.... "

Yes, it was an indubitable triumph! Even Horatio and Grandma Ridgeadmitted it, as they sat down in the disorder of the cluttereddining-room with the drooping flowers to munch sandwiches and drink coldchocolate for supper. They were plainly excited and somewhat awed by thevistas of the new social horizon that was opening through Milly's littleparty. 

 * * * * *

Milly was roused the next morning from a deep sleep to answer a knock ather door. 

"What is it?" she said peevishly. "I think you might let me sleepto-day. "

"Your father thought you would want to see the papers, " her grandmothersaid, holding out an armful of Sunday literature. "Shall I bring you upa cup of tea?"

"Thanks, Granny. " And Milly sank back into her pillows, while her handskilfully extracted the sheet that contained "Madame Alpha's" socialcolumn. Ah, here it was!

"One of the most charming affairs of the post-lenten season.... A quietfive o'clock.... Many of our notable fashionables, etc.... Radiant younghostess, etc. The charm of the young hostess, etc. "

Milly's thick braids circled her soft neck and fell on the large sheetwhile she devoured the words, as a young actress might swallow her firstnotices, or a young author scan his first reviews. The subtleintoxication of a successful first appearance quickened her pulses. "Quite the smartest bunch of snobs in the village, " wrote "Suzette" inthe _Mirror_, with a too obvious sneer. (Suzette's pose was a breezydisdain for the "highlights" of Society, an affectation of frontiersimplicity and democracy. But Milly, like every woman, knew well enoughthat there is always a better and a worse socially, and the importantthing is to belong to the best wherever you are, democracy or nodemocracy. )

At last Milly pushed from her the mass of newspapers and lay withupturned face, hands crossed beneath her head, staring out of her blueeyes at the dusty ceiling, dreaming of triumphs to be, social heights tosurmount, a flutter of engagement cards winging their way like a flightof geese to the little Acacia Street house; dreaming of men andwomen--and somewhere at the end of the long vista she saw a verygorgeous procession, herself at the head, with a long veil and anenormous bunch of white roses clasped to her breast, moving in statelyfashion up the church aisle. At the extreme end of the vista stood anerect black figure beside a white-robed clergyman. (For Milly now wentto the Episcopal Church, finding the service more satisfying. ) The faceof this erect figure was blurred in the dream. It was full of qualities, but lacked defining shape: it was "manly, " "generous, " "high-spirited, ""rich, " "successful, " etc. , etc. But the nearer she approached in hervision to the altar amid the crash of organ music, the more indefinitebecame the face. She tried on the figure various faces she knew, butnone seemed to fit exactly. No one possessed all the qualities. 

Grandma with a cup of lukewarm tea shattered the vision. 

III

MILLY BECOMES ENGAGED

"Milly, " Nettie Gilbert said impressively, "I've something serious tosay to you. "

It was a Sunday evening before the fire in the Gilberts' pleasantdrawing-room. The other supper guests had taken themselves off, and RoyGilbert had disappeared to his den, where he smoked many cigars and wassupposed to read serious books upon history and political economy. 

Milly glanced apprehensively at the pretty, plump lady beside her. Thetone in which the words had been pronounced reminded her oddly of thattime so far away--so very far back--when Eleanor Kemp had talked to herseriously about completing her education. 

"Yes, dear?" she answered, caressing a dimpled hand at her side. 

"Milly, "--Mrs. Gilbert leaned forward and frowned slightly. Millythought, "Nettie's getting fat, like her mother. " The Gilberts hadawfully good food and a great deal of it, even if they did go in formissions. "Milly, I have you on my mind a great deal these days. "

"That's so good of you, dear. "

Milly thought it must be religion once more, and prepared herself. 

"You ought to settle yourself.... All your friends think you shouldmarry, dear. "

"Why?" Milly demanded with some asperity. 

"Why, a girl in your position--"

"Yes, I know all that, " Milly interrupted quickly. 

She knew far better than Nettie Gilbert how necessary it was for her tosettle herself somehow. The bills had grown more rather than less thelast two years, and the tea and coffee importing business did not seemto be doing what had been expected of it. There were signs of anincreasing financial stringency about Horatio. Then there were othersigns, more personal, that were not pleasant to recall. That socialcareer which had opened so brilliantly rather more than two years beforehad been full of pleasures and excitements. For nearly a season MillyRidge had been the most talked of and invited girl in her specialcircle. The next season she had still been "popular, " but latterly atthe opening of the new season there had been a distinct falling off. Thefringe of cards about her long mirror, where she kept her invitationstucked into the margins and pinned in pendants, had grown lessfresh--not to say stale--and less distinguished. Mrs. Bowman hadforgotten altogether to invite her to dinner this fall. There were otherstings and mortifications that need not be described.... Yes, Milly hadbeen pondering the matter more or less consciously for some months. 

"Well, " she said to Mrs. Gilbert, with a brave little smile, "what shallI do about it?"

She recognized Nettie Gilbert's right to broach the subject. Nettie hadbeen her best friend, and thanks to her own experience had afellow-feeling for her and wished to see her launched upon a similarsuccessful career matrimonial. 

"With all your charm, you could have married a dozen times, " she saidwith gentle reproach. 

"But I haven't!" Milly retorted despairingly. She did not like to admitthat her opportunities had not been as numerous as it was popularlysupposed they had been. They never were, as Nettie must know from herown experience. Yet she had had her "chances, " and why hadn't she pulledit off before this? Why had all the little flirtations with promisingyoung men come to nothing? Were they afraid of her lavish hand? Or hadshe been waiting for something else, --"the real, right thing?" She didnot know. 

Her grandmother said that a penniless girl had no right to be so"particular"--which always maddened Milly. 

"I'm afraid you're not serious enough, my dear, " Mrs. Gilbert remarkedin gentle reproof. She had always felt that was a flaw in Milly'scharacter, --a lack of deep interest in the missionary side of life. 

"But men don't like serious women, " Milly said flippantly, dangling herslipper on the end of her toes. 

"I think the best ones do, " Mrs. Gilbert retorted severely. "You weremaking fun of Mr. Parker at supper to-night, and I'm afraid heunderstood. "

"I know, " Milly admitted penitently. "But he has such a funny voice. "She imitated amusingly the shrill falsetto of the said Clarence Parker. "And he's so solemn about everything he says. "

Mrs. Gilbert laughed in spite of her stern mood, then controlledherself. 

"But, Milly, Clarence Parker's very nice. He's related to the bestpeople where he comes from, and he is doing remarkably well in hisbusiness, Roy says. "

"What is it?" Milly demanded more practically. 

"Stocks and bonds, I think, --banking, you know. "

"Oh, " said Milly, somewhat impressed. 

"What is Clarence Parker's business, Roy?" Mrs. Gilbert appealed to herhusband, who at that moment happened to enter the room. 

"He represents several large estates in the East--invests the money, "Gilbert replied, and turning to Milly with a smile asked:--

"Going out for him, Milly? He's all right, solid as a rock. "

"Lighthouse, " Milly corrected sulkily. 

"And he's got plenty of his own money--has sense about investments. "

"I haven't any to make!"

"Oh, come--you've got one.... "

Nevertheless, when the two friends said their good-bys, kissing eachother affectionately on the cheek and saying, "Will you go with me tothe Drummonds Tuesday?" and "How about the meeting for the Old Man'sMission?" Milly added, "Your financial rock asked if he might call. Itold him he could. "

Milly squeaked the words in imitation of Mr. Parker's thin voice. Theyboth laughed. 

But Milly trotted home around the corner to the little house in AcaciaStreet in anything but a gay mood. The angular, white face of Mr. Clarence Albert Parker was far from fulfilling the idea she had visionedto herself in her Sunday morning dream. She knew well enough why NettieGilbert had arranged this particular Sunday supper with the intimacy ofonly four guests--Milly was very much awake now socially--and she hadtaken pains to examine the new young man with critical care. He waslittle, scarcely taller than Horatio, and Milly disliked men whose headsshe could look across. But with a silk hat it might not be too bad. Andhe was slightly bald, as well as pale, --on the whole not robust, --but hehad keen little gray eyes that seemed to watch one from the side andtake in a great deal. He was a precise, neat, colorless man, the sortturned out by a conservative New England family that invests its savingswith scrupulous care at four and three-quarters per cent. No, he was notinspiring, this grandson of the Plymouth Rock, with the thin voice. Buthe seemed substantial. Mr. Gilbert said so, and Roy Gilbert knew. 

There were other sombre reflections in Milly's revery that night. Thesense of family stringency was urging her to "make good" in some way. She was aware that she was slipping back in the social sands, mightbecome commonplace and neglected, if she did not do something to revivethe waning interest in herself. She realized, as she had not definitelyrealized before, that outside of the social game her life held little ornothing. To be sure, she helped Mrs. Gilbert with her missionarybusiness and charities: she read to a few old men once a week, and shecarried flowers over to St. Joseph's Hospital. But she could not pretendto herself that charities occupied her whole being.... No, the only wayout was Matrimony. A marriage, suitable and successful, would start hercareer once more. With something like a desperate resolve Milly put herlatch-key into the hole, and let herself into the paternal home, where afamiliar family odor greeted her sensitive nostrils. With a grimace ofdisgust she swept upstairs. Decidedly it was time for her to settleherself, as Nettie phrased it. 

 * * * * *

This time Milly arrived, in spite of homely paw or lukewarm inclinationfor the man. The young financier called at the Ridge home once, twice, and there met Horatio and Grandma Ridge, who both thought very highly ofhim. "A man with such principles, my dear, " Grandma observed. The twoyoung people "attended divine service together, " showed up afterwards onthe Drive, where Milly noted with satisfaction that Mr. Parker plus asilk hat overtopped her gaze. She also noted that the friends she metsmiled and bowed with just an added touch of interest.... Theytalked--chiefly Milly--on a variety of colorless topics. It appearedthat Mr. Parker had positive views only on financial matters. For allthe rest, --art, literature, religion, and life, --he began with acautious, --"Well, now, I don't know, " and never got much farther. However, Milly wisely reflected, one didn't marry for the sake ofexciting conversation. 

The affair progressed quite smoothly; by the middle of winter Milly'sfriends smiled when they spoke of "Milly's young man" and were readywith their felicitations. On the whole they thought that Milly had "donequite well.... "

It happened naturally, in the course of an expedition which the two madeto the scene of the great new Exposition. They drove out in a smartcarriage with a pair of lively horses which Mr. Parker managed verywell, but which took all his attention. They first visited thetumultuous fair grounds, where an army of workmen were making desperateefforts to get the impromptu city in some shape for visitors. Theytalked of the beauty of the buildings, the grandeur of the whole design, the greatness of Chicago. Then they drove to a vast new hotel in whichMr. Parker had taken a conservative interest, and they still talked ofthe marvellous growth of the city, its Ultimate Destiny, --terms whichhad a lugubrious sound in the New Englander's piping voice. As theyturned northwards around the great oval of Washington Park, the sun wassinking into a golden haze of dust and smoke. The horses dropped to apeaceful walk, and Milly knew that it was coming and braced herself forit. It came, slowly. 

First, by way of preliminary flourish, Mr. Parker declared all overagain his faith in the future of the city. He had come to stay, herepeated with emphasis; had thrown in his fate with that of Chicago. 

"I'm going to stay, " he trilled, "and grow up with the city. " (At thispoint Milly almost upset the boat by laughing: the idea of the littleman's growing up with Chicago seemed funny. )

Having struck the personal note, the young man spoke of his own"prospects, " and outlined the dignified position he intended to occupyin the forefront of the elect. This implied, of course, an establishmentand a suitable wife. Milly made the proper responses in the pauses. Atlast the fateful words reached her ear, "Will you marry me, Miss Ridge?"As Milly mimicked later his slow, solemn utterance, it sounded morelike, "Will you bury me, Miss Ridge?"

And Milly, with commendable directness, looked him straight in the eyeand said without a quiver, --"Yes, I will, Mr. Parker. "

Afterwards, as if this effort had exhausted both, there was silence onthe way back. When they reached the house, he said impressively, "I willcall to-morrow and see your father. "

"He'll be delighted to see you, I'm sure, " Milly rejoined somewhatflatly. Then she fled up the steps, as if she were afraid he might tryto kiss her or hold her hand. She escaped _that_, for the present.... 

So it was done at last. 

IV

CONGRATULATIONS

If Milly had any misgivings or inner revolt that first night, it wouldhave been dispelled by the unfeigned joy of her father and hergrandmother the next morning when she told them the news. Little Horatiosaid robustly as he kissed her:--

"Fine! Daughter! Fine!... He's a smart young man, I know that--the bestone of all your beaus.... And _he's_ lucky, too, " he addedapologetically. 

Grandma Ridge remarked with a certain malice, "You ought to be happywith him, Milly; he will be able to give you all the things you want. "

"I hope so, " Milly responded briskly. 

A few telephone messages to intimate friends and the news was spreadbroadcast over the area of Milly's little world. For the rest of the dayand for several days afterwards she was kept busy receivingcongratulations by telephone and in person, --flowers, letters, invitations, --all the little demonstrations of interest that giveimportance and excitement to a woman's life. 

She had "made good, " at last--that was the pleasant sensation she wasbathed in from morning to night. She had done the right thing. Thecongratulations sounded quite sincere. If not much was said of the youngman's personal charms, a great deal was made of his substantialqualities, which were indubitable. 

Nettie Gilbert was one of the first to arrive and took Milly to her armsaffectionately. "My dear, " she murmured between kisses, "I'm _so_ gladfor you. "

"You see I did it, " Milly replied complacently, marvelling to herselfhow easy it had been to do, once she had determined upon this way out. 

"You must let me give you a party.... Thursday?" Mrs. Gilbert purred, ignoring delicate analysis. 

That was the beginning of a joyous whirl of engagements, --luncheons, dinners, suppers, and theatre parties. It seemed as if Milly's littleworld had been waiting for this occasion to renew its enthusiasm. Millyhad the happy self-importance that an engaged girl should have, and tocap her triumphs, Mrs. Bowman gave one of her tremendous dinners, withtwenty-four covers, her second-best gold service, and a dance afterwardin the picture gallery. All in honor of obscure little Milly Ridge! Shehad arrived. 

She might look down the long, heavily laden table with the men-servantsinserting the courses between the guests, and scan the faces ofprominent citizens and their wives together with a few minordiplomats--for this was the great summer of '93--and feel a pardonableelation in her position. On her right sat that Mr. George Danner, thewealthy merchant whose equipage with two men on the box she had onceadmired, and on her left was the kindly, homely face of old ChristianBecker, the owner of _The Daily Star_. (You may be sure that the _Star_had a full account of this function. But Milly's name appeared sofrequently in Madame Alpha's social column that it had almost lostinterest for her. )... At the other end of the table next to thehostess's expansive person sat the Instrument of Accomplishment, like avery refined little white mouse, his keen eyes taking in every gold forkon the table. His mouth was often open, and Milly imagined she couldhear the familiar, "Well now, I don't know about that. " However, hishostess seemed to treat him with consideration. 

 * * * * *

It should be said to Milly's credit that she took rather lesssatisfaction in all this social flattery than in the happiness herengagement brought into the little Acacia Street house. Horatio began tochirp once more, after the interview with his prospective son-in-law. The inspissated gloom of the days of stringency had passed. The goldenbeams of prosperity seemed to radiate from the white-faced financier. 

"I tell you Clarence is a smart one, " Horatio announced after the firstinterview. "He gave me some good pointers. " For after the embarrassingformalities of sentiment had been disposed of, the two men had naturallydropped into business, and Parker had suggested a method of insertingthe tea and coffee business into the Exposition by getting concessionsfor "Coffee Kiosks, " which should advertise the Ridge brands of harmlessstimulants. The scheme had fired Horatio, who began once more to dreamdreams of wealth. 

So when the ring came, which like everything else about Clarence Albertwas plain, costly, correct--and unlovely--Milly put the large diamond onher stubby finger and reflected that even if its giver was not the Idolof her Dreams, he was very good to her, and she ought to be happy. Shemeant to make him a good wife as she understood that vague term, andthus repay him for all his bounties. As a matter of fact the littleParker man was getting repaid already in social matters for his generousact in selecting a poor girl to share his affluence. The world knew himto be sharp, and was glad to think him kind.... 

"It's a very handsome one, Clarence, " Milly said of the ring, turning itcritically to the light. And she sweetly held up her face to be kissed. 

That, to be frank, was the part she liked least of the whole affair, "demonstrations, " and she dealt out her favors to her lover sparingly. However, her fiancé was not demonstrative by nature: if he had amorouspassions, he kept them carefully concealed, so that Milly could managethat side quite easily. It usually came merely to a pressure of hands, acold kiss on the brow, or a flutter along the bronze tendrils about theneck. Sometimes Milly speculated what it might be like later in theobscure intimacy of marriage, but she dismissed the subject easily, confident that she could "manage" as she did now. And she had the sweetsense of self-sacrifice in doing something personally disagreeable. "Ifit hadn't been for poor old Dad, " she would say to herself and sigh. Which was not wholly sincere. At this period of their lives few mortalscan be square with themselves. 

All such refinements of thought and feeling were rare because there wasno time for revery. Milly was determined to get the most out of hertriumph, and drove the peaceable Clarence Albert rather hard. All women, he had supposed in his ignorance, were more or less fragile. But it wasastonishing what an amount of nerve-racking gayety Milly could getthrough in a day and come up smiling the next morning for anothersixteen-hour bout with pleasure. Sometimes Clarence protested that hewas a working man and must be at his office by nine. But Milly hadslight mercy; she let him see plainly the social duty of the Americanhusband. He too reflected, it might be, that things would be differentafter the wedding and yawned away the hours as best he could at dance ordinner or late supper in Old Vienna on the famous Midway. 

It was Chicago's wonderful festal year, the summer of the great Fair. Responsible men of large affairs, who knew what was going on financiallybehind the scenes, might look grave and whisper their apprehensionsamong themselves. But the people were resolved to be gay. They were madwith doing, especially the women. All the world was entertained in thelavish western spirit of hospitality. Thus in addition to her ownprivate excitement, Milly shared the general festival spirit, and thanksto her social charm and her young man's reputation for solid achievementthe two were part of many an important festivity. They helped toentertain the European notables, dined and did the shows from morninguntil morning in the best of company. Milly wished it might go on likethis forever. 

"Chicago will not be large enough for you after this experience, " herold friend, Eleanor Kemp, observed, crossing her path at the ball forthe French ambassador. "You will have to move on to New York. "

"Well, now, I don't know about that, " Parker demurred, but Milly cut inwith, --

"We're going abroad first, you know. "

She smiled graciously on her old friend, divining exactly that kindlady's mixed feelings. "Come on, Clarence!" and she sailed off into thepress, bowing and smiling to her right and her left. 

In the midst of all this feverish activity there was little time formutual examination and discovery for the engaged couple, --all thebetter, Milly thought, --and yet she had already resolved upon certainchanges in her husband-to-be, like a competent wife. For one thing shediscovered quite early that Clarence Albert was inclined to be close inmoney matters. He always counted his change carefully, like a goodpuritan, and gave small tips. He ordered the less expensive dishes andwines, and inquired whether a single portion might do for two when theywere lunching out together. He did not like to take cabs when thestreet-cars were running. Milly had suffered all her life at the handsof Grandma Ridge from such petty economies, and she did not intend thatit should continue. It was not so much any intentional meanness--ifMilly had but known--as the resultant habit of generations of enforcedthrift. Milly's fingers all turned outwards, and money ran through themlike sand. She was a born Spender and scattered Cash, her own or otherpeople's, with regal indifference. All her life she had suffered fromcramped means, and now that she was about to marry a rich man she meantto get the good of it. What am I doing it for? she would ask herself inher more cynical moments.... As soon as she was Mrs. Parker she wouldcome to an understanding with her husband on this cardinal point andshow him what was decent for a man in his position. Meanwhile she gavehim a few hints of what he might expect. 

"I'm afraid, " he remarked in his falsetto voice, not unkindly, "you liketo spend money. "

"Of course I do! What woman doesn't?" Milly retorted brightly, as shechucked the bunch of violets she had been wearing out of the cab windowbecause they were somewhat wilted, and she added warningly, "I hate meanpeople!"

He laughed good naturedly. 

 * * * * *

Their first misunderstanding came over the question where they were tolive after their return from the European trip. It seems that Parker hadalready bought land far out on the north shore of the Lake in a new andpromising neighborhood and proposed building a house there. Milly wasready enough to build: she had large plans for her new home. But she hadset her mind on a lot on the Drive, a block from the Bowman place andtwo from the Gilberts--"the most desirable site in the city, every onesays, " she explained, "and so near all our friends. "

Parker tried to make her understand that fifty thousand dollars wasaltogether too much money to put into an "unproductive investment" likethat. 

"You've got the money?" Milly demanded succinctly. 

He admitted it reluctantly. 

"Then I can't see why we shouldn't have the best. "

Milly, who had secret plans of running the great Bowman a social race, was thoroughly irritated at his obstinacy. They turned from the vacantlot, which they had been examining for the second time, and walked downthe Drive at odds. 

"My property at Lakehurst has twice the frontage and only cost me tenthousand, " the little man of means observed complacently. 

"I don't care if it cost only ten dollars, " Milly pouted. "It's in thesuburbs. "

"The city's growing that way fast. "

"It'll reach us when I'm an old woman!"

"Before that I guess.... "

She dashed upstairs to her room, leaving her lover to the attentions ofMrs. Ridge. The old lady approved of Clarence Albert. They discussedreligion together. They had the same Victorian standards and principlesabout life. This afternoon he confided to her the real estate troubleMilly and he had had. 

"I'm sure, Clarence, you are quite right, and Milly must learn to bemore reasonable. The air will be so much cleaner out there. "

"And the cars come within a block now. "

"I'll speak to Milly about it. "

She did. 

"If you aren't careful, Milly, " she warned her granddaughter, "you'llfrighten him. You aren't married yet, " she added meaningly. 

"He oughtn't to buy land without consulting me, " Milly flared, forgetting that this transaction had taken place before herdetermination to become Mrs. Clarence Parker. 

"I think you are a very ungrateful girl, " Mrs. Ridge observed, withpressed lips. 

"Oh, you always take the men's side, grandma!... Clarence isn't the onlyman in the world. "

"Better take care before it's too late, " the old lady repeatedwarningly. "You don't treat Clarence as a girl should who is going tomarry. He's an admirable young man. "

Mrs. Ridge ever croaked thus, foretelling disaster. 

"If you say anything more, I'll never marry him!" Milly flamed in finalexasperation. "You don't understand. Women don't behave as they did whenyou were a girl. They don't lie down before their husbands and let themwalk all over them. "

"Perhaps not, " grandma laughed icily in reply. "But I guess men aren'tso different from what they were in my time. "

Grandma had her own understanding of male character. 

V

THE CRASH

As events soon proved, Mrs. Ridge's croaking was not withoutjustification. The crash in Milly's affairs came, not until the autumn, a few weeks before the day set for the wedding, and it came on the lineof cleavage already described, although quite unexpectedly and over atrivial matter, as such things usually happen. 

After the closing of the fairy city gloom had settled down over Chicago. People were exhausted socially from their hectic summer and Panicstalked forth from behind the festival trappings where it had lainhidden. Times were frightfully bad, every one said, --never so bad beforein the experience of the country. There were strikes, a hundred thousandidle men walking the cold streets, empty rows of buildings, shops andfactories closed--and a hard winter coming on. All this did not meanmuch to Milly, busy with her own concerns and plans for the wedding, except for the fact that few people entertained and everybody seemedrelaxed and depressed. Clarence Albert, like a prudent mariner of thepuritan type, dwelt upon the signs of dire storm, and counselled theirnot building for the present, although he let her understand that hisown ventures were well under cover. Milly was less disappointed over notbuilding the house because she still had her mind on that vacant lot onthe Drive. Perhaps in the depression Clarence would be able to get it ata bargain.... 

Then the quarrel came over nothing at all. They were to go to thetheatre or opera--later she forgot which--by themselves one evening. Herfiancé came to dinner, and he and Horatio talked dolefully of thebusiness outlook. When they started out, there was no cab before thedoor. Milly, regarding her light raiment, demurred and telephoned forone herself. When they reached the theatre and she proceeded to saildown the centre aisle, she found that their seats were in the balcony. Clarence, who never dealt with ticket brokers on principle, had not beenable to get good floor seats and thought the first row of the balconywould answer, as the theatre was a small one. Where he had been broughtup, the balcony seats were considered "just as good, " and better if theycould be had more cheaply. He did not understand the awfulness ofmetropolitan standards to which Chicago was aspiring. 

Milly, a cloud upon her pretty face, drew her wrap close about her andsat dumb through the first act. Her mortification was increased bydiscovering Sally Norton in a box below with Ted Leffingwell and somegay folk. Sally's roaming eyes also discovered Milly and her young manbefore the act was finished; she signalled markedly and communicated thenews to her party, who all looked at the glum pair, laughed and smiledamong themselves. 

Milly's burning ears could hear Sally's jeers. At the close of the actshe got up and marched out without a word, followed by the bewilderedClarence. 

"What's the matter Milly? Where are you going?"

"Home. "

At the entrance there were no cabs in sight at this hour, and theywalked to the end of the block where the cars passed. When a car came, Milly got as far as the platform, pronounced it a "filthy box, " which itprobably was, and made the conductor let her off. Then she marchedhaughtily northwards, trailed by Clarence Albert, in whose white face adangerous pink was rising. Fortunately it was a still clear, night, andthey covered the mile to Acacia Street without misadventure and withoutwords. When they had reached the small front room and Milly had thrownoff her wrap, her eyes still flashing angrily, Parker said in acarefully controlled voice:--

"I'm sorry, Milly, to have given you so much annoyance. "

"As if a girl with a decent gown on could ride in a street-car!"

"I'm sorry--"

"If you can't afford--"

"I didn't know you were so dependent on carriages--"

It was a pardonable human revenge, but it was the straw. In a flashMilly stripped the big diamond from her finger and dramatically held itforth to him. 

"Here's your ring, " she said. 

"Milly!... "

It isn't wise to follow such a scene any further. I do not know thatMilly finally flung the ring at her lover, though she was capable ofdoing it like an angry child. At any rate the symbolic circle ofharmonious union lay on the floor between them when Grandma Ridgearrived, stealthily coming from behind the portières, her little grayshawl hugged tight about her narrow shoulders. 

"Why, Milly--what is this? Clarence!"

"It means that I'm not going to marry a man who cares more for his moneythan for me, " Milly said bluntly, picking up her wraps and stalking outof the room. She paused in the hall, however, long enough to hear herformer lover say dolefully, --

"She don't love me, Mrs. Ridge. That's the trouble--Milly don't reallylove me. "

And she added from the hall:--

"Clarence is quite right, grandma. I don't love him--and what's more, I'm never going to marry a man I can't love for all the money in theworld!"

With this defiant proclamation of principle Milly ascended to her room. 

What passed between Mrs. Ridge and the discarded Clarence, it isneedless to relate. Even Mrs. Ridge became convinced after a time thatthe rupture was both inevitable and irrevocable. Parker at last left thehouse, and it must be added took with him the ring which had beenrecovered from the floor. 

After he had gone Mrs. Ridge knocked at Milly's door. But an obstinatesilence prevailed, and so she went away. Milly was sitting on her bed, tears dropping from her eyes, tears of rage and mortification anddisappointment. She realized that she had failed, after all, in doingwhat she had set out to do, and angry as she still was, disgusted withClarence's thin and parsimonious nature, she was beginning, nevertheless, to be conscious of her own folly. 

"I never liked him, " she said to herself over and over, in justificationfor her rash act. "I couldn't bear him near me. I only did it for Dad'ssake. And I could not, that's all there is to it--I just couldn't.... Weshould have fought all the time--cold, mean little thing. "

After a time she undressed and went to bed, calmer and more at peacewith herself than for some time. The inevitable does that for us. "Ican't live with a man I don't love--it isn't right, " she thought, andgradually a glow of self-appreciation for her courage in refusing, evenat the ninth hour, to make the woman's terrible sacrifice of her sacredself came to her rescue. Her sentimental education, with its woman'screed of the omnipotence of love, had reasserted itself. 

"I tried, " she said in her heart, "but I couldn't--it wasn't the real, right thing. "

Of course she had known this all along, but she treated it now as a newdiscovery. And she went to sleep, sooner than one might expect under thecircumstances. 

VI

THE DEPTHS

But the next day, as the French say, it was to pay. When Milly kissedher father at the breakfast table, his mournful eyes and drooping mouthshowed plainly that he knew the disaster. 

"I couldn't, father, " she murmured weepily. 

"It's all right, daughter, " the little man responded bravely, fumblingwith his fork and knife. 

But her grandmother did not mince matters. It was all well enough for agirl to have her own way as Milly had had hers, but now she had made anice mess of things, --put them all in a ridiculous position. Who was sheto be so particular, to consider herself such a queen? etc. , etc. Millytook it all in silence. She knew that she deserved it in part. 

At last Horatio intervened. He didn't want his daughter to feel forcedto marry a man she couldn't be happy with, not for all Danner'smillions. Business was bad, to be sure, but he was a man yet and couldfind something to do to support his daughter. 

"I hope it ends all this society business for good, " Mrs. Ridge put inwith a hard little laugh. "If you don't want to marry, you can go towork. "

"I will, " said Milly, humbly. 

"Don't be hard on her, mother, " Horatio whispered into the old lady'sear. "It don't do no good now. "

But after he had left, Mrs. Ridge turned on Milly again. 

"I don't suppose you know the trouble your father is in. "

"We're always hard up.... Anything new?"

She had been so fully preoccupied with her own affairs these past monthsshe had not realized that the tea and coffee business was getting intoworse straits than ever. Everything, she had optimistically reckoned, would be smoothed out by her marriage. 

"Bankruptcy--that's what's coming, " her grandmother informed her, withan acid satisfaction in being able to record the fulfilment of herprophecies. "That comes of your father's trying a new business at hisage--and Hoppers' was so sure. He'd have been a department head by now, if he had stayed. "

"I thought the fair concession made a lot of money. "

Mrs. Ridge gave her the facts. It seemed that Horatio, always optimisticand trusting, had put this new venture in the hands of a man who hadtalked well, but had cheated him outrageously, and finally abscondedafter the close of the Fair, leaving behind debts contracted in thefirm's name. The losses had wiped out all the profits of the concessionand more, and this, added to the general business depression, was badenough. But there was worse. Snowden had suddenly demanded his money. Using the defalcation as an excuse he alleged Horatio's bad management, and wanted an immediate settlement of the firm's affairs. That meant theend--bankruptcy, as Mrs. Ridge said. Awful word!

"But it's outrageous of Mr. Snowden!" Milly cried. 

"It seems he's that kind. He got ahead of your father in the partnershipagreement, and now the lawyer says he can do anything he likes--sell outthe business if he wants to.... And we've got this house on our handsfor another year, " she added sourly, bringing home to Milly her share inthe general misfortune. 

Then the little old lady gathered up the breakfast dishes, while Millysat and looked at the dreary wall of the next house. It was pretty bad. Still she could not feel sorry for what she had done.... 

"I'll see Mr. Snowden myself, " she announced at last. 

Her grandmother looked at her curiously. 

"What good will that do?"

Milly, recollecting the old offence, blushed. Latterly as theprospective wife of a rich man she had assumed certain airs of herputative social position, and thought she could "manage" easily a commonsort of person like this Snowden man. Now she realized with a suddensinking of spirits it was all different. She possessed no longer anyauthority other than that of an attractive, but poor, young woman with"a good manner. "

During the next few days she was destined to feel this change in herposition repeatedly. If the news of her engagement to an "eligible" manhad spread rapidly, the announcement of the disaster to her engagementseemed miraculously immediate. She had just begun with her grandmother'shelp to prepare to return her engagement gifts, as her grandmotherinsisted was the proper thing to do, when in rushed the Norton girls, quite breathless. Sally greeted her with a jovial laugh. 

"So you've dropped him! I told Ted, Milly would never stand for thosebalcony seats!" She rippled with laughter at the humor of the situation. Milly, revived by her attitude, related the cab and car incidents. "Hewas--horrid. "

"They're all like that, those New Englanders--afraid to spend theirmoney, " Sally commented lightly. 

Vivie took the sentimental view. 

"Your heart was never in it, dear, " she said consolingly. 

"Of course it wasn't--I never pretended it was!"

"That sort of thing can't last. "

Milly, now quite reassured, gave a drole imitation of Clarence Albert'slast remarks, --"She doesn't love me, Mrs. Ridge--Milly doesn't reallylove me!"

She trilled the words mischievously. Sally roared with pleasure. Viviesaid, "Of course you couldn't marry him--not that!"

And Milly felt that she was right. No, she could not do _that_: she hadbeen true to herself, true to her feelings, --woman's first duty, --alittle late, to be sure. 

 * * * * *

But a full realization of her situation did not come until she appearedin public. Then she began to understand what she had done in discardingher suitable fiancé. Nettie Gilbert hardly invited her to sit when shecalled. She said severely:--

"Yes, Clarence told me all about it. He feels very badly. It was veryfrivolous of you, Milly. I should not have _thought it possible_. "

She treated Milly as the one soul saved who, after being redeemed, hadfled the flock. Milly protested meekly, "But I didn't care for him, Nettie, not the least little bit. "

Mrs. Gilbert, who remembered her Roy, replied severely, "At least youought to have known your own mind before this. "

"He _is_ mean, " Milly flared. 

"And you are rather extravagant, I'm afraid, my dear!"

That relation ended there, at least its pleasant intimacy. And so itwent from house to house, especially among the settled married folk, whoregarded Milly as inconceivably foolish and silly. Who was she to be soscrupulous about her precious heart? Even the younger, unmarried sorthad a knowing and disapproving look on their faces when she met them. Asfor the stream of invitations, there was a sudden drought, as of aparched desert, and the muteness of the telephone after its months ofperpetual twinkle was simply ghastly. 

So Milly was learning that there is one worse experience in life thannot "making good, " and that is, giving the appearance of it and thencollapsing. This was the collapse. Sympathy was all with ClarenceAlbert, except among a few frivolous or sentimental souls, like Sallyand Vivie. Young women having the means, who found themselves in Milly'ssituation, --with a broken engagement on their hands at the beginning ofthe season, --would at once have gone abroad or to California or theSouth, to distract themselves, rest their wounded hearts, and allow theworld to forget their affairs, as it promptly would. At least they wouldhave tried settlement work. But Milly had no money for such gentletreatment. She had to run the risk of bruising her sensibilitieswhenever she set foot out of doors, and she was too healthy-minded tosit long at home and mope. And home was not a pleasant place these days. 

Still, she said to herself defiantly, she was not sorry for what she haddone. A woman's first duty was to her heart, etc. 

 * * * * *

Eleanor Kemp, who had been ill and away from the city, sent for Milly onher return. She proved to be the most sympathetic of all her friends, and Milly decided that Eleanor was her best, as she was her oldest, friend. At the conclusion of Milly's tale, rendered partly in the comicvein, Mrs. Kemp sighed, "It's too bad, Milly. " The sigh implied thatMilly had damaged herself for the provincial marriage market, perhapsirretrievably. She might marry, of course, probably would, being soberedby this fiasco, but after such a failure, nothing "brilliant" might beexpected. 

"I just couldn't sit opposite that cold, fishy creature all my life, "Milly protested. "He got on my nerves--that was it. "

"Yes, I understand--but--"

Milly suspected that banking and bankers might get on a woman's nerves, too, though Walter Kemp was a much more human man than Clarence Albertever would be. 

"And now what will you do?" her friend inquired. (Milly had confided toher Horatio's coming disaster. )

"I don't know--something quick!"

"You might help me with my mail and buying--I never seem to get throughwith everything--and this New Hospital committee. "

"Could I, do you think?" Milly responded eagerly. 

So it was arranged that Milly should become a sort of informal ladysecretary and assistant to the banker's wife, with unstated hours, duties, and compensation, --one of those flexible, vague business andsocial arrangements that women were more likely to make with one anothertwenty years ago than now. 

Milly's spirits revived quickly, and she left the Kemps buoyant. Itseemed easier than she had expected to "get something to do. " She kissedEleanor Kemp with genuine gratitude. 

"You've always been the kindest, dearest thing to me, Nelly. "

"I'm very fond of you, dear, and always shall be. "

"I know--and you were my first real friend. "

Milly had a pleasant sense of returning to old ideals and ties in thusdrawing near once more to the Kemps, whom latterly she had found atrifle dull.... Leaving the house, she bumped into old Mrs. JonasHaggenash, one of the Kemps' neighbors. The Haggenashes had made theirway in lumber and were among the most considered of the older, unfashionable people in the city. Mrs. H. Had a reputation as a wit, ofthe kind that "has her say" under any and all circumstances. Latterlyshe had rather taken up Milly Ridge, who fished in many pools. 

"So you and your young man had a falling out, Milly, " Mrs. Haggenashrasped nasally. 

"Our engagement has been broken, " Milly acknowledged with dignity. 

"That's a pity. It ain't every day a poor girl can marry a millionaire. They don't grow on every bush. "

"When I marry, it will be some one I can respect and love too. "

The old lady smiled dubiously at the pretty sentiment. 

"Most women want to. But they've got to be fed and clothed first. "

She looked at Milly's smart walking costume and smiled again. Millyalways managed to have a becoming street dress and hat, even in herpoorest days, and lately she had let herself out, as the pile ofunopened bills on her dressing-table would show. 

"I expect to eat and dress, " Milly retorted, and trotted off with acurse near her lips for Mrs. Jonas Haggenash and all her tribe. 

 * * * * *

The way home took Milly near the office of the tea and coffee business, and she thought to surprise her father and give him the good news ofMrs. Kemp's offer. She would also get him to walk home with her. Horatiohad been very doleful of late and she wished to cheer him up. She hadnot visited the office for many months, but its outward appearance wasmuch the same as it had been that first time when she had visited itwith her father. The sign had become dingy, was almost undecipherable, as if it had anticipated the end of its usefulness. The same drearylittle cart for "city deliveries" stood before the door, but the thinhorse drooped disconsolately between the shafts, as if he too knew thathe was not there for long. 

Horatio was not in the office. Snowden stood beside the bookkeeper, looking over a ledger. As Milly opened the door both he and thebookkeeper looked up. Milly recognized the hatchet-faced woman ofuncertain age, with the forbidding stare through her large spectacles. This time when Milly came forward with a pleasant smile and "MissSimpson, how are you?" the stony face did not relax a muscle. MissSimpson looked her employer's daughter over as if she were about toaccuse her of being the cause for the firm's disaster. "Mr. Snowden, "Milly continued, ignoring the woman's hostility, "I came for myfather.... How are you and Mrs. Snowden?"

"Your father's gone, " the bookkeeper snapped with an unpleasant smile. She eyed Milly's fashionable attire unsympathetically. It was the secondtime that afternoon that Milly was made to feel apologetic for her goodclothes. 

"Oh, " she said hesitantly. 

"Anything I can do for you, Miss Ridge?" Snowden asked, glancing down atthe ledger indifferently. 

Milly had an inspiration. 

"Why, yes, Mr. Snowden, " she exclaimed pleasantly. "I should like totalk with you a few moments, if I am not interrupting your work, " sheadded, for Snowden made no move. 

"Well?" he said gruffly. 

Milly turned towards the rear of the loft where there were a number oflittle tables dotted with unwashed china cups, and grains of tea andcoffee. Snowden followed her slowly, and leaned against a table. 

"What is it?"

"Mr. Snowden, " Milly began gently, "you are my father's oldest friend inthe city. "

"Guess I know that. "

"He's very unhappy. "

"Has good reason to be. "

She made the direct appeal. 

"Why do you do this thing, Mr. Snowden? Why do you want to ruin myfather--your old friend?"

"Guess you don't understand--he's pretty nearly ruined _me_!" Snowdenemitted with a snort. 

"Yes, I understand, " Milly replied glibly. "Business had been very bad. My friends tell me all business has been dreadful since theFair--everybody feels poor. But why make things worse? A little time, and it will be different. "

She smiled at him persuasively. 

"I want to save my own skin, what there is left to save, " he grumbled. "Your father's made a pretty bad mess of things, Milly. "

"We won't discuss what my father has done, " Milly retorted with dignity. "He's been deceived--he's too trusting with men. He trusted you!"

At this thrust Snowden laughed loudly. 

"And you want me to trust him with my money some more? No, thank you. "

His tone changed insensibly. No one could be rough with Milly for long. Snowden volunteered some explanations of the tea and coffee business notrelated by Mrs. Ridge. It seemed that Horatio had made rather a mess ofthings all around. 

"So you see I must try and save what I can before it's _all_gone.... I've got a family of my own, you know. "

Milly knew that, and wished she had been nicer to Mrs. Snowden and theuninteresting daughter when she had had the chance. She had never hadthem to the Acacia Street house in all these years. 

"Can't you wait a few months?... Please!... "

Entreaty was all the argument life had given Milly. There was a leap ofsomething in the man's flushed face that caused the girl to retreat astep or two. She had not meant to rouse his graceless passion, but thatwas what she had almost succeeded in doing by her coaxing. As she drewback Snowden laughed. 

"You see, Milly, people _pay_ in this world for what they want--men andwomen too. They have to _pay_ somehow!"

And, this enigmatic taunt ringing in her ears, Milly departed with allthe dignity that remained to her. She was conscious of the bookkeepingwoman's hostile sneer upon her back as she disappeared. Her face burnedwith the man's coarse words: "In this world people have to _pay_ forwhat they want. "

That was too true! She had not been willing to pay, except with smilesand pretty speeches, the small change, and it seemed that was notenough. She had not been willing to pay the price of a good position inher world which she wanted, nor Snowden's price for mercy to her father. Of course not that! But now she must pay somehow for what she got: forher food and her clothes and her shelter first of all. It had come tothat. Thus Milly had her first lesson in the manifold realities of life. 

Soberly but bravely she faced the winter wind and made her way home toher father's house. 

VII

MILLY TRIES TO PAY

The next months were in some respects the dreariest that Milly was everto know. It was not long before the illusion about her work for EleanorKemp wore thin. It was, in a word, one of those polite, parasiticoccupations for women, provided by the rich for helpless friends, and itwas satisfying to neither party. A good deal of time for both was wastedin "talking things over, " with much discursive chatter on matters ingeneral, and all sorts of consulting back and forth about the job to bedone. There were letters to be carefully written, then rewritten afterdelicately guarded criticisms had been made; shopping to be done whereit took hours to decide whether this "matched" or not and whetherDanner's or Dround's was a better place for purchasing this or that. Milly still tried to keep up some social life, and so she usually camein at the Kemps rather late in the morning, and after lunching with herfriend went back to the city on errands. She was a miracle of un-system, and frequently forgot. But she was so genuinely penitent and abased whenher omissions were discovered that her friend had not the heart to besevere. Milly, on the other hand, began to think that the work took agreat deal of time and that fifty dollars a month was small pay for herservices, yet did not like even to hint that she wanted more. 

Walter Kemp summed the matter up in the brutal fashion of man-financier, "Better give Milly her money and let me send you a trained woman fromthe bank to do your work, Nell. "

But Eleanor Kemp was shocked at this evidence of male tactlessness. 

"Milly would never take a gift like that!"

That was the trouble: Milly belonged to the class too proud to takecharity and too incompetent to earn money. So Mrs. Kemp continued to doas much as she had done before and to pay Milly fifty dollars a monthout of her private purse. 

"Pity she didn't marry Parker, " Kemp said brusquely. "He'll be a veryrich man one of these days. "

"You see she couldn't, Walter, " his wife explained eagerly. "She didn'tlove him enough. "

"Well, " this raw male rejoined, "she'd better hurry up and find some oneshe does love who can support her. "

"Yes, " Mrs. Kemp admitted, "she _ought_ to marry. "

For in those days there didn't seem to be any other way of providing forthe Milly Ridges. 

 * * * * *

Milly realized her inadequacy, but naturally did not ascribe it whollyto incompetency. She wanted to give up her irregular job: it could notbe concealed from her friends, and it marked her as a dependent. But thestern fact remained that she needed the money, even the paltry fiftydollars a month, as she had never needed anything in life. If sherefrained from spending a dollar for several years, she could hardlyclear herself of the accumulated bills from her halcyon days of hope. 

And the household needed money, too. After that regrettable interviewwith Snowden, the catastrophe in the tea and coffee business came withthe swiftness of long-delayed fate. One morning Horatio did not risefrom the breakfast table, as had been his wont for so many years, andthrowing out his chest with the sensual satisfaction of the well-fedmale shout boisterously:--

"Good-by, folks, I must be off to the office!"

For there was no longer any office to go to. 

Instead, Horatio sat glumly at the table reading the want columns of themorning paper, down and up, and then as the morning wore on he silentlydeparted for the city--"to look for something. " Hopeless task, when thestreets were filled with men out of work, and businesses everywhere wereclosing down and turning off old employees. Milly, watching Horatioreach gropingly for his hat and coat, like a stricken animal, realizedthat her father was no longer young and brave. He had passed fifty, --theterrible deadline in modern industry. "Nobody wants an old dog, anyway, " he said to his mother forlornly. 

Then Milly was almost sorry for what she had done. But it was not reallyher fault, she still thought. 

It was a mournful experience, this, of having a grown man--the one maleof the family--sitting listlessly about the house of a morning and goingforth aimlessly at irregular times, only to return before he should beexpected. The habit of her life, as it had been the habit of Horatio's, was to have the male sally forth early from the domestic hearth andleave it free to the women of the family for the entire day.... Usuallyoptimistic to a fault, with a profound conviction that things must comeright of themselves somehow, Milly began to doubt and see dark visionsof the family future. What if her father should be unable to findanother place--any sort of work--and should come to hang about the housealways, getting seedier and sadder, to be supported by her feebleefforts? Milly refused to contemplate the picture. 

One day her grandmother asked money from Milly. The old lady was a grimlittle nemesis for the girl these days, --a living embodiment of "Seewhat you have done, " though never for a moment would Milly admit thatshe was responsible for the accumulation of disaster. It should be saidin behalf of Grandma Ridge that now the blow of fate had fallen, whichshe had so persistently predicted for four long years, she set her lipsin grim puritan silence and did that which must be done withoutreproach. 

Somehow she found the money for the rent from month to month and gaveHoratio his carfare and lunch money each morning. But she came to Millyfor money to buy food, and Milly gave it generously although she owedall she earned and much more. But food came before bills. If it hadn'tbeen for Eleanor Kemp's luxurious luncheons, the girl would often havegone hungry.... And through it all she never took refuge in tears. "What's the use?" she said. 

 * * * * *

It was during the darkest of these days that a new turn in Milly's fatecame unexpectedly. She had been to a Sunday luncheon at the Nortons, andwas walking back along the Drive, thinking a little sadly that even herold pals had invited her only at the last moment, "to fill in. " She wasno more any sort of social "card. " She was revolving this and otherdreary thoughts in her worried mind when she heard her name, --"MissRidge--I say, Miss Ridge!"

She turned to meet the beaming face of old Christian Becker, theeditor-proprietor of the _Morning Star_, who was hurrying towards her asfast as his short, fat person would permit him. As he came along heraised his shiny silk hat above his bald head, and his broad face brokeinto a larger smile than was its wont. Becker was an amusing character, tempting to set before the reader, but as he has to do only incidentallywith Milly Ridge it cannot be. Enough to say that after forty years ofhard struggle in the land of his adoption, he had preserved the virtuesof a simple countryman and the heart of a good-natured boy. Every one inthe city knew Christian Becker; every one laughed and growled at hisnewspaper, --the God of his heart. 

"Thought it must be you, " he gasped. "Never forget how a pretty womanwalks!" (How _does_ she walk? Milly wondered. ) "How are you, Miss Ridge?Haven't seen you for some time--not since that swell dinner at theBowman place, d'ye remember?"

Milly remembered very well, --the apex moment of her career hitherto. 

He smiled good naturedly, and Milly smiled, too. Then Becker added in achildlike burst of confidence:--

"Let me tell you, you did just right, my girl! Don't tie yourself upwith any man you can't run with. It don't work. It saves tears andtrouble to quit before you're hitched by the parson. "

Milly flushed at the frank reference to her broken engagement, thenlaughed at the crude phrasing. But her heart warmed with the word ofsympathy. Gradually she unburdened herself of all her troubles, and atthe conclusion the kindly newspaper man said wisely:--

"Never you mind how folks behave, Miss Ridge. Keep a stiff upperlip--hold up your head--and you'll have all of 'em running after youlike hens after corn 'fore you know it. That's what happened to me whenI went broke that time. "

"But I'm not fit to do anything, " Milly confessed truthfully, "and Imust support myself somehow. "

"Why don't you try newspaper work? You are a clever girl and you knowthe world.... Come to my office to-morrow noon--no, I've got aWashington nob on my hands for lunch--" (Becker was vain of hispolitical influence, which consisted for the most part of entertainingvisiting politicians at luncheon. ) "Come in 'bout four, and we'll seewhat we can do to help you out. "

With a fatherly nod he hurried off down a side street, and Milly wenthome with a new fillip to her lively imagination. 

As a matter of fact the proprietor of the _Star_ was not entirelydisinterested in his kindness. He had been looking for some woman totake "Madame Alpha's" place and furnish the paper with that column ofintimate social tittle-tattle about people the readers knew only byname, which every enterprising American newspaper considers a necessaryingredient of the "news. " The estimable lady, who signed herself "MadameAlpha, " had grown stale in the business, as such social chroniclersusually do. The widow of an esteemed citizen, with wide connections inthe older society of the city, she had done very well at first. But shehad "fallen down" lamentably, to use Becker's phrase, during the recentperiod of Chicago's social expansion. She neither knew the new gods andgoddesses, nor did she know how to invent stories about their doings. 

Becker, who had seen Milly, not merely at the Bowmans, but at many ofthe more brilliant functions of the Fair season, regarded her as"up-to-date, " and further, thought her a nice, lively young woman, whowould know the difference between Mrs. Patziki's card party on GarfieldBoulevard and a dinner to the French ambassador at the Danner's. It madelittle difference whether she could write or not, so long as she had the"entry" as he called it. At any rate he would try her. 

So Milly began her new career as journalist with much enthusiasm and asense of self-importance that had been grievously lacking in herenterprises for some time. She thought she had the ability towrite--what attractive young American woman doesn't? Her friends thoughther clever, and laughed at her little "stories" about people. She setherself industriously to the composition of elaborate articles on "OurSocial Leaders, " consisting largely of a retrospect and review, for "oursocial leaders" kept very still during those terrible months of want andpanic that followed the gay doings of the great show, or were out of thecity. These articles appeared in the Sunday edition, over the _nom deplume_ of the "_Débutante_. " Other women of the regular staff did thecard-parties and club news and the West Side stuff. 

There was a city editor, of course, and a ruthless blue pencil, but asMilly was recognized on the paper as "the old man's" present hobby, shewas given a pretty free rein. She sailed into the dingy _Star_ officesdressed quite smartly, dropped her sprawling manuscript on the Sundayeditor's table, and ambled into Mr. Becker's sanctum for a little socialchat. In the office she was known as "the Real Thing, " and liked as shewas almost everywhere, though the youthful reporters laughed at herpompous diction. 

The _Star_ paid her the handsome sum of fifteen dollars a week. 

VIII

MILLY RENEWS HER PROSPECTS

It did not take Milly long to realize that the sort of newspaper writingshe was doing was as parasitic in its nature as her first job, and evenless permanent. Of course it quickly leaked out who the _Débutante_ waswho wrote with such finality of "our social leaders, " and though friendswere kind and even helpful, assuring Milly "it made no difference, " andthey thought it "a good thing for her to do, " she knew that in the endher work would kill whatever social position she had retained throughher vicissitudes. The more "exclusive" women with social aspirationsliked secretly to have their presences and their doings publiclychronicled, but they were fearful lest they should seem to encouragesuch publicity. Although they said, "We'd rather have one of us do it ifit has to be done, you know, " yet they preferred to have it thought thatthe information came from the butler and the housemaid. Milly soonperceived that a woman must cheapen herself at the job, and bycheapening herself lose her qualification. Nevertheless, she had to keepat it for the money. 

That was the terrible fact about earning one's living, Milly learned:the jobs--at least those she was fitted for--were all parasitic andinvolved personal humiliations. From this arose Milly's growingconviction of the social injustice in the world to women, of which viewlater she became quite voluble.... 

Fortunately the summer came on, when "Society" moved away from the cityaltogether. Becker, who had been somewhat disappointed in Milly'sindifferent success, now suggested that she do a series of articles oninland summer resorts. "Show 'em, " said the newspaper man, "that we'vegot a society of our own out here in the middle west, as classy as anyin America, --Newport, Bar Harbor, or Lenox. " He advised Lake Como for astart, but Milly, for reasons of her own, preferred Mackinac, then apopular resort on the cold water of Lake Superior. 

By mid-July she was established in the most fashionable of the barny, wooden hotels at the resort and prepared to put herself in touch withthe summer society. One of the first persons she met was a Mrs. Thorntonfrom St. Louis, a pleasant, ladylike young married woman, who had acottage near by and took her meals at the hotel. She was a summer widowwith three children, --a thoroughly well-bred woman of the sort Millyinstinctively took to and attracted. They became friends rapidly throughthe children, whom Milly petted. She learned all about the Thorntons ina few days. They were very nice people. He was an architect, and she hadbeen a Miss Duncan of Philadelphia, --also a very nice family of theQuaker order, Milly gathered. Mrs. Thornton talked a great deal of anolder brother, who had gone to California for his health and had boughta fruit ranch there in the Ventura mountains somewhere south of SantaBarbara. This brother, Edgar Duncan, was expected to visit Mrs. Thorntonduring the summer, and in the course of time he arrived at Mackinac. 

Milly found him on the piazza of the Thornton cottage playing with thechildren. As he got up awkwardly from the floor and raised his strawhat, Milly remarked that his sandy hair was thin. He was slight, aboutmiddle-aged, and seemed quite timid. Not at all the large westerner withbronzed face and flapping cowboy hat she had vaguely pictured toherself. Nevertheless, she smiled at him cordially, --

"You are the brother I've heard so much about?" she said, proffering ahand. 

"And you must be that new Aunt Milly the children are full of, " hereplied, coloring bashfully. 

So it began. For the next month, until Milly, having exhausted thesocial possibilities of Mackinac, had to move on to another "resort" inWisconsin, she saw a great deal of Edgar Duncan. They walked through thefir woods by moonlight, boated on the lake under the stars, and readMilly's literary efforts on the piazza of the Thornton cottage. Duncantold her much about his ranch on the slope of the Ventura hills abovethe Pacific, of the indolent California life in the sunshine, with anoccasional excursion to Los Angeles or San Francisco. He was notexciting in any sense, not very energetic, like the Chicago men she hadknown, perhaps not very much alive; but he was gentle, and kindly, andthoughtful for women, of a refined and high-minded race--the sort of man"any woman could be sure of. "

Mrs. Thornton, with much sisterly affection and no vulgar ambition, encouraged unobtrusively the intimacy. "Edgar is so lonely out there onhis ranch, " she explained to Milly, "I want him to come back east. Hemight now, you know, --there's nothing really the matter with his health. But he's got used to the life and doesn't like our hurry and thescramble for money. Besides he's put all his money into those lemons andolives.... I think a woman might be very happy out of the world in aplace like that, with a man who loved her a lot, --and children, ofcourse, children, --don't you?"

Milly thought so, too. She was becoming very tired of newspaper work, and of her single woman's struggle to maintain herself in the roar ofChicago. The future looked rather gray even through her habituallyrose-colored glasses. She was twenty-four. She knew the social game, andits risks, better than two years before.... So she was very kind toDuncan, --she really liked him extremely, rather for what he was withoutthan for what he had, --and when she left it was understood between themthat the Californian should return to his ranch by the way of Chicagoand meet Milly there on a certain day, --Monday, the first of September. He was very particular, sentimentally so, about this date, --keptrepeating it, --and they made little jokes of it until Milly evenparticularized the hour when she could be free to see him, --"Fiveo'clock, 31 East Acacia Street, --hadn't you better write it down?" ButDuncan thought he could remember it very well. "We'll go somewhere fordinner, " Milly promised. 

That was all, but it was a good deal for the shy Edgar Duncan to havearrived at. Milly was content to leave it just that way, --vague andpleasant, with no explicit understanding of what was to come afterwards. She knew he would write--he was that kind; he would say more on paperthan by word of mouth, much more. Then, when they met again, she wouldput her hand in his and without any talk it would have happened.... Hecame with the children to see her off at the station, and as thefir-covered northern landscape retreated from the moving train, Millyrelaxed in her Pullman seat, holding his roses in her lap, and decidedthat Edgar Duncan was altogether the "best" man she had ever known well. She surrendered herself to a dream of a wonderful land where the yellowlemons gleamed among glossy green leaves, and the distant hills werepowdered with the gray tint of olive trees, as Duncan had described theranch, and also of a little low bungalow, a silent Jap in white clothesmoving back and forth, and far below the distant murmur of the Pacificsurges.... Her eyes became suffused: it wasn't the pinnacle of hergirlish hope, but it was Peace. And just now Milly wanted peace morethan anything else. 

He wrote, as Milly knew he would, and though Milly found his letterslacking in that warmth and color and glow in which she had bathed theranch, they were tender and true letters of a real lover, albeit a timidone. "All his life he had longed for a real companion, for a woman whocould be a man's mate as his mother was to his father, " and that sort ofthing. He implied again and again that not until he had met Milly had hefound such a creature, "but now, " etc. Milly sighed. She was happy, butnot thrilled. Perhaps, she thought, she was too old forthrills--twenty-four--and this was as near "the real right thing" as shewas ever to come. At any rate she meant to take the chance. 

Ocanseveroc did not prove attractive: it was a hot little hole by asteaming, smelly lake, like Como, only less select in its society andmore populous. Milly quickly "did" the resort and fled back to Chicagofor a breath of fresh air from the great cooling tub of Lake Michigan. That was the nineteenth of August. She had twelve days in which to getready her articles before Duncan's arrival. On the hot train she planneda little article on the search for the ideal resort with the result of ahasty return to the city for comfort and coolness. She thought it mightbe made amusing and resolved to see the editor about it. 

 * * * * *

Matters at home had scarcely improved during the languid summer. Horatiosat on the stoop in his shirt-sleeves, unchided, or went for long hoursto a beer-garden he had found near by. He made no pretence of lookingfor work. "What's the use--in the summer?" Milly stirred the stagnantdomestic atmosphere with her recovered cheerfulness. She told them ofher various adventures, especially of the Thorntons and of the new youngman. Duncan had given her some kodaks of the fruit ranch in the Venturamountains, which she displayed. _HE_ was coming to see her soon, and shelaughed prettily. Grandma maintained her sour indifference to Milly'sdoings, but Horatio took a lively interest. He had always wanted to go"back to a farm" since he was a young man, he said. It was the onlyplace for a poor man to live these days, and they said those Californiaranches were wonderful money-makers. A man at Hoppers' had gone outthere, etc. 

Father and daughter talked ranch far into the hot night. 

The next afternoon Milly went to the newspaper office to report and todiscuss with the editor her last inspiration for an article. It was thevacation season and a number of the desks in the editorial room werevacant. Mr. Becker's door was closed and shrouded with an "Out of Town"card. At the Sunday editor's table in the partitioned box reserved forthis official was an unfamiliar figure. Milly stopped at the thresholdand stared. A young man, fair-haired, in a fresh and fetching summersuit with a flowing gauzy tie, looked up from the table and smiled atMilly. He was distinctly not of the _Star_ type. 

"Come right in, " he called out genially. "Anything I can do foryou? No, I'm not the new Sunday editor--he's away cooling himselfsomewheres.... I just came in here to finish this sketch. "

Milly noticed the drawing-paper and the India-ink bottle on the table. 

"You're not Kim?" Milly stammered. 

"The same. "

("Kim" was the name signed to some clever cartoons that had beenappearing all that winter in a rival paper, about which there had beenmore or less talk in the circles where Milly moved. )

"So you've come over to the _Star_?" she said with immediate interest. 

"The silver-tongued Becker got me--for a price--a small one, " he addedwith a laugh, as if nothing about him was of sufficient consequence tohide. 

"I'm _so_ glad. I like your pictures awfully well. "

"Thanks!... And you, I take it, are _la belle Débutante_?"

"Yes!" Milly laughed. "How did you know?"

"Oh, " he replied, and his tone said, "it's because you too are differentfrom the rest here, " which flattered Milly. 

"Won't you come in and sit down?"

The young man emptied a chair by the simple process of tipping it andpresented it to Milly with a gallant flourish. She sat on the edge anddrew up her veil as far as the tip of her nose. The young man smiled. Milly smiled back. They understood each other at once, far better thaneither could ever understand the other members of the _Star_ staff. Their clothes, their accents, their manners announced that they camefrom the same world, --that small "larger world, " where they all use thesame idiom. 

"Been doing Mackinac and Ocara-se-er-oc?" the young man drawled withdelightful irony. "Ye gods! What names!"

Both laughed with a pleasant sense of superiority over a primitivecivilization, though Milly at least had hardly known any other. 

"And they're just like their names, " Milly asserted, "awful places!"

"I've not yet had the privilege of seeing our best people in theirsummer quarters, " the young man continued, with his agreeable air ofgenial mockery. 

"You won't see them in those places. "

"Or anywhere else at present, " the artist sighed, glancing at hisunfinished sketch. 

Milly asked to see the drawing, and another inspiration occurred to her. She told the young artist of her idea for a comic article on the huntthrough the lake resorts for an ideal place of peace and coolness. Hethought it a good topic and suggested graciously that he could do a fewsmall pen-and-ink illustrations to elucidate the text. 

"Oh, would you!" Milly exclaimed eagerly. It was what she had hoped hewould say, and it revived her waning interest in journalism immensely, the prospect of collaboration with this attractive young artist. (Shehad already forgotten that she was to abandon journalism after the firstMonday in September. )

Later they went out to tea together to discuss the article. 

 * * * * *

Jack Bragdon, who signed his pen-and-ink sketches with the name of"Kim, " was one of that considerable army of young adventurers in thearts who pushed westward from the Atlantic seaboard at the time of theWorld's Fair in Chicago; also one of the large number who had been leftstranded when the tidal wave of artistic effort had receded, exposingthe dead flats of hard times. After graduation from an eastern collegeof the second class, where he had distinguished himself by composing thecomic opera libretto for his club and drawing for the college annual, hehad chosen for himself the career of art. With a year in a New York artschool and another spent knocking about various European capitals in asomewhat aimless fashion, an amiable but financially restricted familyhad declined to embarrass itself further for the present with hiscareer. Or, as his Big Brother in Big Business had put it, "the kid hadbetter show what he can do for himself before we go any deeper. " Jackhad consequently taken an opportunity to see the Fair and remained toearn his living as best he could by contributing cartoons to thenewspapers, writing paragraphs in a funny column, and occasional verseof the humorous order. And he designed covers for ephemeralmagazines, --in a word, nimbly snatched the scanty dollars of Art. 

All this he sketched lightly and entertainingly for Milly's benefit thatfirst time. 

Already he had achieved something of a vogue socially in pleasantcircles, thanks to his vivacity and good breeding. Milly had heard ofhis charms about the time of her Crash, but had never happened to meethim. He had heard of Milly, of course, --many things which might wellstir a young man's curiosity. So they smiled at each other across alittle table in a deserted restaurant, and sat on into the Augusttwilight, sipping cooling drinks. He smoked many cigarettes which herolled with fascinating dexterity between his long white fingers, andtalked gayly, while Milly listened with ears and eyes wide open to theengrossing story of Himself. 

Jack Bragdon was a much rarer type in Chicago of the early nineties--orin any American city--than he would be to-day. Milly's experience of theworld had never brought her into close touch with Art. And Art has afatal fascination for most women. They buzz around its white arc-light, or tallow dip, like heedless moths bent on their own destruction. Art inthe person of a handsome, sophisticated youth like Jack Bragdon, who hadseen a little of drawing-rooms as well as the pavements of strangecities, was irresistible. (Milly too felt that she had in her somethingof the artistic temperament, which had never been properly developed. )

Thus far, even by his own account, Bragdon was not much of an artist. Hewas clever with his fingers, --pen or pencil, --but at twenty-six he mightvery truthfully state, --"I've been a rotten loafer always, you know. ButI'm reformed. Chicago's reformed me. That's what Brother meant.... Nowwatch and see. I'm not going to draw ridiculous pot-bellied politiciansfor a newspaper--not after I have saved the fare to Europe and a fewdollars over to keep me from starving while I learn to really paint. "

"Of course you won't stay here!" Milly chimed sympathetically, with anunconscious sigh.... 

It is marvellous what a vast amount of mutual biography two youngpersons of the opposite sexes can exchange in a brief tête-à-tête. Bythe time Milly and the young artist were strolling slowly northward inthe sombre city twilight, they had become old friends, and Milly washearing about the girl in Rome, the fascination of artist life inMunich, the stunning things in the last Salon, and all the rest of it. They parted at Milly's doorstep without speaking of another meeting, forit never occurred to either that they should not meet--the next day. 

The gardens of that California Hesperides were already getting dim inMilly's memory, blotted out by a more intoxicating vision. 

IX

MILLY IN LOVE

The next meeting was not farther off than the next noon. They lunchedtogether, to talk further of their collaboration, and from luncheon wentto the Art Institute to see the pictures, most of which Bragdon disposedoff condescendingly as "old-style stuff. " Milly, who had been taught toreverence this selection of masterpieces, which were the localadmiration, learned that there were realms beyond her ken. 

The next day saw another meeting and the next yet another. Then therewas an intermission--Bragdon had to finish some work--and Milly feltrestless. But there ensued ten delicious days of music and beer-gardensand walks in the parks, luncheons and suppers, --one starry Sunday spentscrambling among the ravines on the north shore and picnicking on thesandy beach, listening to the sadly soothing sweetness of Omar--(yes, they read Omar in those days, the young did!)--with little opalescentwaves twinkling at their feet. Milly never paused to think one moment ofall those ten precious days. She was blissfully content with the worldas it was, except when she was at home, and then she was plottingskilfully "another occasion. " If she had stopped to think, she wouldhave murmured to herself, "At last! This must be the real, right thing!"

He was so handsome, so full of strong male youth and joy, of large hopesand careless intentions, and he was also exotic to Milly, --a bit of thatolder, more complex civilization she had always longed for in herprairie limitations. His horizon had been broader than hers, she felt, though he was a mere boy in worldly knowledge. He even dresseddifferently from the men she knew, with a dash of daring color inwaistcoat and ties that proclaimed the budding artist. And above all heembodied the Romance of Art, --that fatal lure for aspiring womankind. The sphere of creation is hermaphroditic: he too was fine and feminine, unlike the coarser types of men. He craved Reputation and would have it, Milly assured him confidently. She was immediately convinced of his hightalent. Alas! She sighed when she said it, for she knew that his giftswould quickly waft him beyond her reach on his upward way. Chicago couldnot hold one like him long: he was for other, beautifuller ports ofdestiny!

 * * * * *

At four forty-five on the afternoon of September first, --a Monday, --atall, somewhat nervous man rang the bell of 31 East Acacia Street andinquired for Miss Ridge. He came in and waited when he learned from thelittle old lady who opened the door that Milly was not at home. Hewaited in the small front room, sombrely darkened, where the tragedy ofMilly's first engagement ring had taken place, --waited until sixforty-five, then at the signs of preparation for the evening mealslipped out. But he was back at seven forty-five and again came in. Thistime Mrs. Ridge introduced herself and invited him politely to await hergranddaughter's return. "She's very uncertain in her hours, " the oldlady explained with a deprecatory little laugh, "since she hasundertaken this newspaper work. It seems to keep her at the office agreat deal of late.... " We may leave Edgar Duncan there in the littlefront room, being entertained by Mrs. Ridge in her most gracious manner, while we go in search of the truant Milly. 

 * * * * *

She might have been found at an unpretentious German beer-garden far outon the North Side. Bragdon and Milly had discovered this particularretreat, which was small and secluded and usually rather empty. Itseemed to Milly quite "Bohemian" to drop into the garden late in theafternoon and rouse the sleepy proprietor to fetch them cool stone mugsof foaming beer, which the artist drank and which she sipped at. 

On this Monday afternoon they had installed themselves in the littlearbor at the remote end of the tiny garden, where they were shielded bythe dusty vines from any observation, and thus the quarter hours and thehalves slipped by unheeded. The artist told her again of his aspirationsto paint, --"the real thing, " to "go in for the big stunts. " Millylistened sympathetically. That was what he should do, of course, --have acareer, a man's career, --even if it parted him from her for always. Allher life she had wished to be an "inspiration" in some man's life-work. What greater thing than to inspire an Artist to his gloriousfulfilment?... 

Imperceptibly their words became more personal and more tender. Hewanted to paint _her_ some day, as she had lain on the beach, with herlovely bronze hair, her wide blue eyes, and the little waves curling uptowards her feet.... Dusk fell, and they forgot to eat.... At the momentwhen Edgar Duncan was describing to Mrs. Ridge for the second time theexact location of Arivista Ranch on the slope of the Ventura hills, Milly's head was resting close to the artist's face and very real tearswere in her eyes--tears of joy--as her heart beat wildly under herlover's kisses and her ears sang with his passionate words.... 

For the one thing that the young artist had sworn to himself shouldnever happen to HIM, --at any rate not until he was old andsuccessful, --the very thing that Milly had laughed at aspreposterous--"me fall in love with a poor man!"--had come to pass. Bothhad done it. 

"I shan't spoil all your future for you, shall I, dear?" she whispered, her mouth close to his. He gave her the only proper answer.... 

"It shan't make any difference, " she said later, in a calmer moment. "You shall have your life, dear, and become a great painter. "

"Of course!" Youth replied robustly. "And I'll do a great picture ofyou!"

How wonderful! How wonderful it all was, Milly thought, as they threadedtheir way homewards through the slovenly, garish Chicago streets, mindful of naught but themselves and their Secret. How could anything sopoetically wonderful happen in workaday Chicago? And Milly thought toherself how could any woman consider for a moment sacrificingTHIS--"the real, right thing"--for any bribe on earth?... 

As they neared the little house, Milly perceived the light in the frontroom and with an intuition of something unpleasant to follow dismissedher lover peremptorily, with a last daring kiss beneath thestreet-light, and tripped into the house. 

It all came over her as soon as the tall figure rose from theuncomfortable corner sofa: she knew what she had done and she was filledwith real concern for the Other One. 

"Edgar!" she cried. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Some time, " Mrs. Ridge observed with reproof. 

"Since four forty-five, " Duncan admitted, and added with a touch ofsentiment. "I came fifteen minutes before the time. "

Milly cast a fleeting glance backward over what had happened to hersince four forty-five!

"But it doesn't matter now, " he said with intention, "all the waiting!"

Mrs. Ridge discreetly withdrew at this point. 

"I'm so glad to see you, " Milly began lamely. "Do sit down. "

"I've been sitting a long time, " Edgar Duncan remarked, patientlyreseating himself on the stiff sofa. 

"I'm so sorry!"

"Did you forget?"

"Yes, I forgot all about it, " Milly admitted bluntly. "You see so muchhas happened since--"

"Then you didn't get my letters?" he pressed on eagerly, ignoringMilly's last words. 

"Oh, yes, I got all your letters, " she said hastily, remembering thatshe had not found time or heart to open the last bulky three, which layupstairs on her dressing-table. "Beautiful letters they were, " she addedsentimentally and irrelevantly, thinking, "What letters Jack willwrite!"

It is useless to follow this painful scene in further detail. Timid asEdgar Duncan was by nature he was man enough to strike for what hewanted when he had his chance, --as he had struck manfully in those bulkyletters. And he repeated their message now in simple words. 

"Milly, will you go back with me?... I've waited for you all my life. "

Touched by the pathos of this genuine feeling, Milly's eyes filled withtears and she stammered, --

"Oh, I can't--I really can't!"

"Why not?"

(She would have been quite willing to make the journey with him, if shemight have flown straightway back to the arms of her artist lover!)

"You see--it's different--I can't--" Milly could not bring herself todeal the blow. It seemed too absurd to state baldly that in twelve daysa man had come into her life, whom she had never set eyes on thirteendays before, but who nevertheless had made it impossible for her to dowhat before that time she had looked forward to with serene content. Such things happened in books, but were ridiculous to say!

"You care for some one else?"

Milly nodded, and her eyes dropped tears fast. It all seemed very sad, almost tragic. She was sorry for herself as well as for him.... 

If he felt it inexplicable that he had not been allowed to suspect thisdeep attachment before, he was too much of a man to mention it. He tookhis blow and did not argue about it. 

"I'm so sorry!" Milly cried. 

"It had to be, " he said, hastily putting out a hand to her. "I shalllove you always, Milly!" (It was the thing they said in books, but inthis case it sounded forlornly true. ) "I'm glad I've had the chance tolove you, " and he was gone. 

Milly dropped tears all the way upstairs to her room, where she shutherself in and locked herself against family intrusion. In spite of hertears she was glad for what she had done. A woman's heart seemed to herample justification for inconsistencies, even if it jammed other heartson the way to its goal. It was fate, that was all, --fate that JackBragdon should have walked into her life just twelve days before itwould have been too late. Fate is a wondrously consoling word, especially in the concerns of the heart. It absolves from personalresponsibility. 

So Milly went to sleep, with tears still on her eyelashes, but a smileon her lips, and dreamed of her own happy fate. At last "the real, rightthing" was hers!

X

MILLY MARRIES

She awoke with a sensation of bliss--a never ending happiness to behers. Yet there were some disagreeable episodes before this bliss couldbe perfected. For one thing Horatio took the announcement of the newengagement very hard, --unexpectedly so. Grandma Ridge received it instony silence with a sarcastic curve to her wrinkled lips, as if tosay, --"Hope you know your mind this time!" But Horatio spluttered:--

"What? You don't mean that la-di-da newspaper pup who parts his hair inthe middle?"

(To part one's hair in the middle instead of upon the slope of the headwas Horatio's aversion--it indicated to him a lack of serious, masculinepurpose in a young man. )

"I thought you would do better than that, Milly.... What's he makingwith his newspaper pictures?"

"I don't know, " Milly replied loftily. 

She might guess that it was in the neighborhood of thirty dollars aweek, sometimes increased by a few dollars through a magazine cover orcommercial poster. But in her present exalted mood it was completelyindifferent to Milly whether her lover was earning twenty dollars or twothousand a week. They would live somehow--of course: all young loversdid.... And was he not a genius? Milly had every confidence. 

"You might just as well have married Ted Donovan, " Horatio groaned. (Donovan was the young man at Hoppers' whom Milly had disdained early inher West Side career. ) "I saw him on the street the other day, and he'sdoing finely--got a rise last January. "

"He's not fashionable enough for Milly, " Grandma commented. 

"I must say you treated that Mr. Duncan pretty badly, " Horatio continuedwith unusual severity. 

"I should say so!" Grandma interposed. 

Milly might think so too, but she was serenely indifferent to all thedefeated prospects, the bleeding hearts over which she must pass to thefulfilment of her being. It was useless to explain to her father and hergrandmother the imperious call of "the real, right thing, " and howimmeasurably Jack differed from Ted Donovan, Clarence Albert, or evenEdgar Duncan, and how indifferent to a true woman must be all the painin the world, once she had found her Ideal. 

Horatio and his mother might feel the waste of all their efforts inbehalf of Milly, --the costly removal from the West Side home, thedisastrous venture in the tea and coffee business, and all the rest, --toresult in _this_, her engagement to a "mere newspaper feller who partshis hair in the middle. " It was another example of the mournfulexperience of age, --the pouring forth of heart's blood in uselesssacrifice to Youth. But Milly saw that her artist lover, --and the flamein her heart, the song in her ears, --could not have been without all thedevious turnings of her small career. Each step had been needed to bringher at last into Jack's arms, and therefore the toil of the road wasnothing--in her eyes. That was the way Milly looked at it. 

Could one blame her, remembering her sentimental education, thesentimental ideals that for centuries upon centuries men have imposedupon the more imitative sex? She could not see the simple selfishness ofher life, --not then, perhaps later when she too became a mother. 

 * * * * *

The catastrophe of her first engagement had cut Milly off from her morefashionable friends and the world outside, and this second emotionalcrisis cut her off from the sympathy of her family. After that firstwail Horatio was glumly silent, as if his cup of sorrow was now filled, and Grandma Ridge went her way in stern oblivion of Milly. The girl wasso happy--and so much away from home--that she hardly felt the colddomestic atmosphere. 

A few short weeks afterwards, however, Mrs. Ridge announced to her thata tenant having been found for the house they should move the first ofthe month. 

"Where are you going?" Milly asked, a trifle bewildered. 

"Your father and I are going to board on the West Side, " her grandmotherreplied shortly, implying that Milly could do as she pleased, now thatshe was her own mistress. 

"Why over there?"

"Your father has secured a place in his old business. "

From the few further details offered by her grandmother Milly inferredthat it was a very humble place indeed, and that only dire necessity hadforced Horatio to accept it, --to sit at the gate in the greatestablishment where once he had held some authority. 

"Poor papa!" Milly sighed. 

"It's rather late for you to be sorry, now, " the old lady retortedpitilessly. She was of the puritan temper that loves to scatterirrefutable moral logic. 

It was not until long afterward that Milly learned all the part theindomitable old lady had played in this crisis of her son's affairs. Shehad not only gone to see Mr. Baxter, one of the Hopper partners whoattended the Second Presbyterian Church, and begged him to give her sonemployment once more, but she had humbled herself to appeal personallyto their enemy Henry Snowden and entreat him, for old friendship's sake, to be magnanimous to a broken man. In these painful interviews she hadnot spared Milly. She had succeeded. 

 * * * * *

Sometime during the last hurried weeks of their occupancy of the AcaciaStreet house, Milly managed to have her lover come to Sunday supper andmake formal announcement of their intentions to the old people. For longyears afterwards she would remember the final scene of her emotionalcareer in the little front room when her father had to shake hands withthe young artist on the exact spot where Clarence's glittering diamondhad lain disdained, where the faithful ranchman had received his blow, standing, full in the face. 

Little Horatio looked gray and old; his lips trembled and his hand shookas he greeted Bragdon. 

"Well, sir, so you and Milly have made up your minds to get married?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Hope you'll make each other happy. "

"We shall!" both chorused. 

"And I hope you'll be able to support her. "

"We'll live on nothing, " Milly bubbled gayly. 

"First time then I've known you to, " Horatio retorted sourly. 

It was the only bitter thing the little man ever said to his daughter, and it was the bitterness of disappointed hopes for her that forced thewords from him then. Perhaps, too, Horatio had permitted himself todream of Hesperidian apples of gold in eternal sunshine on the slopes ofthe Ventura hills and a peaceful old age far from the roaring, dirtycity where he had failed. But when he spoke he was not thinking ofhimself, only of the dangers for his one loved child. 

The meeting was hardly a cheerful one. Milly, in the exuberance of hernew joy, could see no reason why everybody should not be as happy andhopeful as she was. But the older people, although they werescrupulously polite to the young artist, let their aloofness be felt ina chilly manner. This was Milly's affair, they implied: she was runningher life to suit herself, as American children were wont to do, withoutadvice from her elders. The young man was obviously ill at ease. 

Milly felt that he was too large for the picture. She had never beenashamed of her humble home, --not with all her fashionable friends, notwith her rich lover. But now she was conscious of the poor impression itmust make upon the artist youth, who was so immeasurably superior to itin culture. When the old people had withdrawn after supper, leaving thelovers to themselves in the little front parlor, there were severalmoments of awkward silence between them. Milly was distressed for him, but she did not try to apologize. She said in her heart that she wouldmake it up to him, --all that she lacked in family background. A womancould, she was convinced. 

Possibly she did not fully realize how depressingly his situation hadbeen brought home to him by this first contact with the Ridge household. He knew quite well how far thirty dollars a week went, with one man, and, as has been said, the last intention of his soul was to induce anywoman to share it with him. Nor had he meant to seek out a rich wife, although having brought good introductions he had made his way easilyinto pleasant circles in his new home. Marriage had no part in hisscheme of things. But he had been snared by the same tricksy sprite ofblood and youth that had inflamed Milly. Now his was the mainresponsibility, and he must envisage the future he had chosen soberly. No more pleasant dallying in rich drawing-rooms, no more daydreamingover the varied paths of an entertaining career. It was Matrimony! Nowonder--and no discredit to him--that the young man was somewhatoverwhelmed when he contemplated what that meant in material terms. Never for the fraction of a moment, it should be said, did he think ofevading the responsibility. His American chivalry would have made thatimpossible, even if he had desired it. And Milly had his heart and hissenses completely enthralled. 

"Dearest, " she said to him that evening, divining the sombre course ofhis thoughts, "it will be so different with us when we are married. We'll have everything pretty, even if it's only two rooms, won't we?"And her yielding lips sealed his bondage firmer than ever, though hemight know that beauty, even in two rooms, costs money. He shut his eyesand hoped--which is the only way in such cases. 

Milly did not tell him that within a fortnight she should be withouteven this home. 

 * * * * *

"There's going to be no engagement this time, " Milly reported briskly toSally Norton, when she announced her news, "for I had enough of thatbefore, with all the fuss. Jack and I are both perfectly free. We'rejust going to be married some day--that's all. "

"Milly! Well I never!" Sally gasped, amid shrieks of laughter. "Notreally? You don't mean that kid?"

(Sally was conducting a serious affair herself, with a wary oldbachelor, whom ultimately she led in triumph to the altar. Ever aftershe referred to Mr. John Bragdon as Milly's "kid lover"). 

"I think it splendid!" Vivie pronounced in a burst of appreciation. "It's the real thing, dear. You are both young and brave. You arewilling to make sacrifices for your hearts. "

Milly was not yet conscious of making any tremendous sacrifice. Nevertheless, she adopted easily this sentimentalized view of hermarriage. And Vivie Norton went about among their friends proclaimingMilly's heroism. Some people were amused; some were sceptical; a fewpitied the young man. "Milly, a poor man's wife--never! For he _is_poor, isn't he, a newspaper artist?"

"He has a great deal of talent, " Vivie Norton asserted with assurance. Milly had so informed her. 

"But an artist!" and Chicago shrugged its shoulders dubiously. Anartist, at least a resident specimen of the craft, might be adrawing-room lap-dog, unmarried, but married he soon became a seedymember of society, somewhere between a clerk and a college professor insocial standing. One of the smarter women Milly knew, Mrs. JamesLamereux, exclaimed when she heard the news, --"It's beautiful, --thesedays when the women as well as the men are so keen for the main chancein everything. " It was rumored there had been a sentimental episode inthis lady's past, the fragrance of which still lay in her heart. MeetingMilly on the street she congratulated the girl heartily, --"And, my dear, you'll have such an interesting life--you'll know lots of clever peopleand do unconventional things, --be free, you know, as WE arenot".... But Mrs. Jonas Haggenash remarked when some one told her thenews, --"The little fool! Now she's gone and done it. "

In general the verdict of friends seemed to be suspended: they wouldwait and see, preserving meantime an attitude of amiable neutrality andgood-will towards this outbreak of idealism. But Milly was not troublingherself about what people thought or said. This time she had the fullcourage of her convictions. The only one of her old friends she cared toconfide in deeply was Eleanor Kemp. That lady listened with troubled, yet sympathetic eyes. "Oh, my dear, " she murmured, kissing Milly manytimes. "My dear! My dear!" she repeated as if she did not trust herselfto say more. "I so hope you'll be happy--that it will be right thistime. "

"Of course it _is_, " Milly retorted, hurt by the shadow of doubtimplied. 

"You know it takes so much for two people to live together always, evenwhen they have plenty of money. "

"But when they love, " Milly rejoined, according to her creed. 

"Even when they love, " the older woman affirmed gravely. 

She could see beyond the immediate glamor those monotonous years ofcommonplace living, --struggle and effort. She knew from experience howmuch of life has nothing to do with the emotions and the soul, butmerely with the stomach and other vulgar functions of the body. 

"I haven't a doubt, --not one!" Milly affirmed. 

"That's right--and I oughtn't to suggest any.... You must bring Mr. Bragdon to dinner Sunday. Walter and I want to see him.... When are youto be married?"

"Soon, " Milly replied vaguely. 

"That's best, too. "

Then Milly confessed to her old friend the dark condition of the Ridgefortunes, with the uncomfortable fact that very shortly she herselfwould be without a home. 

"I must find some place to stay--but it won't be for long. "

"You must come here and stay with us as long as you will, " Mrs. Kemppromptly said with true kindliness. "I insist! Walter would want it, ifI didn't--he's very fond of you, too. "

Thus fortune smiled again upon Milly, and the two friends plunged intofeminine details of dress and domestic contrivance. Eleanor Kemp, whohad a gift lying unused of being a capable manager, a poor man'shelpmate, tried her best to interest Milly in the little methods ofeconomizing and doing by which dollars are pushed to their utmostusefulness. Milly listened politely, but she felt sure that "all thatwould work out right in time. " She could not believe that Jack would bepoor always.... The older woman smiled at her confidence, and after shehad gone shook her head. 

 * * * * *

The young artist had his due share of pride. When he realized that thewoman he loved and meant to marry was staying with the Kemps because shehad no other refuge, he urged their immediate marriage, though he alsohad a fair-sized package of bills in his desk drawer and needed a fewmonths in which to straighten out his affairs. Milly was eager to bemarried, --"When all would come right somehow. " So she opposed noobjection. 

Indeed as she let her lover understand, she was indifferent about themere ceremony. She would go and live with him any time, anywhere, if itweren't for the talk it would make and hurting her father's feelings. Milly was, of course, an essentially monogamic creature, like anynormal, healthy woman. She meant simply that, once united with the manshe really loved, the thing was eternal. If he should cease to love her, it would be the end of everything for her, no matter whether she had thelegal bond or not. However flattered her lover may have been by thisexhibition of trust, Bragdon was too American in instinct to entertainthe proposal seriously. "What's the use of that, anyway?" he said. "Wemean to stick--we might as well get the certificate. "

So, as Milly confided to Eleanor Kemp, they determined "just to gosomewhere and have it done as quickly as possible, without fuss andfeathers. "

And Mrs. Kemp, realizing what a sacrifice this sort of marriage mustmean to any girl, --without the pomp and ceremony, --felt that it was agood sign for the couple's future, showing a real desire to seek theessentials and dispense with the frills. She and her husband had plannedto give the young adventurers a quiet but conventional home wedding, with friends and a reception. But she readily acquiesced in Milly'sidea, and one bleak Saturday in January slipped off with the lovers to aneighboring church, and after seeing them lawfully wedded by a parsonleft them to their two days' holiday, which was all the honeymoon theyallowed themselves at this time.... 

Milly was a fresh and blooming bride in a becoming gray broadcloth suit, and as she stood before the faded parson beside her chosen man to takethe eternal vows of fidelity, no woman ever gave herself more completelyto the one of her heart. The wonderful song of bliss that had beensinging inside her all these last weeks burst into a triumphal poem. Shefelt curiously exalted, scarcely herself. Was she not giving everythingshe had as a woman to her loved one, without one doubt? Had she not beentrue to woman's highest instinct, to her heart? She had rejected all thebribes of worldliness in order to obtain "the real, right thing, " andshe felt purified, ennobled, having thus fulfilled the ideals of hercreed.... She turned to her husband a radiant face to be kissed, --a facein which shone pride, confidence, happiness. 

As the older woman, with tear-dimmed eyes, watched the two bindthemselves together for the long journey, she murmured to herself like aprayer, --"She's such a woman! Such a dear woman! She MUST behappy. "

That was the secret of Milly's hold upon all her women friends: theyfelt the woman in her, the pure character of their sex more highlyexpressed in her than in any one else they knew. She was the unconsciouschampion of their hearts. 

Again the older woman murmured prayerfully, --"What will she do withlife? What _will_ she do?"

For like the wise woman she was she knew that in most cases it is thewoman who makes marriage sing like a perpetual song or become a sullensilence. All the way to her home she kept repeating to herself, --

"What will she make of it? Milly!"

PART THREE

ASPIRATIONS

I

THE NEW HOME

They took a tiny, four-room apartment far, far out on the North Side. Itwas close to the sandy shore of the Lake; from the rear porch, which wasperched on wooden stilts in the fashion of Chicago apartments, the grayblue waters of the great lake could be seen. In the next block therewere a few scrubby oak trees, still adorned, even in January, withrustling brown leaves, which gave something of a country air to thelandscape. By an ironical accident the new apartment they had chosenhappened to be not far from the spot where Clarence Albert had wished tobuild his home. There was still much vacant property in thisneighborhood, as well as the free lake beach, which attracted thelovers, and though it was a tiresome car-ride to the centre of the cityMilly did not expect to make many journeys back and forth. 

At first she had had some idea of resuming her newspaper work, but thathad become almost negligible of late, since her preoccupation with love, and when she approached Mr. Becker, he showed slight interest. He feltkindly towards the two young adventurers, but he was not disposed tocarry his sentiments into the newspaper business. They must "make good"by themselves, like any other Tom and Gill, and Milly married to animpecunious newspaper artist would not be a social asset for the _Star_. So Milly, happily, was relegated to domesticity, and the management ofher one raw little maid. Anyway, as she told Eleanor Kemp, her husbanddid not care to have his wife working--didn't think much of women in thenewspaper business. She was proud of his Pride.... 

The new home was a pretty little nest. Milly had rescued from the lastdébacle of the Ridge household those few good pieces of old mahoganythat had been her mother's contribution to the conglomerate, and kindfriends had added a few essential articles. Especially Eleanor Kemp, with a practical eye and generous hand, had taken delight in seeing thatall details of the new home were complete, and that everything was insmiling order on their return from the brief wedding trip. She had eventaken pains to have flowers and plants sent in from the Comogreenhouses. (The plants speedily died, as Milly forgot to water them. )

So now they were embarked, cosily and cheerily, considering theircircumstances. As a shrewd worldly philosopher once put it on a similaroccasion: "Your John and my Amy got launched to-day on the long journey. Poor dears! They think it's to be one long picnic. But we know they areup against the Holy State of Matrimony--a very different proposition. "By which he meant, no doubt, that the young couple were to discover thatinstead of passion and sentiment, verses and kisses, marriage waslargely a matter of feeding John and keeping him smoothly running as aneconomic machine, and of clothing Milly and keeping her happily attunedto the social cosmos, --later on of feeding, clothing, educating, andproperly launching the little Johns and Millys who might be expected toput in an appearance.... 

But our lovers had not struck the prosaic bottom yet, though theyreached it sooner than either had expected. There were a good manykisses and verses the first months, passion and temperament. Johndiscovered, of course, that Mrs. Bragdon was quite a different womanfrom Milly Ridge, --a still fascinating, though occasionallyexasperating, creature, while Milly thought John was just what she hadknown he would be, --an altogether adorable lover and perfect man. Whatsurprised her more as the early weeks of marriage slipped by was to findthat she herself had remained, in spite of her great woman's experience, much the same person she had always been, with the same lively interestsin people and things outside and the same dislike of the sordid side ofexistence. She had vaguely supposed that the state of love ecstasy whichhad been aroused in her would continue forever, excluding all otherelements in her being, and thus transform her into something gloriouslynew. Not at all. She still felt aggrieved when the maid boiled her eggsmore than two minutes or passed the vegetables on the wrong side. 

When the two first seriously faced the budget question, they found thatthey had started their sentimental partnership with a combined deficitof over four hundred dollars. Luckily Mrs. Gilbert had sent to their newaddress a chilly note of good wishes and a crisp cheque for one hundreddollars. It was rather brutal of the good lady to put them so quickly onthe missionary list, and Milly wanted to return the cheque; but Johnlaughed and "entered it to the good, " as he said. Then miraculouslyGrandma Ridge had put into Milly's hand just before the wedding tenfresh ten-dollar bills. Where had the old lady concealed such wealth allthese barren years, Milly wondered!... And finally, among other tracesof Eleanor Kemp's fairy hand, they found in a drawer of Milly's new deska bank-book on Walter Kemp's bank with a bold entry of $250 on the firstpage. So, all told, they were able to start rather to the windward, asBragdon put it. Much to Milly's surprise, the artist proved to have asense of figures, light handed as he had shown himself before marriage. At least he knew the difference between the debit and the credit side ofthe ledger, and had grasped the fundamental principle of domesticfinance, viz. One cannot spend more than one earns, long. He insistedupon paying up all the old bills and establishing a monthly budget. When, after the rent had been deducted from the sum he expected to earn, Milly proved to him that they could not live on what was left, hewhistled and said he must "dig it up somehow, " and he did. He becameindefatigably industrious in picking up odd dollars, extending his funnycolumn, doing posters, and making extra sketches for the sporting sheet. In spite of these added fives and tens, they usually exceeded the budgetby a third, and when Jack looked grave, Milly of course explained justhow exceptional the circumstances had been. 

It is not worth while to go into the budgetary details of thisparticular matrimonial venture. Other story-tellers have done that withpainful literalness, and nothing is drearier than the dead accounts ofthe butcher and baker, necessary as they are. The essential truths ofdomestic finance are very simple, and invariable: in the last analysisthey come to one horn of the eternal dilemma, --fewer wants or moredollars. In America it is usually the second horn of the dilemma thatthe husband valiantly embraces--it seems the easier one at the time, atleast the more comfortable horn upon which to be impaled. Milly wasconvinced that the first horn was impossible, if they were to "livedecently. " Bragdon began to think they might do better in New York, where the market for incidental art was larger and the pay better. Millywas eager for the venture. But both hesitated to cut themselves off froma sure, if lean, subsistence. The _Star_ raised him during thepresidential campaign, when he was quite happy in caricaturing theDemocratic ass and the wide-mouthed Democratic candidate. (They alwayshad a tender feeling for the gentleman after that!) All in all, he madenearly twenty-five hundred dollars the first year, and that was muchmore than he had expected. But he found that even in those years of lowprices it was a small income for two--as Milly pointed out. 

However, money was not their only concern. The young wife was properlyambitious for her husband. 

"It isn't so much the money, " she told Eleanor Kemp. "I don't want Jackto sink into mere newspaper work, though he's awfully clever at it. Butit leads nowhere, you know. I want him to be a real artist; he's got thetalent. And if he succeeds as a painter, it pays so much better. Justthink! That Varnot man charges fifteen hundred dollars for his portraitsand such daubs--don't you think so?"

(Emil Varnot was one of the tribe of foreign artists who periodicallydescend upon American cities and reap in a few months a rich harvest ofportraits, if they are properly introduced--much to the disgust of localtalent. )

"Don't be impatient, Milly, " Mrs. Kemp counselled. "It will come intime, I've no doubt. You must save up to go abroad first. "

But the dull way of thrift was not Milly's; it was not American. Improvements there are financed by mortgage, not by savings. They mustborrow to make the next step.... Milly had lofty ideals of helping herhusband in his work. She was to be his inspiration in Art, of course:that was to go on all the time. More practically she hoped to serve asmodel from which his creations would issue to capture fame. She hadheard of artists who had painted themselves into fame through theirwives' figures, and she longed to emulate the wives. But this illusionwas shattered during the first year of their married life. When Bragdonessayed a picture in the slack summer season, it was discovered thatMilly, for all her vivacious good looks, was not paintable in the fullfigure. (They had tried her on the sands behind the flat, where theyrigged up an impromptu studio out of old sails. ) Her legs were too shortbetween the thigh and the knee, and when the artist tried to correctthis defect of his model, the result was disastrous.... However, whatwas of more practical purpose, her head answered very well, and Milly'spretty face adorned the covers of various minor magazines, done in allpossible color schemes at twenty dollars per head. "I earn something, "she said, by way of self-consolation. 

She had another disappointment. She had imagined that her husband woulddo most of his work at home, immediately under her fostering eye, andthat in this way she should have a finger, so to speak, in the creativeprocess; but for the present the sort of "art" they lived on was bestdone in an office, with the thud of steam presses beneath and the eagereye of the copy-reader at the door. So Milly was left to herself forlong hours in her new little home, and Milly was lonely. The troubleobviously was that Milly had not enough to do to occupy her abundantenergy and interest in life. They were not to have children if possible:in the modern way they had settled beforehand that _that_ wasimpossible. And modern life had also so skilfully contrived the plebeianmachinery of living that there was little or nothing left for the womanto do, if she were above the necessity of cooking and washing for herman. Deliberately to set herself to find an interesting and inexpensiveoccupation for her idle hours was not in Milly's nature, --few women ofher class did in those days. It was supposed to be enough for a marriedwoman to be "the head of her house"--even of a four-room modernapartment--and to be a gracious and desirable companion to her lord inhis free hours of relaxation. Anything else was altogether "advanced"and "queer. "

So after the first egotistic weeks of young love, the socialinstinct--Milly's dominant passion, in which her husband shared to someextent--awoke with a renewed keenness, and she looked abroad for itsgratification. Their immediate neighbors, she quickly decided, were"impossible" as intimates: they were honest young couples, clerks andminor employees, who had come to the outskirts of the great city, likethemselves, for the sake of low rents and clean housing. There were nosigns of that "artistic and Bohemian" quality about them which she hadhoped to find in her new life. Her husband assured her that he hadfailed to discover any such circle in Chicago, any at least whosemembers she could endure. That was where America, except New Yorkpossibly, differed from Europe. It had no class of cultivated poor. Occasionally he brought a newspaper man from the city, and they had someamusing talk over their dinner. A few of Milly's old friendspersistently followed her up, like the Norton girls, the kindly Mrs. Lamereux, and the Kemps. But after accepting the hospitality of thesefar-off friends, there was always the dreary long journey back to theirflat, with ample time for sleepy reflection on the futility of trying tokeep up with people who had ten times your means of existence. It wasnot good for either of them, they knew, to taste surreptitiously the_bourgeois_ social feast, when they were not able "to do their part. "Nevertheless, as the spring came on, Milly invited people more and more, and in the long summer twilights they had some jolly "beach parties" onthe sandy lake shore, cooking messes over a driftwood fire, and alsomoonlight swimming parties. By such means the dauntless Milly managed tokeep a sense of social movement about them. 

 * * * * *

She saw her father rarely. It was a day's journey, as she expressed it, to the West Side, and her father was never free until after six, excepton Sundays, which Milly consecrated to husband, of course. Really, father and daughter were not congenial, and they discovered it, now thatfate had separated them. At long intervals Horatio would come to themfor Sunday dinner, when Milly had not some other festivity on foot. Onthese occasions the little man seemed subdued, as if he had turned downthe hill and drearily contemplated the end, at the bottom. He liked bestto sit on the rear porch, read the Sunday _Star_, and watch the gleaminglake. Perhaps it reminded him of that vision he had indulged himselfwith for a few short weeks of the broad Pacific beneath the Venturahills. Milly felt sorry for her father and did her best to cheer him bygiving him a bountiful dinner of the sort of food he liked. She had afaint sense of guilt towards him, as if she might have done more to makelife toothsome for him in his old age. And yet how could she have beenfalse to her heart, which she felt had been amply vindicated by hermarriage? Pity that her heart could not have chimed to another note, butthat was the way of hearts. She was relieved when she had put her fatheraboard the car on his return. As for Jack, he was always kind andpolite, but frankly bored; the two men had nothing in common--how couldthey? It was the two generations over again--that was all. 

Old Mrs. Ridge never made the journey to the Bragdon flat, and Milly sawher only once or twice after her marriage. She was not sorry. Years ofliving with "Grandma" had eaten into even Milly's amiable soul. Thelittle old lady grimly pursued her narrow path between theboarding-house and the church, reading her _Christian Vindicator_ forall mental relaxation, until one autumn morning she was found placidlyasleep in her bed, forever. 

That was the next event of importance in Milly's life. 

II

A FUNERAL AND A SURPRISE

When Horatio telephoned the news, Milly hurried over to the West Side, and was taken to her grandmother's room. The little old lady seemedextraordinarily lifelike in her death--perhaps because there had been solittle outward animation to her life. Her thin, veined hands were foldedneatly over her decent black dress, as she had sat so many hours, perfectly still. The neat bands of white hair curved around thewell-shaped ears, and the same grim smile of petty irony that Milly knewso well and hated was graven on the thin lips.... She was taken to thatcemetery on the Western Boulevard which Milly as a girl had preventedher from visiting on her daily walk. There were several old ladies fromthe boarding-house at the funeral, and one other thin-faced woman, whomMilly vaguely remembered to have seen somewhere. 

Milly returned from the funeral with her husband, and they were bothsilent and thoughtful, occupied not so much with the dead as with thefuture her going must disturb. They had not dared voice to each otherthe idea that had been troubling them both since the first news of Mrs. Ridge's death had reached them. At last, when they had left the car andwere approaching their own home, Bragdon said, --"I suppose, Milly, weought to have your father live with us. "

"I suppose so, " Milly sighed. "Poor papa--he feels itdreadfully.... He's done so much for me always, Jack. "

Her husband might rejoin that Horatio had done little for him, but hesaid instead, --

"We shall have to find a larger apartment. "

Milly sighed. It was difficult enough to get on in the little one. 

"You'll go over to-morrow to see him about it?" Bragdon continuedcourageously. 

"Father can't come 'way out here to live--it's too far from hisbusiness. "

"We'll have to move nearer the business then. "

"Not to the West Side!" Milly exclaimed in horror. 

"What difference does it make?" her husband asked, as he wearily took uphis drawing-board. 

"You don't know the West Side, " Milly muttered. 

"Well, we can't leave him alone in that boarding-house, can we?"

That was exactly what Milly would have liked to do, but she had not thecourage to say so in the face of her husband's ready acceptance of theburden. The next day, as she revolved the unpleasant situation on herway to see her father, she said to herself again and again, --"Not theWest Side. I won't have that--anything but that!" For to return to theWest Side seemed like beginning life all over again at the very bottomof the hill. 

 * * * * *

When Milly announced her invitation to her father, Horatio exhibited astrange diffidence. 

"We'll find some nice little apartment nearer the city where you'll haveno trouble in getting to your business, " Milly said in kindly fashion. 

"I guess not, " Horatio replied. "Not but that it's real kind of you andJohn. "

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, daughter, your husband ain't my kind, " he stammered. "He's all right--a good fellow, and he seems to make you happy--but Idon't much believe in mixing up families. "

"What will you do?"

And after further embarrassment, Horatio confessed with a red face, --

"Perhaps I'll get married myself soon. "

"Papa--you don't mean it!" Milly exclaimed, rather shocked, and inclinedto think it was one of Horatio's raw jokes. 

"Why not?... I ain't as old as some, if I'm not as young as others. "

"Who is the lady?"

"A fine young woman!... I've known her well for years, and I can tellyou she'll make the right sort of wife for any man. "

"Who can it be?" demanded Milly, now quite excited, and running over inher mind all of her father's female acquaintance, which was notextensive. 

"Miss Simpson, " Horatio said. "Expect you don't remember JosephineSimpson--she was the young woman who was in the office when I had thecoffee business. "

"That woman!" Milly gasped, remembering vividly now the sour, keenscrutiny the bookkeeper had given her the last time she had been in theoffice of the tea and coffee business. It must have been Miss Simpsonwho had stood a little to one side behind her father at the funeral. Thethin-faced woman had a familiar look, but in her best clothes Milly hadnot recognized her. 

Horatio resented the tone of his daughter's exclamation. 

"Let me tell you, Milly, " he asserted with dignity, "there are fewbetter women living on this earth than 'that woman. ' She's looked aftera sick mother and a younger sister all her life, and now I mean sheshall have somebody look after her. "

The little man rose an inch bodily with his intention. 

"I think it's very nice of you, papa. "

"Nice of me! An old hulks like me?... I guess it's nice of her to letme.... We'll make out all right. Will you come to the wedding?" heconcluded with a laugh. 

"Of course--and I'm so glad for you, really glad, papa. I hopeJosephine'll make you very happy. "

And she kissed her father. 

On her way back to the city Milly laughed aloud several times withamusement mingled with relief. "Who would have thought it--and with sucha scarecrow!" She stopped at the _Star_ to tell Jack the news. They hadlunch together and laughed again and again at "love's young dream. "

"He won't be lonely now!" Milly said. 

"I suppose he had to have some woman attached to him, " her husbandmused; "when a man has reached his age and has had 'em about always--"

"Well, I like that!" Milly pouted. 

"Anyway, that let's us out, " was the final comment of both upon theapproaching nuptials of Horatio. 

It was not the only surprise that the little old lady's death providedthe young couple with. It was discovered that she had made a will, and, what was still more wonderful, that she had really something to will!Various savings-bank books were found neatly tied up with string in herdrawer below a pile of handkerchiefs. The will said, after dulyproviding for the care of her grave, "To my beloved granddaughter, Igive and bequeath the residue of my estate, " which upon examination ofthe bank-books was found to be rather more than three thousand dollarsall told. 

"To me!!" Milly almost shouted when her father read the slip of paper toher. She was divided in her astonishment between surprise that thereshould be any money left, and that the little old lady, who had foughther all her life, should give it all to "her beloved granddaughter. "

Bragdon could not appreciate the full irony of the situation. 

"And why not to you?" he asked. 

"You don't know grandma!" Milly replied oracularly, feeling that anyattempt to explain would be useless. --And, it may be added, Milly didnot know her grandmother, either. She could no more appreciate thesteady, stern self-denial that had gone to the gathering of that threethousand dollars than she could the nature of a person who would nag fortwenty years the girl she meant to endow. That also belonged among thepuritan traits, as well as a sneaking admiration for the handsome, self-willed, extravagant granddaughter. 

"She ought to have left it to you, " Milly said to her father. 

"I guess she thought she had done enough for me already, " Horatio saidlightly. "She knew about Josephine, too--expect she thought the greenparlor furniture would be the right thing for us. Josephine's likely toappreciate that more'n you, Milly!"

Milly was amply content with this division. 

 * * * * *

Husband and wife lay awake for long hours that night, in a flutter ofexcitement, discussing Milly's marvellous windfall. 

"Just think, " Milly cried, snuggling very close to her husband. "We'llgo abroad as soon as we can pack up, shan't we? And you will paint! Andall thanks to poor old grandma. "

"It _is_ luck, " the artist agreed thankfully. 

"And I brought it to you--poor little me, without a _sou_!... Threethousand ought to last a long time. "

(Milly was invariably optimistic about the expansibility of money. )

"It'll be a good starter, anyway, " her husband agreed, "and before it'sgone I ought to be making good. "

So that night two very happy married people went to sleep in eachother's arms to dream of a wonderful future. 

III

ON BOARD SHIP

At last Milly was tucked up in a steamer chair beside her artisthusband, on board the old _Augusta Victoria_, bound for Europe, thatexhaustless haven of romance where with or without an excuse all goodAmericans betake themselves when they can.... 

The last few weeks had been exciting ones. It had begun with Horatio'swedding to the homely bookkeeper, which Milly dutifully attended withher husband. In spite of the very handsome rug that they had sent thecouple, Mrs. Horatio preserved a cold demeanor towards her husband'sdaughter, as if she still suspected the young woman of designs uponHoratio and had married him for the sole purpose of protecting him forthe future from this rapacious creature. Milly, quickly perceiving thesituation, mischievously redoubled her demonstration over poor Horatio, who was visibly torn between his loyalties. 

"Lord, what a sour face she has!" Milly commented to her husband, whenthey had left the bride and groom. "Poor old Dad, I hope she'll let himsmoke!... Why do you suppose he married her?"

"To have some one to work for, " Bragdon, who was not without a sense ofhumor, suggested. 

"He might at least have found somebody better looking. "

"She looks capable, at any rate. "

Milly made a face. She did not like this appreciation of another woman'scapability by her husband.... 

Then came the farewell visits of old friends, who all wished the twoventurers great good luck and sadly prophesied they would never returnto the city by the lake. Milly was tearful over their departure, but adelirious week in New York that followed did much to efface thissentimental grief. Jack kept finding old friends at every corner, whowelcomed him "back to civilization" uproariously, and Milly felt fairlylaunched on her new career already. A very good-natured BigBrother-in-law took them to Sherry's for dinner, and, charmed by his newsister, spontaneously offered to increase their small hoard by anotherthousand, with the promise of still more help, in case their "stake" ranout before the two years of Europe they planned had brought results. Finally an old college acquaintance of Jack's, who had made his début inliterature successfully and was engaged to provide a woman's magazinewith one of his tender stories with a pronounced "heart interest, "promised to secure the illustrations for Bragdon. "If I can catch on, "the artist told his wife, "it means--anything. Clive Reinhard turns outone of his sloppy stories every six months, and they are allillustrated. "

Altogether when they set sail they calculated their resources, ifcarefully managed, could be made to last three years. Three years ofEurope!... Milly had never looked so far ahead in all her life. 

 * * * * *

Milly, snugly tucked up on the leeward side of the deck, closed her eyesas the boat rolled with heavy dignity, and thought. To be perfectlyfrank her married life in the four-room flat on the outskirts of Chicagohad begun to pall on her. It seemed to lead nowhere. It had not beenvery different from the lives of the little people about her, from whatshe would have done and been if she had married Ted Donovan, say. Only, of course, Jack was different from Ted, and with him it could not lastin the commonplace rut. They were merely little people, and very poorlittle people, in the big whirl of the western city--with their hope. Suddenly in the most romantic manner the Hope had taken shape--andMilly, thanks to grandma's surprising gift, arrogated to herself thewhole credit of that. She did not pause to think what might havehappened to them if they had been obliged to continue in the rut. Shedid not realize that already "love was not enough. "

But now heigho for Venture and the New Life--the life of Art! Millystill thought vaguely that according to Mrs. Lamereux it would meanmeeting a lot of interesting people, endless clever talk over delightfulmeals in queer little French restaurants or in picturesque andfascinating studios. "Art" was the next thing to money or fashion. Ifone couldn't be awfully rich or a "social leader, " the best thing was tobe artistic and distinguished, which brought you into contact with allsorts of people, among them "the fashionables, " of course. She meantthat her husband should be a successful painter, not a mere illustrator. 

Of the real nature of Art and the artist's life Milly had no betterconception than when she first fell in love with Jack Bragdon. She knewnothing of the artist's despairs and triumphs, his tireless labor tograsp the unseen, his rare and exalted joys, his strange valuation oflife, --in short the blind, unconscious purpose of Art in the terrestrialscheme of things. Nor perhaps did John Bragdon at twenty-eight. Thecrust of _bourgeois_ standards is so thick in American life that ittakes a rare and powerful nature to break through, and Bragdon had notyet begun to knock his way.... Milly's idea of Art, like most women's, was Decoration and Excitement. When successful, it made money and noisein the world, and brought social rewards, naturally. She hadn't marriedJack for that, or for any reason except because of his own adorablepersonality, as she told him frequently. But now that she was marriedshe meant to make the most of the Gift. Jack was to be a Creator, andshe aspired to be embodied somehow in the creation and share itsprofits. 

At last they were launched: their marriage was really justbeginning.... She snuggled closer to her husband under the commonrug and murmured in his sleepy ear, --

"Isn't it great, Jack?"

"What?" (Drowsily. )

"Europe! Everything!... That we're really here on the steamer!"

"Um!"

"And you're going to be a great painter--"

"Perhaps. " (Dubiously. )

"What shall you do first?"

"Don't know--find a cab. "

"Silly!... Don't make fun of me.... Kiss me!... Do you mind, dear, goingdown into the cabin and looking for my hot-water bottle, " etc. 

Bragdon recovered first from the Atlantic languor, and in the course ofhis rambles about the ship discovered an acquaintance in the secondcabin, --a young instructor in architecture at a technical school, whowith his wife and small child were also on their way to Paris for thewinter. He brought Milly to see the Reddons where they were establishedbehind a ventilator on the rear deck. Milly thought they seemed forlornand pitied them. Mrs. Reddon was a little pale New Englander, apparentlyas fragile as a china cup, and in her arms was a mussy and peevishchild. She confided to Milly that she expected another child, and Milly, whose one ever present terror was the fear of becoming inconveniently amother, was quite horrified. 

"How can they do it!" she exclaimed to Jack, when they had returned totheir more spacious quarters. "Go over second-class like that--it's sodirty and smelly and such common people all around one. "

"I suppose Reddon can't afford anything better. "

"Then I should stay at home until I could. With a baby, too, and anotherone coming: it's like the emigrants!"

"Reddon is a clever chap: he's been over before, a couple of years atthe Beaux Arts. I suppose he wants more work and didn't like to leaveher behind. "

"She shouldn't have babies, then, " Milly pronounced seriously, feelingher superiority in not thus handicapping her husband in his career. 

"It is tough, " Bragdon admitted.... 

They saw a good deal of the Reddons during the voyage. They proved to benot in the least down-hearted over their lot, and quite unaware ofMilly's commiseration. They were going to Paris for some desirableprofessional work, as they might go to San Francisco or Hong Kong, hadthe path pointed that way. They had babies because that was part of thegame when one married, and they brought them along because there wasnothing else to do with them. It was all very simple from the Reddonpoint of view. 

Milly considered Mrs. Reddon to be a "nice little thing, " and theybecame chummy. Marion Reddon was a college-trained woman, with much morereal culture than her husband or either of the Bragdons. She had readher Greek and Latin and forgotten them, liked pictures and music andbooks, but preferred babies when they came. Sam Reddon was ahigh-spirited American boy. He had never meant to study architecture andhe hadn't intended to marry or to teach; but having done all thesethings he still found the world a merry place enough. He played thepiano a little and sang Italian songs in an odd falsetto and roamed overthe ship in disreputable corduroys, which he had preserved from hisstudent days in Paris, making himself thoroughly at home in all threecabins. 

They talked Paris, of course, about which Reddon knew a great deal morethan any of the others. 

"Where are you going to live? In the Quarter?"

Mrs. Kemp had given Milly the address of an excellent pension near theArc, at which Sam Reddon expressed a frank disgust. 

"Americans and English--the rotten _bourgeoisie_--why don't you stay inNew York?" He figuratively spat upon the proprieties, and Milly wasbewildered. "An _apartement meublée au cinquième_, near the _Boul''Mich_ for us, eh, missus?"

Milly had heard that the "Latin Quarter" was dirty, and not "nice. " Noneof her Chicago friends ever stayed there. 

"You'll come and call on us, won't you?" the young man said withpleasant mockery. "Nobody will know, but we won't lay it up against youif you don't. "

Milly thought he was "fresh" and tried to snub him, but her manner onlyprovoked Reddon the more. 

"What's your husband trying to paint for? There are two thousand ninehundred and ninety-nine other chaps like him in Paris, and he'll just bethe three thousandth, who thinks he's going to make his fortune paintingrich people's portraits. I'd rather break stone than try to live bypaint. "

"And how about building summer villas for a living?" Bragdon queried. 

"Well, " the young man replied with a grin. "You see I don't--I can't getany to do!"

It was pleasant enough to joke about the arts, but Milly didn't expectto see much of the Reddons once they were launched in the fascinatinglife of Paris. She was becoming a little bored with them already, withtheir sloppy unconventionality and with ship life in general. Most ofthe first-cabin passengers, she discovered, were from Chilicothe, Ohio, or similar metropoli of the middle west, and as ignorant as she of whatwas before them. 

But when they sighted the green shores of Normandy, her enthusiasmrevived at a bound. As they came into the harbor, the gray stone houseswith high-pitched red roofs, the fishing smacks with their dun-coloredsails, even the blue-coated men on the waiting tender had about them thecharm of another world. They were different and strange, exciting to thethirsty soul of the American, so long sodden with the ugly monotony of apioneer civilization. From the moment that the fat little tender touchedthe steamer, amid a babble of tongues, Milly was breathless withexcitement. She squeezed her husband's arm, like an ecstatic child whohad at last got what it wanted. "I'm _so_ happy, " she chirped. "Isn't itall wonderful, --that we are really here, you and I?"

He laughed in superior male fashion at her enthusiasm, and stroked hissmall mustache, but in his own way he was excited at sight of thepromised land. 

"Hang on tight, " he said to her, as they began the ticklish descent tothe tender, "or it will be still more wonderful. "

Milly tripped over the long, unsteady gangway towards the Future, thegreat adventure of her life. There beyond, in the smiling green countrywith the old gray houses, lay mysterious satisfactions that she hadhungered for all her life, --Experiences, Fame, and Fortune--in a wordher Happiness. 

IV

BEING AN ARTIST'S WIFE

But it wasn't so different after all! As Sam Reddon had predicted, theBragdons went to live in the Étoile quarter, --in a very respectablehotel-pension on the Rue Galilée. It was so much healthier in thatquarter, every one said, more comfortable for a wife, who must be leftto herself for long hours each day. They had lost sight of the Reddonsfrom the moment they entered the Paris train, for the Reddons, havingsecond-class tickets, were forced to wait for a slower train, which theydidn't seem to mind as it gave them a chance to see the little town andlunch in a _cabaret_ instead of paying for an expensive meal on thewagon-restaurant as the Bragdons did. 

Bragdon enrolled himself among the seventy or eighty students atJulian's and also shared a studio near the _Pont des Invalides_ withanother American, where he worked afternoons by himself. He plunged intohis painting very earnestly, realizing all that he had to accomplish. But he lived the life of the alien in France, as so many of hisfellow-students did, preserving a stout Americanism in the midst ofParis. Thanks to an education in an American college, after eight years'study of foreign languages he could read easy French, but he couldscarcely order a meal in the language. And he did not try to learnFrench, like most of the young Americans "studying" in Paris. What wasthe use? he said. He did not intend to live his life there. In truth, hedisdained the French, like the others, and all things French, includingmost of their art. His marriage had emphasized this Americanism. Likemost of his countrymen he regarded every Frenchman as a would-be seducerof his neighbor's wife, and every Frenchwoman as a possible wanton; allthings French as either corrupt or frivolous or hopelessly behind thetimes. 

He inspired Milly to some extent with these ideas, though she was of amore curious and trusting nature. He did not like to have her go out inParis even in the daytime unaccompanied, and as after the first weeks ofsettlement in their new environment he was very busy all day, Millyfound herself more or less secluded and idle from nine in the morninguntil five in the afternoon. It was worse than in the flat in Chicago!For there she could go out when she pleased, and had some socialdistraction. Here they knew almost nobody. 

The hotel-pension on the Rue Galilée was frequented by the quieter sortof middle-aged English, and a few American mothers with their children, "doing Europe. " Hardly a word of French was spoken within its doors, andas far as possible the English habitués of the place had anglicized itsfood. Milly found few congenial spirits there. She rather liked twoinvalidish maiden ladies from Boston and went shopping with themsometimes and to see the pictures in the Louvre. But the Misses Byronwere quite delicate and took their Paris in dainty sips. 

Milly was far from sharing her husband's distrust of all things French, but she supposed being a man and having been there before he must knowParis. She would have liked to spend the lovely late autumn days on thestreets, drinking in the sights and sounds. Instead she went with Jackto the picture galleries and did the other "monuments" starred inBaedeker, conscientiously. But these did not stir her soul. The Louvrewas like some thronged wilderness and she had no clews. Life spoke toher almost exclusively through her senses, not through her mind, whichwas totally untrained. She was profoundly ignorant of all history, art, and politics; so the "monuments" meant nothing but theirpicturesqueness. She picked up the language with extraordinary avidity, and soon became her husband's interpreter, when the necessity reachedbeyond a commonplace phrase. 

Occasionally as a spree they dined in the city at some recommendedrestaurant and went to the theatre. But these were expensivepleasures--indeed the scale of living was more costly than in Chicago, if one wanted the same comforts; and by the end of the first winterBragdon became worried over the rapid inroads they were making on theirletter of credit. Every time he had to journey to the Rue Scribe heshook his head and warned Milly they must be more careful if their fundswere to last them even two years. And he knew now that he needed everyday of training he could possibly get. He was behind many of these otherthree thousand young Americans engaged in becoming great artists. Millythought their sprees were modest and far between, but as the dark, chilly Paris winter drew on she was more and more confined to the stuffysalon or their one cheerless room. She became depressed and bored. Thiswas not at all what she had expected of Europe. It seemed that Pariscould be as small a place as Chicago, or even less!

Sometimes, like a naughty child, Milly broke rules and sallied forth byherself on bright days, wandering down the Champs Élysées, gazing at thepeople, speculating upon the very pronounced ladies in the smartvictorias, even getting as far as the crowded boulevards and thebeguiling shops, which she did not dare to enter for fear she shouldyield to temptation. Once she had a venture that was exciting. She wasfollowed all the way from the Rue Royale to the Rue Galilée by a man, who tried to speak to her as she neared the pension, so that she fairlyran to shelter. She decided not to tell Jack of her little adventure, for he would be severe with her and have his prejudices confirmed. Sherather enjoyed the excitement of it all, and wouldn't have mindedrepeating it, if she could be sure of escaping in the end withouttrouble.... 

She read some books which her husband got for her, --those breakfast-foodculture books provided for just such people, about cities and monumentsand history. She was supposed to "read up" about Rome and Florence, where they hoped to go in the spring. But books tired Milly very soon:the unfamiliar names and places meant nothing at all to her. She decidedthat, as in most cases, one had to have money and plenty of it to enjoyEurope, --to travel and live at the gay hotels, to buy things and getexperiences "first hand. " Evidently it was not for her, at present. 

What she liked best in her life this first winter were the Sundayexcursions they made to Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Versailles, and St. Cloud, and other smaller places where the people went. She liked themixed crowds of chattering French on the river boats and the third-classtrains, --loved to talk with the women and children in her carelessFrench, and watch their foreign domesticities.... Best of all, perhaps, were the walks in the Bois with her husband, where she could see theanimation of the richer world. On their way back they would often stopat Gagé's for cakes and mild drinks. All the pastry-shops fascinatedMilly, they were so bright and clean and _chic_. The efficiency ofFrench civilization was summed up to her in the _patisserie_. She likedsweet things and almost made herself ill with the delectable concoctionsat Gagé's. That more than anything else this first year came to typifyto her Paris, --the people, men as well as women, who came in for theircakes or syrop, the eagle-eyed _Madame_ perched high at the _comptoir_, holding the entire business in her competent hand, and all the deftgirls in their black dresses, nimbly serving, _"Oui, Madame! Voici, Monsieur! Que desirez-vous?"_ etc. She admired the neat glass trays oftempting sweets, the round jars of bonbons, the colored _liqueurs_, theneat little marble-topped tables. Apparently the _patisserie_ was apopular institution, for people of all sorts and conditions flockedthere like flies. 

"If you ever die and I have to earn my living, " she would say jokinglyto her husband, "I know what I should do. I'd run a cake-shop!"

"You'd eat all the cakes yourself, " Bragdon rejoined, tearing her awayafter the eighth or tenth. 

She went there by herself sometimes, and became good friends with thereigning _Madame_, from whom she learned the routine of the manufactureand the sales, as well as the trials and tribulations with _lesdesmoiselles_ that the manager of a popular pastry shop must have. This_Madame_ liked the pretty, sociable _Americaine_, always smiled when sheentered the shop with her husband, counselled her as to the choicestdainties of the day, asked her opinion deferentially as that of aconnoisseur, and made her little gifts. Through the cake-shop Milly cameto realize the French, as her husband never did. 

 * * * * *

So the winter wore away somehow, --the period that Milly remembered as, on the whole, the dullest part of her married life. Her first season inParis! They might read a little in one of the culture books in theirroom after dinner, then would take refuge from the damp chill in bed. Jack was less gay here in Paris than he had ever been in Chicago, preoccupied with his work, frequently gloomy, as if he foresaw thefailure of his ambitions. Milly felt that he was ungrateful for hisfate. Hadn't he the dearest wish of his heart--and her, too?... 

Something was wrong, she never knew quite what. The trouble was that shehad no job whatever now, and no social distraction to take the place ofwork. She was the victim of ideas that were utterly beyond herknowledge, ideas that must impersonally carry the Milly Ridges along intheir momentum, to their ultimate destruction. 

"I ought to be very happy, " she said to herself piously. "We both oughtto be. "

But they weren't. 

V

WOMEN'S TALK

One day something dreadful happened. Milly realized that she was to havea child. A strange kind of terror seized her at the conviction. _This_, she had felt ever since her marriage, was the one impossible thing tohappen: she had promised herself when she married her poor young artistit should never be. One could be "Bohemian, " "artistic"--light andgay--without money, if there were no children. And now, somehow, theimpossible had happened, in this unfamiliar city, far away from friendsand female counsellors. 

She wandered out into the street in a dull despair, and after a time goton top of an omnibus with a vague idea of going off somewhere, never toreturn, and sat there in the drizzle until she reached the end of theroute, which happened to be the Luxembourg. She recognized the placebecause she had visited the gallery with her husband and also dined atFoyot's and gone to the Odéon on one of their expansive occasions. Shewalked about aimlessly for a while, feeling that she must get fartheraway somehow, then wandered into the garden and sat down near one of thefountains among the nurses. The sun had come out from the watery sky, and it was amusing to watch the funny French children and the chatteringnurses in their absurd headdresses. The graceful lines of the old Palaismade an elegant frame for the garden, the fountains, and the trees. Milly couldn't brood long, but after a time the awful fact would intrudeand pull her up with a start. What should she do? There was no room intheir life for a child, especially just now. She could never tell Jack. What useless things women were anyway! She didn't wonder that mentreated them badly, as they did sometimes, she had heard. 

A familiar small figure came towards her. It was Elsie Reddon, thetwo-year-old girl she had played with on the steamer. 

"Where's Mama, Elsie?" Milly asked. The child pointed off to a corner ofthe garden near by, and Milly followed her small guide to the benchwhere Marion Reddon was seated. The other child hadn't yet come, butevidently was not far off. Milly felt strangely glad to see the littlewoman again, and before long confided in her her own trouble. 

"That's good!" Marion Reddon said quickly and with evident sincerity. 

"You think so!" Milly cried pettishly. "Well, I don't. "

"It simplifies everything so. "

"Simplifies?"

"Of course. When you're having children, there are some things you can'tdo--just a few you can--and so you do what you can and don't worry aboutthe rest. "

"It spoils your freedom. "

The pale-faced little woman laughed. 

"Freedom? That's book-talk. Most people do so much more when they aren'tfree than when they are. Sam says it's the same with his work. When he'sfree, he does nothing at all because there's so much time and so manythings he'd like to try. But when he's tied down with a lot of work atthe school, then he uses every spare moment and gets somethingdone--'just to spite the devil. '"

She smiled drolly. 

"You'll see when it comes. "

Milly looked unconvinced and said something about "the unfair burden onwomen, " the sort of talk her more advanced women friends were beginningto indulge in. Mrs. Reddon had other views. 

"It's the natural thing, " she persisted. "If I didn't want children formyself, I'd have 'em anyway for Sam. "

"Does he like babies?"

"Not especially. Few men do at first. But it trains him. And it makes ahold in the world for him. "

"What do you mean?"

"Children make a home--you have to have one. The man can't run away andforget it. "

She smiled with her droll expression of worldly wisdom. 

"Sam would be in mischief half the time, if it weren't for us. He'd berunning here and there, sitting up all hours, wasting his energiessmoking and drinking with everybody he met--and now he can't--verymuch. "

"But--but--how about you?"

"Oh, " the little woman continued calmly, "I don't flatter myself that Icould hold my husband long alone, without the children. " She lookedMilly straight in the eyes and smiled. "Few women can, you know. "

"I don't see why not. "

"They get used to us--in every way--and want change, don't you see that?They know every idea we have, every habit, every look good andbad--clever men, especially. "

"So we know them!"

"Of course! But women don't like change, variety--the best of us don't. We aren't venturesome. Men are, you see, and that's the difference.... Idon't know that we mightn't become so if we had the chance, but we'vebeen deprived of it for so long that we have lost the courage, thedesire for change almost. What we know we cling to, isn't that so?"

She rose to capture the wandering Elsie. 

"I must go back now to get Sam's _déjeuner_. Won't you come? He'd loveto see you--he often speaks about you and your husband. "

Milly accepted readily enough. Although she did not agree with all thatMarion Reddon had said, she was soothed by the talk, and she had acuriosity to see the Reddon _ménage_ in operation. 

"So, " she remarked, as they passed through the great gilt gate out tothe noisy street, "you think a woman should have children to keep a mantrue to her. "

"Tied to her, " Marion Reddon emended, "and truer than he otherwise mightbe. Then they are something in case the husband quits altogether--if heturns out to be a bad lot. Most of them don't, of course; they are loyaland faithful. But if they do, then a woman has the children, and that'sa world for any one. "

"It makes it all the worse--if she has to support them without a man'shelp. "

"I wonder! It's the incentive that makes work effective, isn't it?"

They crossed the vivid stream of the boulevard, the child between them, and mounted the hill towards the Panthéon. 

"You know the time is coming when the woman will again be theresponsible head of the family in form as she is in fact to-day, andthen she will tolerate the man about her house just so long as shethinks him a fit father, and take another if she prefers him as thefather of her children. "

These anarchistic doctrines had a quaint absurdity on the lips of thismild, little New England woman. Milly, not having lived in circles wherethe fundamental relations of life were discussed with such philosophicalfrankness, was puzzled. The Reddons must be "queer" people, she thought. 

"So I tell Sam when he gets fussy that if he isn't careful, I'll_flanquer la porte_ to him and run the shop myself. "

"My!"

"I could, too, and he knows it--which is very salutary for him when hegets uppish and dictatorial, as all men will at times. "

"How could you?"

"You see I'm an expert taxidermist. I learned the thing vacations tohelp an uncle out, who was a collector. I could always make a living atit, and one for the kiddies too. That's the nub of the whole matter, aswe used to say in the country. "

(Later, Milly remembered this talk in its every bearing, and had reasonto appreciate the profound truth of the last statement. )

"But you love your husband, " Milly remarked as if to reassure herself. 

"Of course I do, or I shouldn't be living with him and bearing hischildren. But he needs me and the children rather more than I needhim--which is the better way. "

 * * * * *

The Reddons lived on the fourth floor back of an old lantern-jawedbuilding that tilted uphill behind Ste. Geneviève. Milly found thestairs steep and dark and the odor of the old building anything butpleasant. Marion assured her cheerfully that the smell was notunhealthy, and as they kept their windows open most of the time they didnot mind it. The three little rooms of the _apartement meublée_ weredingy, to say the least, but they looked out over the clock tower ofSte. Geneviève into an old college garden. 

"I make Sam get the coffee mornings, and I do the _déjeuner_; then anold woman comes in to clean us up and cook dinner, if we don't go out. Sam is rather given to the student cafes. "

Mrs. Reddon moved dexterously within the confined limits of the closetkitchen and continued to describe her household. "You see we pay onlythirty dollars a month for this place, and I cover the housekeepingbills with another thirty or a little more. "

"Heavens! How can you do it?" Milly gasped. 

Their pension was over that amount apiece. 

"It's cheaper than anything at home, and lots more fun!"

Presently Sam Reddon came whistling upstairs. He stopped in histrionicsurprise at sight of Milly. 

"Not really, Milady! How did you find your way?"

"By accident. "

"Ma, " he sang out to his wife, "you aren't going to try one of yourhistoric stews on Mrs. Bragdon--our one fashionable visitor of theseason? Don't you think we had better make an occasion of this andadjourn to Foyot's?"

"No, " his wife replied firmly, "you've had too many 'occasions' thismonth. One of my _déjeuners_ won't hurt Mrs. Bragdon or you either. "

"Well, " he submitted dolefully, "she can't drink that red ink youmistakenly bought for wine, my dear.... I'll just fetch a bottle ofsomething drinkable. "

"Hurry then! _Déjeuner_ is quite ready. "

"You see, " she observed placidly as Reddon departed, "he takes everyexcuse to escape his work and make a holiday. It wasn't altogether_you_, my dear!"

"It's so human!"

"It's so--Sam. "

They had a very jolly luncheon, and afterwards, the old servant havingarrived to take charge of the apartment and Elsie, the two womenaccompanied Reddon down the hill as far as the Sorbonne, where Marionwas attending a course of lectures. Milly gathered that the littlewoman, in spite of her housekeeping, the one child on the spot, andanother coming, had many lively interests and saw far more of Paris, which she loved, than Milly and her husband did. Both the Reddons livedcarelessly, but lived hard every minute, taking all their chances, goodand bad, of the minutes to come. It was a useful philosophy, but not onethat Milly wholly admired. 

Late that afternoon Milly met her husband in a frame of mind much moreserene than it was before she saw the Reddons, and told him hermomentous news. He seemed more pleased and less disturbed by it than shehad supposed possible. A few days later he got the proof-sheets ofReinhard's novel from the trunk, where they had been lying neglected, and worked diligently on the foolish sketches required by the text toillustrate the hero and heroine in their "tense" moments. He finishedthe job before they left Paris in March, which was his male way ofacknowledging the new obligation that was on its way. 

Milly thought there might be something in Marion Reddon's ideas aboutmen, after all. 

VI

THE CHILD

After much debate Milly resolved to take a leaf from Marion Reddon'sphilosophy and not let her "condition" make any difference in herhusband's plans; they should not give up the trip to Italy because ofpossible dangers or discomforts to her. So they went to Florence andafterwards to Rome, where the Reddons, having miraculously procured theprice of the railroad tickets at the last moment, joined them and gavethem lessons in how to see Europe as the Europeans see it. After a shortvisit to Venice, the two families settled for the summer in a quietlittle village of the Austrian Tyrol, where the men tried to work, butfor the most part climbed mountains and drank beer instead. Then inSeptember they were back in Paris; the Reddons, who had exhausted alltheir resources, went home to America for the year's grind in thetechnical school; and the Bragdons settled in a small house in Neuilly. And there early in October Milly's little girl came safely into theworld. 

The small brick house with its scrap of garden and gravelled driveproved to be the pleasantest of Milly's European experiences. It was themost regularly domestic thing they did. The artist still went to theschool in the mornings, but worked at home in the afternoons. Millyconvalesced healthily and was properly absorbed in her baby and herhouse, so that she did not feel lonely during her husband's absences inParis. Now that the child had got into the world, after all her fearsand forebodings, Milly was surprised at the naturalness of the event. AsMarion Reddon had said, it really simplified life. First considerationmust always be the Baby. Mdle. Virginia, as she was called after Milly'smother, could do so little in this world at present that its parents'ambitions were necessarily curbed. Milly was an admirably devotedmother. She had always liked babies since she was a very little girl, and she became wholly wrapped up in her own human venture. The summerwhile the child was coming had drawn her very close to Marion Reddon, with whom she had established a staunch bond of the woman's league, offensive and defensive, against men. Marion, she felt, understood bothbabies and men. Although she could not approve of all Marion's ideasabout the relations of the sexes, she admired the frank, brave, humorousway in which she solved her own life. 

Curiously enough, the child seemed to set Milly apart from herhusband--and from the world of men in general. Jack was no longer thesupreme emotional fact in her life. He was a good husband; she was moreconscious of that than ever before. He had been very tender andconsiderate of her during her pregnancy, keeping up her spirits, guarding her against folly, insisting on luxuries in their travels sothat she might be thoroughly comfortable. Thus he went to Gossensass, not for his own profit and pleasure, but because the doctor theyconsulted in Venice advised this secluded mountain resort. And when thetime of the birth came, he had been properly solicitous to see that shewas provided with the best attendance and care, and Milly knew vaguelythat he had spent lavishly of their hoard for this purpose. Milly wassure he loved her, and what was also very important to her, she was surethat he was "a good man, "--clean-minded and unselfish with a woman. Evenif he should come to love her less passionately than at the beginning, he was the loyal sort of American, who would not let that fact furnishhim with excuse for errancy. And she loved him, of course--was "quitecrazy" about him, as she expressed it to Marion--and still believed inhis glorious future as a great painter. 

Yet in some indefinable way he had sunk from first to second place inher thoughts and might soon--who knows?--descend to third place in thefamily triangle. As for all other men, like Sam Reddon and the artistsJack brought to the house, they began to have for her the aspect ofcoarse and rather silly beings, essentially selfish and sensual. "Oh, he's just a man" became more and more in her mouth the mocking formulato indicate male inferiority. Later it was, "They're all alike, men. "Thus the child brought out in Milly the consciousness of womanhood. Shewas more the mother now than the wife, as was natural, but she had nodesire to become again the wife, paramount, to any man.... 

Meanwhile any one of those who came in upon them in the Neuilly houseand saw the father and mother grouped about the baby's bassinet wouldsay, --"An ideal young pair--has he much talent?"

This winter when she grew stronger Milly saw more of people than before. She had two very capable servants and her little household ran smoothly, though its cost made severe inroads on the "hoard. " People she knewdrifted through Paris and were glad to lunch or dine in the littleNeuilly house. Sally Norton, who was now Mrs. Willie Ashforth, havingfinally secured the elderly bachelor, was one of the first to come. Sally laughed over the small house, over Milly's baby, over Milly as amother. She seemed determined to consider Milly as an irresponsible jokein everything she did, but she was good-natured and lively as always, and absorbed in her own plans. The Ashforths were building at HighlandForest, a fashionable suburb outside of Chicago. Vivie had had a"desperate affair" with a divorced man, etc. , etc. Then the Gilbertsturned up unexpectedly one day, gracious and forgiving to Milly, andapparently very much bored with themselves in Paris. Milly gave them anice little dinner, to which she had the smartest people she knew, whichwas her way of "getting even" with Nettie for the snubs. Others camemore frequently as the spring influx of Americans arrived. OccasionallyJack complained of the time these idle wanderers consumed, especially ofthe precious afternoons lost when they came for luncheon and stayeduntil tea. Milly thought it selfish of him to object to "her onepleasure, " now that "she was tied up in the house. " Perhaps he felt sotoo, for he said no more, and remained at the school to work when therewas likely to be company at the Neuilly house. On the whole he wasamiably indulgent with his wife, according to the best Americantradition.... So with friends, new and old, the second year of theirforeign life drew on towards summer. The baby flourished, and all waswell. They began to talk of summer plans. 

A cheap place in the country was imperative, for by this time their"hoard" had shrunk to a mite in three figures, and unless Big Brother, who had been doing well in Big Business by all accounts, should rememberto send over additional funds as he had promised, they must return toAmerica in the autumn. Jack seemed loath to remind Big Brother of theirneeds as Milly wanted him to do. Yet he must have more time: he was notyet ready to get a living out of his pictures. He had not done enoughwork, he said. Milly, who had expected that in a year or so he wouldbecome an accomplished painter, was disturbed. She found the oils he wasdoing, --the picture of her beside the baby's bassinet on the terrace, for instance, --disappointing. It was distinctly less understandable andamusing than his pen-and-ink work had been, and she felt a certainrelief when he did some comic sketches of the Brittany nurses to send toa magazine. His hand had not lost the old cunning, if it had not gainedthe new. Was it possible that her husband was not born to be a greatpainter?... "I don't know about such things, " she murmured into thebaby's ear. "Jack must decide for himself what's best. "

She found it very convenient to have a husband to take upon himselfdecision and responsibility, the two most annoying things in life. 

VII

BESIDE THE RESOUNDING SEA

After much of the usual futile discussion they decided upon Klerac, alittle place on the coast of Brittany, which certain artists whomBragdon knew recommended. One American landscapist of establishedreputation painted in that region, and around him had gathered a numberof his countrymen, in the hope of acquiring if not his skill at leastsome of his commercial talent for self-exploitation. 

So the end of June found them settled comfortably enough in the Hotel duPassage just across the bay from Douarnenez, where the great one had hisstudio. Milly, who usually had some difficulty in adjusting herself to anew situation and missed the freedoms of her own house, took to Kleracafter the first few days of strangeness. The tiny village and the sleepycountry were utterly unlike anything she had ever seen or dreamed ofbefore. Green branches of broad chestnut trees overhung the dark waterof the little bay, and a sea of the deepest purple lay out beyond theheadland and boomed against the sand-dunes. The bay and the brilliantsea were perpetually alive with the fishing craft, which werepicturesquely adorned with colored sails. And inland, only a few stepsfrom all this vivid coloring of the sea, green lanes meandered betweenlofty hedges of thick blackberry vines. Always, even among the remoterfields, there was the muffled murmur of the sea on the sand and the tangof salt in the air. The queer, dark little people of the place stillwore about their daily tasks their picturesque costumes, and spokelittle French. One met them as in an opera, gathering kelp on the beach, driving their little tip carts through the lanes, or singing besidetheir thatched cottages. 

From her first exploratory walks with her husband Milly returned quiteravished by the quality of the place, its beauty of colored sea andpeaceful country, and the little gray houses sheltered by large trees. Here she dreamed, in this fragrant salty air, they would have anenchanting summer withdrawn from the world, and great deeds would bedone by her husband. "I could almost paint myself here, " she said tohim, "it all looks so quaint and lovely. " Jack liked the place, andquickly set up his easel under the trees down by the stone pier wherethe fishing-boats landed and where there was always a noisy, livelyscene. Milly idled near by in the sand with the baby. But the work didnot go fast. She thought that Jack must be fagged after the long winterindoors, and urged him to rest for a while. They took to walking throughthe lanes and along the beaches. They found little to say to each other;sometimes she thought that she bored him and he would rather be alone. They were suffering, naturally, from the too great intimacy of the pasttwo years. Neither had a spontaneous thought to offer the other, --noreaction to arouse surprise and discussion. Milly could not comprehendher husband's restless depression, his wish to be at something which hecould not formulate to himself clearly enough to do. She decided that hewas developing nerves and recommended bathing in the sea. When he tookto painting again, she would wander along the beach by herself and watchthe boys fishing for _écrevisses_ in the salt pools among the rocks, orlay prone on the sand gazing at the colored sails on the dark sea. Inspite of all the peace and the beauty about her she was lonely, andasked herself sometimes if this was what it meant to be an artist'swife. Was this all? Was life to be like this for years and years?... 

Their hotel was a rambling low building surrounded by high walls, with ahigh terrace behind, from which there was a glimpse of the sea and whichwas well shaded by branching plane trees. Here on calm summer nights thedinner table was spread for the _pensionnaires_, who gradually arrived. There were a few French, of a nondescript sort, a fat American fromHonolulu, who had been rolling about Europe since the Spanish War, inwhich he had had some part. Then there was a Russian lady with twochildren and a Finnish maid. She was already there when they arrived andkept by herself, taking her meals at a little table with her oldestchild. This Russian, a Madame Saratoff, piqued Milly's curiosity, andshe soon became acquainted with her. One day when they happened to bealone on the terrace, the Russian lady turned to her with a swiftsmile, --

"You are American?" and when Milly admitted it, she added, "One canalways tell the American women from the English. "

She spoke English easily, with the slightest sort of accent that merelyadded distinction to whatever she said. Madame Saratoff was still young, and though not a beautiful woman, had an air of privilege and breeding, with something odd in the glitter of her eyes and the wolfish way inwhich her curving upper lip revealed strong white teeth. She had a goodfigure, as Milly had already recognized, and she dressed well, withgreat simplicity. Milly felt interested in her, and the women talked foran hour. Milly reported to her husband:--

"She's really a Baroness. Her husband is in the diplomatic service--offin the east somewhere, and she's here alone with the children and hermaid. Don't you think she's interesting looking?"

The artist replied indifferently, --

"Not particularly--she has fine hands. "

He seemed to have noticed that about her. 

They quickly became better acquainted with Madame Saratoff, who, itseemed, had been in Brittany before and knew the coast thoroughly. Sheexplained that the little hotel became unendurable later with the_canaille des artistes_, and so she had rented an old _manoir_ in theneighborhood, which was being put to rights for her. The next afternoonthe three walked to see the _manoir_ through a maze of little lanes. Itwas a lovely old gray building with crumbling walls and had evidentlyonce been the seat of a considerable family. But only a half dozen roomswere now habitable, and in the cracks of the great walls that surroundedthe garden thick roots of creepers twisted and curled upwards. From theother end of the garden, through a break in the old hedge, there was aglimpse of the sea, and in one corner was the ruin of a chapelsurmounted by an iron cross. Madame Saratoff showed them all the rooms, into which men were putting some furniture she had bought in theneighborhood--old _armoires_ and brass-bound chests of black oak as wellas some modern iron beds and dressing-tables. Milly admired the peacefulgray _manoir_, and Bragdon observed as they retraced their way alonethrough the lanes:--

"That woman has a lot of energy in her! It shows in her movements--shehas personality, character. "

Milly had never heard him say as much as that about any other woman, andshe wondered how such large generalizations could be made from the factthat a woman was fitting up an old house. She was vaguely jealous, asany woman might be, that her husband should choose just those qualitiesfor commendation. 

She went often thereafter to the _manoir_ while her husband waspainting, and marvelled at the ease and sureness with which the Russianinstalled herself, her only helpers being the stupid peasants, whoseemed to understand no language but their own jargon. 

"I'm used to driving cattle, " the Russian explained to Milly with alittle laugh. "You see my father had estates in southern Russia, and Ilived there a good deal before I was married. "

"They must be quite important, " Milly reported to Jack. "They seem toknow people all over Europe. "

"Oh, that's Russian, " he explained. 

"And Baron Saratoff is away on a most important mission. "

"Absent husbands ought to be!"

"I don't believe she cares for him much. "

"How can you tell that so soon?"

"Oh!" Milly replied vaguely, as if that were a point few women couldkeep from other women. 

As a matter of fact the Russian lady had given Milly some new andstartling lights upon marriage. 

"I am, " she told Milly in her precise speech, "what you call the 'showwife. ' I go to parties, to court--all rigged up, --you say rigged, no?--dressed then very grand with my jewels. And I have children, see!"She pointed to the healthy little Saratoffs playing in the garden. "Myhusband goes away on his business--makes long journeys. He amuseshimself. When he comes back, I have a child, --_voilà_. " She laughed andshowed her white teeth. "But I have my vacations sometimes, too, likethis. "

Milly thought that the Russian type of marriage must be much inferior tothe American, at least the Chicago variety, where if there was any goingaway from home, it was usually the wife who went, and she confided thisopinion to Jack, who said with a laugh:--

"Oh, you can never understand these foreigners. She's probably likeevery one else.... But I'd like to paint her and get that smile ofhers. "

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Perhaps I will one of these days. "

 * * * * *

The hotel gradually filled up. The great painter had come and with himhis satellites, chiefly young American women, who "painted all over theplace, " as Bragdon put it. The long _table d'hôte_ under the plane treeswas a cheerful if somewhat noisy occasion these summer nights, with theblack, star-strewn canopy above. They all drank the bottled cider andtalked pictures and joked and sang when so moved. Even if the spirit wassomewhat cheaply effervescent, like the cider, there was plenty of talk, clashing of eager ideas, and Milly liked it even more than Bragdon. Heseemed older than the other artists, perhaps because he was married andless given to idle chatter. The great man singled him out forcompanionship after the first week, and gave patronizing praise to hiswork. 

"You are still young, " he said, with a sigh for his own sixty years. "Wait another ten years and you may find something to say. "

Jack, repeating these words to his wife, added, --"And where do yousuppose we'd be if I should wait another ten years? On the street. "

Tell an American to wait ten years in order to have something to say!

"He's jealous, " Milly pronounced. "You're going to do something stunningthis summer, I just know it. "

"How do you know it?" he asked teasingly. 

"Because we can't wait ten years!"

"Um, " the artist sighed, "I should think not. "

VIII

THE PICTURE

Just how it came about Milly never remembered, but in the weeks thatfollowed it was arranged that Jack should do the Russian lady'sportrait. Milly flattered herself at the time that she had produced thisresult. Madame Saratoff came rarely to the hotel after she was installedin her old _manoir_, but she often drove to the beach for her bath andtook Milly home with her for luncheon. And Jack would join them late inthe long afternoon for tea. On one of these occasions the affair wassettled. 

Bragdon decided to do the figure out of doors in a corner of the ruinedgarden wall with a clustering festoon of purple creeper above and anarrow slit of sea in the distant background. Against the gray and greenand purple of the wall he placed Madame Saratoff, who was tall, with asupple, bony figure. It was for him a daring and difficult composition. The first afternoon, while the figure was being lined in with charcoal, Milly was much excited. She tried to keep quite still, but MadameSaratoff persisted in making little jokes and impertinent comments uponthe artist. She did not seem to feel the importance of the event. Millythought to herself, "How wonderful if he should do a really stunningpicture and have it in the Salon next season!" and she said to herself, "Portrait of the Baroness Saratoff by John Archer Bragdon. " That wouldbe a start towards fame!

But the start was scarcely perceptible those first days. Milly couldmake nothing of the blurred canvas and was depressed. Jack seemed moreintent on watching the lithe figure, with the mottled flesh tones, thesteel-blue eyes, the mocking mouth than in putting brush to canvas. WhenMilly complained of his dawdling, the Baroness remarked with a curl ofher lips, --

"How do you expect an artist to work with his wife hanging over hisbrushes and counting every stroke?"

Milly pretended to be hurt and ran off to the other end of the garden. She asked her husband on their way back if she were really in the way, and though he laughed at her question and considered the Russian woman'sremark as merely one of her rather feline jokes, Milly did not come thenext day. She said the baby was sick, and needed her attention. It wasseveral days before she returned to the _manoir_, and then because Jackmade a point of it. She was astonished at the progress which he hadmade. The picture had suddenly leaped into life. 

"See!" the Russian remarked, indicating the canvas with a slow sweep ofher long, thin fingers. "The painter has done all that without hiswife's help. "

Milly resented the joke. But it was true that in these few days thepicture had grown surprisingly: the pose of the tall figure, thebackground was all firmly worked in, and he had begun to define thefeatures, --the perilous part. Already something of the subtle mockery ofthe Russian woman's expression was there. Milly turned away. For thefirst time she felt outside her husband's world and in the way. Presently, in spite of the Baroness's protests, she took little PaulSaratoff to the beach. When her husband came in at the hotel just intime for dinner and expressed surprise that she had not returned to the_manoir_ for him, she said coldly, --

"Oh, I didn't care to--I didn't want to interrupt. "

"Anna expected you back to tea. "

"I guess not. "

Bragdon gave her a swift glance, but said nothing. This was a new aspectof his wife, and it evidently puzzled him. He was too much absorbed byhis picture, however, to give much heed to anything. 

 * * * * *

Latterly another American had joined the circle around the dinner tableon the terrace, --a long, lanky young man who had been in the navy duringthe late war and was now engaged in the production of literature. Thatis, he contributed profusely to those American magazines with flamingcovers stories of love and adventure in strange seas, --the highlyseasoned bonbon entertainment for the young. He was southern by birthwith a pronounced manner towards women. And Milly found him attractive. Roberts and the fat Hawaiian wit had many encounters that kept the tablestirred. To-night they were discussing the needs of the artistnature, --and "temperament. " That was a term not much in vogue in theChicago of Milly's time, but it seemed to occupy endlessly the talkersabout the table at the Hotel du Passage. Milly never understood exactlywhat was meant by "having a temperament, " or the "needs of the artistictemperament" except vaguely that it was a license to do flighty thingsthat all reasonable Chicago folk would deplore. 

To-night the Hawaiian was maintaining his favorite thesis, --that thefirst duty of the artist was to himself, to preserve and make effectivehis "temperament. " Modern life, especially in America, he held, made_bourgeois_ of us all. The inevitable ruin of the artist was to attemptto live according to the _bourgeois_ ideal of morality. (That wasanother term which puzzled Milly always, --_bourgeois_. These youngartists used it with infinite contempt, and yet she concluded shrewdlythat the people she had known best and respected all her life would haveto come under this anathema. To be healthy and normal, to pay one'sbills and be true to husband or wife, was to be just _bourgeois_. According to that standard Jack was _bourgeois_, she supposed, and shewas glad of it, and yet a little afraid at the same time, because itseemed to mark him out for artistic ineptitude. ) But the fat man wastalking heatedly, and Milly was listening. 

"In our society artists have no chance to experiment in life, to perfecttheir natures untrammelled by public opinion, as the artists of olddid. " (And he cited a lot of names, beginning, of course, with Benvenutoand including Goethe, but Milly was not interested in these historicalcases. It was the immediate application of the principle she was waitingfor. )

"In those days, " some one said, "artists were content to live in theirown class like actors and had no social ambitions. "

"And much better for them, too!" the Honolulu man put in. 

"How about Leonardo and Petrarch?" the great artist queried from his endof the table, and then for a few moments the conversation got off intothe question of the social position of artists in the renaissance andtheir relation to their patrons, which bored Milly, but the Hawaiianbrought it back to his point. 

"So that's why we have no real creators to-day in any of the arts, " heasserted. "They're merely a lot of little citizens who daub canvass tosupport a wife and a respectable house or pay the butcher's bill withfluffy stories about silly women and impossible heroes. " (This, Millythought, was a raw stab at young Roberts. She wondered how men could saysuch things to one another and still remain friends. ) "They havebank-accounts and go to dinner-parties. "

To which the story-teller retorted when he got his chance:--

"What you fellows always mean by 'living' is messing around with somewoman who isn't your own wife. A good many of our modern citizens manageto live their own lives that way, and what does it do for them?"

Milly approved. 

"That's just the trouble: society damns them and finishes them if theydon't behave like proper _bourgeois_. Take the case of----" and he citedan instance of a young artist who was having much newspaper notorietyover his passional experiments. "Women kill art, anyway, " he concludedwith a growl. 

Thereat Roberts' southern blood was touched, and he launched into aglowing sentimental eulogy of Woman as the Inspirer of Men towards theNoblest Things, and incidentally of the peace and the purity ofmarriage. Milly liked what he said, although it seemed to her ratherflorid in phrasing, and she felt an instinctive hostility towards thefat gentleman from Honolulu, whom she suspected of disgustingimmorality. (Later in New York she was astonished to learn that Robertshad had a very scandalous divorce from a wife, while the Hawaiian liveda laborious and apparently upright life, supporting a mother, as anewspaper correspondent. She learned then that men's expressed views hadvery little to do with their conduct, and that an ideal was often merelythe sentimental reaction from experience. )

Just as Milly, thinking she heard Virginia cry in the room above, slipped away from the table some one said, --

"A man who has anything to do in the world will never let a woman standin his way. If he does, he is soft, and that's the end of him. "

Milly felt moved to put a word in here in behalf of her sex, but thechild's cry came more loudly and as she left she heard her husband askmildly, --

"And how about the children?"

"Oh, the kids--that's woman's business, " the fat man replied carelessly. "Pass the cigarettes, will you, " and the talk went off somewhereelse.... 

Children were not all "woman's business, " Milly felt indignantly. Shehad surprised her pretty little maid Yvonne in a lonely lane onemoonlight night, in company with a tall man, who did not look like aBreton. She had reported the fact to her husband, with her suspicions asto the tall man, observing, --"Men are so horrid!" to which Jack hadmerely laughed easily. She had scolded him for his frivolity, alsoscolded Yvonne, who cried, yet somehow seemed to smile through hertears. 

To-night when her husband came up for bed, she asked seriously, --

"You don't believe all that stuff Steve Belchers was saying, do you?"

"What stuff?"

"About artists and women. "

Bragdon yawned and laughed. Milly came close to him and put her armabout his neck. 

"You don't feel that your temperament is ruined by marriage, do you?"

"Never knew I had one before, " he replied jokingly. 

"Because you know if you ever want your freedom, you can have it. "

"Thanks. "

"If you need that sort of experience, I shan't stand in your way, " sheconcluded in a heroic burst.... 

Nevertheless she was glad that her husband had shown no symptomshitherto of this dangerous "temperament" and was content to be as_bourgeois_ as the best. All the time there was growing in her a senseof sex distinction, and a dislike, or rather disapproval, of men as awhole. God, she was convinced, as the Southerner had said, had meant theperfect type to be Woman, rather than Man. 

IX

THE PARDON

One day the noisy chatter at the mid-day meal was interrupted by theterrific splutter and throbbing of a motor-car. Those were still thedays when touring cars with strangely clad occupants were less familiar, even on French roads, than they have since become, and the machinesannounced themselves from afar by their ponderous groans. Very few cars, indeed, got down to this secluded Brittany village which was reached byonly one road of the third class that penetrated the little peninsulafrom Morlaix, a number of miles away to the north. 

So every one left the table and crowded to the terrace wall to observethe arrivals. As a dusty, becapped and begoggled figure got down fromthe seat beside the driver, Milly exclaimed excitedly, "Why, it's RoyGilbert!" and ran towards the courtyard. The car finally disgorgedNettie Gilbert and her uninteresting fourteen-year-old daughter. Theycame in for luncheon, and their story was soon told. Paris was hot, andin despair of dispelling Roy's thickening ennui at his European exile, which threatened to terminate their trip, Mrs. Gilbert had induced herhusband to charter the car for a tour of Normandy and Brittany. Havingdone all the north-coast watering-places and remembering that theBragdons were staying at this little place "with a funny name, " they haddecided to make them a call. Roy Gilbert ate copiously and denouncedhotels, food, and the people, while Milly and Nettie Gilbert talkedChicago and Baby. 

"We want to see a '_Pardon_, '" Mrs. Gilbert announced at last, "andwe've come to take you and your husband with us. "

It was the season of that famous Brittany festival, so Baedeker said, and they had seen some evidences of it in the little villages throughwhich they had passed. Did Milly know of a good one? The Gilberts wereas æsthetically lazy as they were weak in French, and of course quitehelpless in Brittany, whose peasants seemed to them dirty baboons with amonkey language. Milly quickly recalled that some of the artists hadbeen talking of the famous _Pardon_ at Poldau, a littlefisher-settlement at the extreme tip of the western coast, where thecostumes were said to be peculiarly rich and quaint. She had wanted tovisit it with Jack, but he had become so much absorbed in his newpicture that they had given up the idea. And there was Baby--she did notlike to leave her. 

"Yvonne will do all right, " her husband urged. "Better take thechance--I'll look after Virgie. "

So after much encouragement, though with misgivings, Milly consented toaccompany the Gilberts in their car for a couple of days and show themthe glories of the Brittany countryside. 

"I owe Nettie so much, " she explained privately to her husband, by wayof apology. "I can't very well refuse--and they are so helpless, poordears!"

"You'll have a bully time, " he replied encouragingly. "Don't worry aboutanything. I'll watch Yvonne like a cat. "

"And telegraph me instantly if anything goes wrong. "

"Of course.... Don't hurry back if they should want you to go farther. It'll be good for you. "

"Oh, not more than two days--I couldn't. "

She did not give a thought to the Russian woman, or to anything but thebaby. (Afterwards she became convinced that the whole plan had beenarranged with skilful prescience by the wicked Baroness in order thatshe might have the artist to herself these few days.... )

 * * * * *

The departure in the freshness of the August morning was a great event. Every one in the hotel, including the _patron_ in his cook's whitecostume, the _patronne_, the grinning ape of a waiter, all the artists, and half the village gathered to watch the motor get under way. Thelumbering ark of a car was laden with bags and trunks and bundles, forthe Americans meant to be comfortable. Then Mr. And Mrs. Gilbert, theirnatural amplitude swollen by their dust-coats, goggles, and veils, mounted with stately complacency to their respective seats, and Millytucked herself into a corner. Then the ratlike French chauffeurattempted to crank the engine, and perspiring, red in the face, spluttering with oaths, made many desperate efforts to arouse hismonster. There were sympathetic murmurs from the audience. "Now he's gother--ah--oh--no! Hang to it Pierrot, etc. " Finally Pierre exploded in atragic _tirade_ to his employer, who sat stolidly through all therumpus, merely asking at the end, "What's he saying, Milly?"

"He can do nothing with the curséd beast, " Milly abridged. 

"That's evident, " Gilbert remarked with cynical satisfaction. 

"He thinks it's the water; he warned you not to come down here. "

It seemed as if Milly's little trip was not to come off, after all, whenBragdon, who had picked up some knowledge of the new machines in hisearlier singlestate, tipped up the hood and dove for the carburetor. After a time he signalled to the Hawaiian to work the crank, and thenwith a whir, a rumble, at last a clear bellow, the monster responded, trembled, turned its snout up the narrow road, and disappeared. Millythrew a kiss to her husband, who waved his hat in answer. He had savedthe day, and she was proud of him. 

 * * * * *

They had a wonderful time, in spite of Pierre and his balky car, bowlingalong the winding, leafy roads not far from the sea, through little graystone villages whose inhabitants turned out _en masse_, includingchildren and animals, to witness their stately progress of ten miles anhour. They got stuck once in a ford and had to be fished out with threeyoke of cream-colored bulls and a long ship's rope. That was about noon, and they decided to lunch at the next inn, though it did not lookinviting. However, Milly's French coaxed a tolerable meal from the fathousewife whom they discovered cleaning fish in the kitchen, and eventhe stodgy Roy mellowed under the influence of fresh fish and adrinkable bottle of wine which he and Milly discovered somewhere. 

That evening, without further mishap, they rumbled into the hamlet ofPoldau. For the last hour they had seen signs of the coming _fête_. Allthe natives, arrayed in their best clothes, were drifting westward tothe rocky cape, where, perched on a lonely cliff, was the tiny chapel, "Our Lady of the Guard, " which was the scene of the _Pardon_ on themorrow. Before they entered Poldau night had fallen, and the long yellowbeams from the powerful _Phare_ glanced out across the sullen waters andthe level land. It was beneath this lofty lighthouse they slept, in aclean, bare little inn. Milly, lying in her cushiony bed, could hear thewaves grumbling around the rocks, and watch the sweep of that goldenbeam of light, --speaking to the distant passers-by upon the Atlantic, warning them of the dangers of this treacherous coast.... 

It was the first time she had been separated from her family, and shelay awake long hours, restless and sleepless, wondering whether Yvonnewould remember to pull up the extra blanket over Virginia before theearly morning dampness. And she thought about her husband, fleetingly, contrasting him with Roy Gilbert, who seemed to have grown heavier inmind as well as in person these last years. Roy was surely what theartists called _bourgeois_, but she liked him--he was so kind and goodto Nettie. She felt at home, getting back to the familiar _bourgeois_atmosphere of the Gilberts, where life was made easy and comfortable, and you knew every idea any one would advance before the words were halfspoken.... 

Milly was wakened before dawn by the sound of a drunken quarrel beneathher window. Some Breton evidently had begun to celebrate the _Pardon_too soon; a shrill woman's voice broke the silence with unintelligiblereproaches. There was the sound of blows, of crashing glass, a scuffle, sobs, --then silence, broken now and again by fresh sobs. Ah, thosemen, --men!... The lamp in the _Phare_ went out: it was dawn. Milly fellinto a broken sleep. 

 * * * * *

The _Pardon_ itself, they all agreed, was wonderfully impressive andpicturesque, as Baedeker had promised. The little chapel on the cliffswas stuffed with kneeling women in their stiff, starched coifs and heavyvelvet-trimmed skirts. The men, slinking up sheepishly, as always toreligious ceremonies, fell on their knees on the rocky ground all aboutthe chapel when the priests advanced with the sacred emblems, and prayedvigorously with tight-closed eyes. The strangers, under the guidance ofthe chauffeur, who maintained a supercilious disdain for these "stupidBrittany pigs, " took their position at the apex of the cliff, where theycould see everything to advantage. The Gilbert girl kodaked the kneelingthrong, which distressed Milly; she thought the people might resent it, but they paid no attention to the Americans. 

Her own eyes were filled with unaccountable tears. The symbols of theCatholic religion always affected her in this way; while Nettie Gilbertstared rather disapprovingly at the superstitious ceremony. In spite ofits quaint mediævalism, it seemed to Milly quite human, --the gatheringtogether of suffering, sinning human beings around the gray chapel onthe storm-beaten coast--"Our Lady of the Guard"--their prayers, theabsolution granted by the robed priests, and the going forth to anotheryear of trials and temptations, efforts and sins.... Just below thechapel, withdrawn only a few feet from the religious ceremony, was acluster of tents, sheltering hurdy-gurdys, merry-go-rounds, cook-shops, and cider--plenty of cider. A few indifferent males, bedecked in theirshort coats brightly trimmed with yellow braid, were already feasting, even while the host was being elevated above the kneeling throng. Butmost of the people, with reverently bent heads and murmuring lips, received the sacrament, kneeling around the gray chapel. It was solemnand moving, Milly thought, and she wished that Jack might have had theexperience.... 

"Baedeker says, " Roy Gilbert pronounced in her ear, in the midst of theceremony, "that there must be Spanish blood among these people becausetheir costumes show Spanish designs.... They all look like Irish ormonkeys to me. "

Milly smiled responsively to him. 

"The costumes are lovely, aren't they?"

The crowd of women worshippers had burst forth from the chapel: therewas a swarm of white and black figures over the rocky headland. Thefaces beneath the broad white caps did not seem to Milly monkeylike. They were weather-beaten and bronzed like their coast, but eager andsmiling, and some of the younger ones quite bonny and sweet. And theyoung men sidled up to the young women here as elsewhere in the world. Milly was full of the spirit of forgiveness that the ceremony hadtaught: men and women must mutually forgive and strive to do better. Shesaid this to Nettie Gilbert, who seemed only moderately impressed withthe semi-pagan scene. 

They went down the hill to the booths, which were already thronged witha noisy crowd of eating and drinking peasants, and straightway becametoo evil-smelling for the Americans. 

"If the ladies like this barbaric show, " the chauffeur confided toGilbert, "there is an even larger one to be seen a day's run farthernorth on the coast at the celebrated shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. "

So they went on that afternoon to "the other show, " as Gilbert expressedit. Milly's doubts were quickly overborne: they must have her longer nowthat she was with them; she could return any time if necessary by rail;they would telegraph that evening, etc. And they set forth hopefullyagain in search of the picturesque. The larger _pardon_ proveddisappointing, less religious and characteristic, more like a countryfair. The next afternoon they meant to return to Klerac, in time fordinner, but the car balked and finally gave out altogether. All Pierre'singenuity, as well as his heartfelt curses, availed nothing, and theyhad to abandon it. They drove to the nearest railroad station, whichproved to be many kilometres distant, and waited there half a day for atrain. 

Milly left the Gilberts at Morlaix. They were bound for Paris, andjudging from Roy Gilbert's remarks they would shortly be on their wayback to America and "some decent living. " Four months of Europe andstrange beds was all he could endure at a stretch. Milly laughed at hiscomplaints. The way the rich spent their money had always seemed to hera little stupid. If she and Jack had the Gilberts' money! She mused ofall the exciting freedom they could get out of it, while the littleone-horse trap she had hired at the station rattled her over the hardroad towards Klerac. 

She had enjoyed her trip greatly, yet after the five days' absence shewas eager to get back and see her child. She even looked forward to thenoisy Hotel du Passage, with its cluttered table of talkative artistsand her own two small rooms. As she had said to Nettie Gilbert, "I'msomething of a cat and like my own garret best, " even if it were atraveller's garret. And though she had liked being with the Gilberts, going over old Chicago times with Nettie, and had enjoyed the car andthe luxurious, easy way of travelling, she suspected that long contactwith these good people would be boresome. They were so persistentlyoccupied with how they should sleep and eat, with all theirmultitudinous contrivances for comfort, with fear of the dust or ofgetting tired, that they had little energy for other things. She decidedthat the Gilbert sort made a fetich of comfort and missed most of thelandscape of life in their excessive attention to the roadbed. Perhapsthat was what clever folk meant by being _bourgeois_. If so, she hopedthat she should never be _bourgeois_ to the extent the Gilberts were. 

Thus Milly, in a properly contented frame of mind, urged the peasant ladto whip up his lazy pony and get her more quickly home to her family. 

X

THE PAINTED FACE

There was a midsummer silence about the hotel in the early afternoonwhen Milly arrived. Yvonne, so the _patronne_ informed her, had takenthe baby to the dunes, and thither Milly, without stopping to change herdusty dress, set out to find her. She descried her little Brittany maidon the sands safely above tide-water, and by her side a small whitebundle that made Milly's heart beat faster. 

Virginia received her returned mother with disappointing indifference, more concerned for the moment in the depth of the excavation into thesand which her nurse was making for her benefit. Milly covered her withkisses, nevertheless, while Yvonne explained that all had gone well, "_très, très bien, Madame_. " _Bébé_, it seemed, had slept and eatenas a celestial _bébé_ should. They were looking for Madame yesterday, but Monsieur had not been disturbed even before the _dépêche_arrived.... And Monsieur was at his work as usual at the other madame's_manoir_. 

After a time Milly, wearied of bestowing unreciprocated caresses uponher daughter, left her to the mystery of the hole in the sand andsauntered up the beach. Dotted here and there in the sunlight atfavorable points along the dunes were the broad umbrellas of theartists, who were doubtless all busily engaged in trying to transfer abit of the dazzling sunlight and dancing purple sea to their littlesquares of canvases. To Milly this ceaseless effort to comment on naturehad something of the ridiculous, --perhaps supererogatory would be abetter word. It was so much pleasanter to look at the landscape, andeasier! Offshore the dun-colored sails of the fishing fleet dipped andfluttered where the sturdy men of Douarnenez were engaged in their taskof getting the herring from the sea. That seemed to Milly more real andimportant in a world of fact. Such a view betrayed the _bourgeois_ inher, she suspected, but according to the Hawaiian all women were_bourgeois_ at heart. 

After a time her feet turned into one of the lanes, and she followedunconsciously the well-known path until the gray wall of the ruined_manoir_ came in sight. She paused for a moment--she had not meant to gothere--then impulsively went forward, crossed the empty courtyard, andfinding the garden door ajar pushed it open. The drowsy midsummersilence seemed to possess both house and garden. The place was deserted. In the corner stood the painter's large canvas on the easel, with thebrushes and palette on the bench by its side, as if just abandoned, andone of Madame Saratoff's large hats of coarse straw. 

Milly went over and examined the picture. It was almost finished, inthat last stage where the artist can play with his creation, fondlytouching and perfecting infinitesimal details, knowing that the thinghas really been "pulled off. " And it was triumphantly done! Even toMilly's untutored eyes, the triumph of it was indubitable. There theRussian stood on her thin, lithe haunches, her head tipped a little backdisdainfully as in life, the open mouth about to emit some coldbrutality, the long curving lip daringly drawn up over the teeth, --thelook of "one who eats what she wants, " as she herself had said one day. Milly shuddered before the insolence of the painted face. She felt thatthis was one of the few creatures on the earth whom she feared andhated. Instinctively she made a gesture as if she would deface theportrait. The face seemed to answer her with a sneer, --"Well, and if youdid, what good would that do? Would he love _you_ any more for that?" itsaid, and she paused. 

Even the background and all the details were admirably conceived andrendered, --the crumbling, lichened wall, in cold gray, with the gnarledroot of the creeper and the wreath of purple blossoms, in sharp contrastto the pallor of the face and the bold assurance of the figure. Thelight fell across the canvas, leading down to a slab of vivid purplewater in the far distance. There was nothing pretty or affected orconventional about the painting: it was life caught and rendered withthe true boldness of actuality. Milly, gazing in fascination at thecreation of line and color and light, realized that here was the work ofa new man, totally unknown to her. Its maker was no youthful pupil, stumbling at his set task. No dabbler, this one, no trivial illustratoror petty drawing-room amuser, but a man who had found within himselfsomething long sought for. She shuddered and turned away. So that waswhat it was to be an Artist! She understood, and she hated it, --Art andall the tribe of artists big and little. In this strange woman, whomchance had put in his way, he had seen what she had not noticed, and hehad projected what he saw. He was able to divine the soul of thingsbeneath their superficial appearance, and he was able, exultantly, toproject in material form that hidden meaning for others to see andunderstand, if they would. And that was what an artist, a real artist, was for. 

Naturally Milly did not analyze closely her own troubled mind. Here wasplain evidence of her husband's being in which she no longer had thesmallest share. She had been slightly jealous, more than she wouldadmit, that other time at the beginning of the portrait because ofJack's absorption in his subject and his work. Her egotism had beenwounded. But that was trifling compared with the present feeling. Inthis completed creation she no more existed than the fly which restedfor a moment upon the painted canvas. His creation had nothingwhatsoever to do with her. And something deeper than egotism, far deeperthan jealousy, rose from the depths of her nature in antagonism--asex-antagonism to the whole affair. Her husband had a new mistress--notnecessarily the Russian woman, for that idea had not yet come toher--but his Art. And he might follow this mistress whither shebeckoned, --to poverty, defeat, or victory, --unmindful of her and herchild, forgetting them like idle memories in the pursuit of his blindpurpose. It was a force inimical to her and antagonistic to all orderlyliving, as the Hawaiian had said, --a demonic force which rises in themidst of society to give the lie to all the pretences men make tothemselves and call "civilization. "

Milly hated it, instinctively. Jack must paint no more such pictures forlove or for money, if their life were not to end in disaster. Did heknow what he had done with this Russian woman?... Where were they, anyway?

She looked up at the silent _manoir_. The green blinds were drawn toshut out the western sun. Milly knew the long, high room with itstimbered ceiling which Madame Saratoff had restored and furnished inEnglish style, and where, for the most part, she lived. The two werethere together now--she was sure of it. A new and fiercer emotion sweptMilly towards the house: she would discover them in their shame, intheir cruel selfishness. But she stopped on the stairs, suffocated byher passion. She felt their presence just above her with a physicalsense of pain, but she lacked the strength to go forward. A terriblesense of weakness in face of her defeat made her tremble. Her heart wasbroken, she said; what mattered it now what they did. She had no doubts:all was revealed as if she saw them in each other's arms. No man couldhave discovered the secret of a woman's inmost being, if she had notvoluntarily yielded to him the key.... 

After a time she left the place, slipped out through the garden-gateinto the green field behind the _manoir_ and wandered unseeingly alongthe hedge, and at length flung herself down on the ground, sobbing. Shewas alone, so utterly alone. The one in whose hands she had put herwhole life had betrayed her and deserted her. It was worse than death. They were there in that dim, silent room, in the utmost intimacy, andshe lay here outside, robbed and abandoned.... She rose to get fartheraway from the place, when she heard steps approaching on the other sideof the hedge. Kneeling close to the ground, she could see through thethick roots of the hedge and watch the two as they came up the lane. Itwas her husband and the Russian woman. They were not closeted in thehouse. She had been wrong. They had been for a stroll after his work, and were coming back now for their tea, silently and companionably, sideby side. For the merest moment Milly had a sense of relief: it might notbe true what her heart had said, after all. But almost at once she knewthat it made no difference just what their relations were or had been. 

She could read their faces as they came slowly towards her, --the Russianwoman's slanting glance from covered eyes of hateful content as shelooked at the artist. The "one who eats what she wants!"... They walkedvery slowly, as if full of thoughts and weary with the day. Bragdon'shead was high, his glance fell far off across the fields, his mindintent on something within, his brow slightly contracted as in sternresolve. He was pale, and he seemed to his wife older, much older thanshe remembered. He was a man, not the careless boy she had married somany, many years ago, and her heart tightened anew with intolerablepain.... His glance fell to the expectant face of his companion, andboth smiled with profound intimacy as at a meeting where words areneedless.... Milly's hand grasped the prickly vines of the hedge, andshe held herself still until they had passed. No, it made no differenceto her now what they thought or did. She knew. 

She fled. She heard her name faintly through the din of rushing blood inher ears, but she stumbled across the field out into the lane, towardsthe sea. There followed the most atrocious hour Milly was ever to knowin her life, while she wandered aimlessly to and fro on the lonelybeach. Her marriage was over--that thought returned like a mournfulchant in the storm of blind feeling. Latterly she had come to take herhusband as a matter of course, as a part of the married life of a woman. Though she had said to Nettie Gilbert, "I'm as much in love with Jack aswhen I married him, " and believed it, she hadn't been. But now thatanother had dared to take her husband from her, if only for a few daysor hours, she was outraged. She persistently focussed her whole anguishupon this foreign creature with her vampire mouth, though she might knowin the depth of her heart that her quarrel was not with the Russian orany woman, but with fate.... She kept repeating to herself, --"He doesn'tlove me any longer. He loves her--_her_!... He will be hers now--for atime. They are all like that, --artists. It's _bourgeois_ to love onewoman always. " So Womanhood from the beginning of time seemed outragedin her person. 

Had she not joyfully "given up everything for him, " as all women did forthe men they loved? (Even her worldly prospects when she married thepenniless artist began to seem to her brighter than they really hadbeen. ) Had she not, at any rate, given _herself_ to him, first, andalways, and only? And borne him a child in pain and danger? What morecould woman do? He was her debtor for eternity, as every man was to thewoman who gave herself to him. And four years had barely passed beforeanother one plucked him easily from her side!... Women were cheatedalways in the game of life because of their hearts, fated unfairly inthe primal scheme of things. Marion Reddon knew--she probably had had_her_ experiences. But at least she had the child. 

On that note her heart became centred, and she hurried back to the hoteland began aimlessly to gather her clothes together and throw them intothe trunks. She must take her child and leave at once. She did not wantto see him again.... But where should she go--how? Jack always arrangedeverything for her: she couldn't even make out a time-table or buy arailroad ticket. Marriage had made her dependent--she would have tolearn. 

At this moment Bragdon entered the room. His face still wore the sternexpression she had noted, which gave him the look of age. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded abruptly. 

"Don't you see--packing!"

"What for?... I've cabled home for more money--I'm going to stay hereand paint. "

She thought swiftly to herself that the Other had persuaded him to dowhat he had refused to do for her. She made no reply, but continued toput things blindly into the trunk. 

XI

CRISIS

When two human beings--above all when man and wife--meet at such tensemoments, one of Virgil's beneficent clouds should descend upon them, hiding all, and they should be wafted apart to remote places, there toabide until once more a sense of the proportion and the harmony in thismundane system has taken possession of them, and they have become, ifnot gods and goddesses, at least reasonable human beings. The least thehistorian can do under the circumstances is to imitate Virgil and draw amerciful veil between the cruel battle-field and all profane eyes. Themore so as few of the hot words then uttered, the sharp agony displayed, the giving and the baring of wounds have any real effect upon theresult. What is done counts, and that is about all, always. 

It might be that afterwards Milly derived some deeper understanding ofherself, of her husband, and of the married way of life from the agonyshe then experienced. It might be that the young artist, headstrong inhis first triumphant mastery, the first achievement of his whole being, entertained, for some moments at least, the idea of cutting the knotthen and there and taking his freedom which he had surrendered at thealtar, choosing what might seem to him then spiritual life instead ofprolonged death. The blood was in his head, the scent of delirious deedswhich he knew now that he could do. But he was an honest and loyal youngAmerican, no matter what he had done: he could not hesitate long. Oneglance at the sleeping form of his small child, dependent upon him forthe best in life, probably settled the matter. 

In the calm of the still night it _was_ settled--and by him. 

 * * * * *

The little colony of the Hotel du Passage were genuinely concerned overthe hurried departure of the Bragdons, who were much liked. All--butone--were at the pier that September morning to wish them farewell andgood luck and much happiness. It was understood that family matters hadrecalled them unexpectedly to the States. Too bad! Bragdon was apromising chap, the great painter pronounced at _déjeuner_, --willing towork, intelligent, with his own ideas. Had any one seen MadameSaratoff's portrait? He had kept very quiet about that--perhaps it hadnot come off. Well, he needed years of hard work, which he wouldn't getin America, worse luck. With a sigh he went to his day's task ofcompleting the thirty-seventh edition of the well-knownlandscape, --"Beside the Bay at Klerac, " with a fresh variation of fourcolored sails on the horizon instead of three.... 

And meanwhile the slow train to Paris was carrying a man, who havingclimbed his hill and looked upon the promised land from afar, must turnhis back for the present upon all its glories and await Opportunity. 

XII

"COME HOME"

It is a long and tiresome journey in a second-class compartment from thefarther end of Brittany to Paris, even under the best of circumstances. To Jack Bragdon and Milly, with the vivid memory of their personal wreckon that rocky coast, it was monotonously painful. They dared not askeach other, --"What next?" At first Milly thought there could be no next, though she was really glad not to be making this journey alone with herchild, as she had expected to do. To the man who sat in the oppositecorner with closed eyes and set lips, it seemed to matter little for thepresent what the next step was to be. 

Happily an impersonal fate settled this for them. Bragdon found at thebankers in Paris an answer to his appeal for funds. The curt cable read, without the aid of code, --"Come Home. " Probably that would have been thewisest thing to do in any case. But it would have meant a hard strugglewith himself to turn his back so quickly upon the promised land ofaccomplishment. Now it was beyond his power to do otherwise, unless hewere willing to force Milly and the child to starve on what he couldmake. If that had ever been possible, it surely was not any longer. 

So with the last of the hoard he bought their tickets, and all threesailed for New York on the next steamer. 

PART FOUR

REALITIES

I

HOME ONCE MORE

There was no one at the dock to greet them. 

"Your friends come down to see you off, " Milly reflected sadly, whileBragdon was struggling with the inspectors, "but they let you find yourway back by yourself!"

It was hot and very noisy, --the New World, --and no one seemed to careabout anything. As they made their way up town through the crowdedstreets, Milly felt it must be impossible for human beings to do morethan keep alive in this maelstrom. The aspect of an American city withits savage roar, especially of New York in the full cry of the day'swork, was simply terrifying after two years of Europe. There wassomething so sordidly repellent in the flimsily furnished rooms of thehotel where they went first, that she shed a few tears of purehomesickness. She longed to take the first train west; for the sightsand the sounds of Chicago, if no gentler, were at least more familiar. 

She did not know what they would do; husband and wife had not discussedplans on the homeward voyage or referred in any way to the future, bothshrinking from the quaking bog that lay between them. Now their coursemust speedily be settled. When Bragdon went out after establishing themin their hotel, Milly felt curiously like a passenger on a ship whoseticket had been taken for her and all arrangements made by another. Allshe could do, for the present at least, was to wait and see what wouldhappen.... 

Towards evening Big Brother came in with Jack and welcomed her backnonchalantly. He had the New York air of unconcern over departures andarrivals, living as he had all his life in a place where coming andgoing was the daily order of life. He declared that Milly had grownprettier than ever and accepted his niece with condescendingirony, --"Hello, missy, so you came along, too? Made in France, eh!" andchuckled over the worn joke. 

It seemed that no business disaster had caused him to send his cablerecalling them. Business, he declared, was "fine, fine, better all thetime, " in the American manner. It was merely on general principles thathe had cabled, --"Come home. " Two years was enough for any American tospend out of his own country, even for an artist. Eying his youngerbrother humorously, he remarked, --"I thought you'd better get a taste ofreal life, and earn a few dollars. You can go back later on for anothervacation.... I saw Clive Reinhard on the Avenue the other day. He wantedto know how you were getting on. Think he has another of his books onthe way. You'd better see him, Jack. He's a money-maker!"

The artist meantime sat cross-legged on his chair and stroked hismustache meditatively, saying nothing. Milly glanced at him timidly, butshe could not divine what he was thinking of all this. As he wasAmerican-trained he was probably realizing the force of Big Brother'swholesome doctrine. He could not live on other people's bounty andprosecute the artist's vague chimeras. Having taken to himself a wifeand added thereto a child, he must earn their living and his own, likeother men, by offering the world something it cared to pay for. 

Nevertheless, there smouldered in his eyes the hint of anotherthought, --a suggestion of the artist's fierce egotism, the desire tofulfil his purpose no matter at whose cost, --the willingness to commitcrime rather than surrender his life purpose. It was the complement ofthe Russian's "will to eat, " only deeper, more impersonal, and moretragic. But nowadays men like Jack Bragdon neither steal nor murder--norcommit lesser crimes--for the sake of Art. 

Instead he inquired casually, --"Where is Reinhard staying? The sameplace?" and when his brother replied, --"He's got an apartment somewhereup town. They'll know at the club--he's been very successful, "--Bragdonmerely nodded. And the next morning after breakfast he sallied from thehotel, leaving Milly to dispose of herself and the child as she would. For several days she hardly saw him. He had caught the key of the NewWorld symphony at once, and had set forth on the warpath without losingtime to get the Job. He succeeded without much difficulty in securingthe illustration of Reinhard's new piece of popular sentimentality andalso put himself in touch with the editors of a new magazine. Then towork, not his own work, but the world's work, --what it apparentlywanted, at least would pay well for. And the first step was to find somesort of abiding-place where his family could live less expensively thanat the hotel. Here Milly came in. 

The one distinct memory Milly kept of that first year in New York was ofhunting apartments and moving. It seemed to her that she must havelooked at a cityful of dark, noisy rooms ambitiously called apartments, each more impossible than the others. (As long as they lived in New Yorkshe never gave up the desire for light and quiet, --the two mostexpensive luxuries in that luxurious metropolis. ) They settledtemporarily in a small furnished "studio-apartment" near WashingtonSquare, where they were constantly in each other's way. Milly called ita tenement. Although they had done very well in two rooms in Brittany, it required much more space than the studio-apartment offered to housetwo people with divided hearts. So in the spring they moved fartherup-town to a larger and more expensive apartment without a studio. Bragdon preferred, anyway, to do his work outside and shared a studiowith a friend. Milly regarded this new abode as merely temporary--theyhad taken it for only one year--and they talked intermittently ofmoving. 

Once or twice Jack suggested going to one of the innumerable suburbs orabandoning the city altogether for some small country place, as otherartists had done. It would be cheaper, and they could have a house, their own patch of earth, and some quiet. Milly received this suggestionin silence. Indeed they both shrank from facing each other in suburbansolitude. They were both by nature and training cockneys. Millyespecially had rather perch among the chimney-pots and see theprocession go by from the roof than possess all that Nature had tooffer. And they were still young, she felt: much might happen in thecity, "if they didn't give up. " But she said equivocally, --

"Your work keeps you so much in the city; you have to see people. "

What he wanted to reply was that he should abandon all this job-huntingand live lean until he could sell his real work, instead of striving tomaintain the semblance of an expensive comfort in the city by sellinghimself to magazines and publishers. But Milly would not understand theurgency of that--how could she? And what had he to offer her now for thesacrifice he should be demanding? What would she do with the long, silent days in the country, while he worked and destroyed what he did, only to begin again on the morrow at the ceaseless task, with itsdoubtful result? If there had been real companionship, or if the flameof their passion had still burned, then it might not have proved anintolerable exile for the woman.... 

They did as others would do under the circumstances--hung on in thegreat city as best they could, in the hope of a better fortune soon, living expectantly from day to day. Each month the city life seemed todemand more money, and each month Bragdon sank deeper into the mire ofjournalistic art. Worst of all they got into the habit of regardingtheir life as a temporary makeshift, which they expected to change whenthey could, tolerating it for the present as best they could, --like mostof the workers of the world. Bragdon, at least, knew what he hoped for, impossible as it might be, --a total escape from the debauching work hewas doing. Milly hoped vaguely for a pleasanter apartment and an easierway of living, --more friends and more good times with them. 

One of the first familiar faces Milly met in the bewildering new citywas Marion Reddon's. She came across the little New Englander standingat the curb of a crowded street, a child by either hand, waiting untilthe flow of traffic should halt long enough to permit crossing. 

"Marion!" Milly cried, her eyes dancing with delight on recognizing her. A smile came to the white, tired face of the other woman, --the smilethat gave something of beauty to the plain face. "Are you living here, too--in New York?"

"Yes, since the autumn. "

"Has Sam given up his teaching?"

"I made him resign. "

They drew to one side where they could hear each other's voices. Thesight of Marion Reddon brought back happy days, --at least they seemed tobe happy now, by comparison. Marion continued:--

"The teaching was too easy for him--besides he didn't like it. And if aman doesn't like that work, he's no business doing it. He had muchbetter get out into the fight with other men and make his way againstthem. "

"But you loved the college town: you must have hated to leave it. "

"It was what I had known all my life, and it was a good sort of place tobring the children up in--pleasant and easy. But New York is the biggame for men, of course. I wanted Sam to go up against it. "

She smiled, but Milly might divine something of the courage it had takenfor Marion to launch her small craft in the seething city. They talked alittle longer, then parted, having exchanged addresses. 

"Take the subway, " Marion called out as she plunged into the street, "get out when it stops, then walk! Don't forget!" and with a last smileshe was gone. 

Milly went on her way about some errand, thinking that Marion was nolonger in the least pretty, --quite homely, in fact, she was so worn andwhite. She had nice, regular features and a quaintly becoming way ofwearing her hair in simple Greek fashion, waving over her brows. If sheonly dressed better and took more care of herself, she might beattractive still. She had let herself fade. Milly wondered if Sam lovedher still, really loved her, as he seemed to in his rough way when theywere together that summer at Gossensass. How could he? That was thecruelty in marriage for women. Men took the best they had to offer oftheir youth and beauty, gave them the burdens of children, and thenwanted something else when they had become homely and unattractive. Atleast Jack did not yet have that excuse with her. 

Milly did not think that a man might love even a faded flowerlike Marion Reddon, if she had kept the sweet savor of her spiritalive.... So the Reddons were in New York, living far out in theimpossible _hinterland_ of the Bronx. When she told her husband at dinnerof meeting Marion Reddon and of their new move, Jack seemed neithergreatly surprised nor interested. 

"We must try to see them, " he remarked vaguely. 

Perhaps, she thought, he did not care to recall those happier days inEurope. The truth was that the New York struggle specialized menintensely, removing to the vague background every one not directly inthe path. Bragdon's efforts were so supremely concentrated on rollinghis own small cart in the push, that he had little spirit to bestowelsewhere, however well he might wish people like the Reddons and othersnot in his immediate game. 

"I thought you liked the Reddons, " Milly said, half accusingly. 

"I do--what makes you think I don't?" he asked, taking up a pipepreparatory to work. 

"You don't seem much interested in their being in New York. "

"Oh, " he said lightly, "every one comes to New York. "

And he turned to his evening task. This habit of working evenings, whichMilly rather resented, served to prevent discussion--of all kinds. Sheplayed a few bars on the piano, then settled herself comfortably withClive Reinhard's latest book. That was the way their evenings usuallywent unless some one came in, which did not happen often, or Jack wascalled out. 

Even New York could be dull, Milly found. 

II

"BUNKER'S"

Milly could not remember just when she first heard of _Bunker'sMagazine_, --certainly not before their return from Europe, but soonthereafter, for its name was associated with her first experiences inNew York. Shortly after they landed, _Bunker's_ was added to the highlycolored piles on the news-stands among the other periodicals thatincreased almost daily in number. During that first year of apartmenthunting and moving, the name of _Bunker's_ became a household word withthem. Some of the men Bragdon knew were interested in the new magazine, and one of the first jobs he did was a cover design for an early number. The magazine with his picture--a Brittany girl knee-deep in the darkwater helping to unload a fishing boat--lay on the centre table forweeks. Clive Reinhard's new novel, for which Jack did the pictures, alsocame out in _Bunker's_ this year. The novelist had been paid tenthousand dollars for the serial rights, Jack told Milly, which seemed toher a large price. Some forms of art, she concluded, were well paid. 

_Bunker's_ was to be a magazine of a very special kind, of course, altogether different from any other magazine, --literary and popular andartistic all at once. Also it was to have an "uplift"--they were justbeginning to use that canting term and _Bunker's_ did much to popularizeit. The magazine was to be intensely American in spirit, optimistic andenthusiastic in tone, and very chummy with its readers. Each month itdiscussed confidentially with "our readers" the glorious success of theprevious issue and the astonishing triumphs in the way of amusement andinstruction that were to be expected in the future.... All this Millygathered from the editor's "talks" and also from the men who worked forit or hoped to work for it, who were among their first friends in NewYork. Its owner, who had boldly given to it his name, was a rich youngman, something of an amateur in life, but intensely ambitious of "makinghimself felt. " And this was his way of doing it, instead of buying anewspaper, which would have been more expensive, or of running forpublic office, which would have meant nothing at all to anybody. Jackpointed him out to his wife one night at the theatre. He was in a boxwith a party of men and women, --all very well dressed and quitesmart-looking. He had a regular, smooth-shaven face with a square jawlike hundreds of other men in New York at that moment. Milly thoughtMrs. Bunker overdressed and "ordinary. " She was a very blonde, high-colored woman, of the kind a rich man might marry for her physicalcharm. 

All that first year _Bunker's_ came more and more to the fore in theirlife. The wife of the Responsible Editor, Mrs. Montgomery Billman, called on Milly in company with Mrs. Fredericks, the wife of the FictionEditor, and the two ladies, while critically examining Milly, talked of"our magazine" and described the Howard Bunkers, who evidently played alarge rôle in their lives. Mrs. Billman, Milly decided, and so confidedto her husband, was hard and ambitious socially. Mrs. Fredericks she"could not quite make out, " and liked her better. Both the ladies seemedto "go in for things" hard and meant to "count. " They knew much moreabout their husbands' affairs than Milly had ever cared to know aboutJack's. She decided that was the modern way, and that Jack ought to takeher more fully into his confidence. By the time she had returned thesevisits and realized the importance felt by the editors' wives for theirhusbands' work _Bunker's_ gained greatly in her eyes. 

Then, unexpectedly, the magazine became of first importance to theBragdons. Jack was asked to become the Art Editor. He had been atluncheon with Bunker himself and the Responsible Editor, who was a gauntand rather slouchy person from the other shore of the Mississippi. TheResponsible Editor, who had a way of looking through his spectacles asif he were carrying heavy public burdens, unfolded to Bragdon the aimsand purposes of the magazine, while Bunker contented himself withordering the lunch and, at the close, making him the offer. Milly, whenshe learned of the offer, was surprised that her husband did not showmore elation. She had a woman's respect for any institution, and Mrs. Billman had made her feel that _Bunker's_ was a very importantinstitution. 

"What will they give?" she asked. 

"Six thousand. "

It was more than she had ever dreamed an "artist" could make as anassured income. 

"Aren't you glad--all that!" she exclaimed. 

"That's not much. Billman gets twelve thousand and Fredericks eight. ButI shall be able to make something 'on the side. '"

"I think it's wonderful!" Milly said. 

But Jack exhibited slight enthusiasm. 

"I'll have to see to getting illustrations for their idiotic stories andhalf tones and colors--all that rubbish, you know. "

There was nothing inspiring to him in "educating the people in the bestart, " as the Responsible Editor had talked about the job. 

"And they want me to contribute a series of articles on the new artcentres in the United States: Denver in Art, Pittsburgh in Art, Milwaukee in Art--that sort of rot, " he scoffed. 

Milly saw nothing contemptible in this; all the magazines did the samething in one subject or another to arouse local enthusiasm forthemselves. 

"You write so easily, " she suggested, by way of encouragement, remembering the newspaper paragraphs he used to contribute to the_Star_. 

"But I want to paint!" Bragdon growled, and dropped the subject. 

In the intervals of pot boiling he had been working on several canvasesthat he hoped to exhibit in the spring. Milly had lost confidence inpainting since she had come to New York and had heard about the lives ofyoung painters. Even if Jack could finish his pictures in time for theexhibition, they might not be accepted, and if they were, would probablybe hung in some obscure corner of the crowded galleries for severalweeks, with a lot of other "good-enough" canvases, only to be returnedto the artist--a dead loss, the fate of most pictures, she had learned. 

So Milly was for the Art Editorship. She took counsel with Big Brother, who happened to call, and B. B. , who regarded Milly as a sensible woman, the right sort for an impracticable artist to have married, said: "Jackwould be crazy to let such a chance slip by him. I know Bunker--he's allright. " So when he saw Jack next, he went at him boisterously on thesubject, but the artist cut him short by remarking quietly, --"I've toldthem I'd take it--the thing's settled. "

When Milly heard this, she felt a little reaction. Would Marion Reddonhave done the same with Sam? But she put her doubts aside easily. "It'llbe a good start. Jack is still young, and he will have plenty of time topaint--if he has it in him" (a reservation she would not have made twoyears before), "and it will do him good to know more people. "

Milly would like herself to know more people in this great city, whichwas just beginning to interest her, and she was not at all inclined toimmure herself in a suburb or the depths of the country with a husbandwho, after all, had not fully satisfied her heart. To know people, tohave a wide circle of acquaintance, seemed to her, as it did to mostpeople, of the highest importance, not merely for pleasure but forbusiness as well. How otherwise was one to get on in this life, exceptthrough knowing people? Even an artist must make himself seen.... So sheconsidered that in urging her husband to become part of the Bunkermachine, she was acting wisely for both, --nay, for all three of thefamily, for should not Virginia's future already be taken into account?

The wife of the Fiction Editor, with whom she had become intimate in herrapid way, confirmed this view of things. Hazel Fredericks fascinatedMilly much more than the aggressive Mrs. Billman, perhaps because shewent out of her way to be nice to the artist's wife. Milly had not yetconvinced the wife of the Responsible Editor that she was important, andshe never wasted time over "negative" people. The dark little HazelFredericks, with her muddy eyes and rather thick lips, was a more subtlewoman than Mrs. Billman and took the pains to cultivate "possibilities. "She had Milly at lunch one day and listened attentively to all herdubitations about her husband's career. Then she pronounced:--

"Stanny was like that. He wanted to write stories. They are pretty goodstories, too, but you know there's not much sale for the merely goodthing. And unsuccessful art of any kind is hardly worth while, isit?... When we were first married, he had an idea of going away somewhereand living on nothing at all until he had made a name. But that is notthe way things are done, is it?"

She paused to laugh sympathetically and look at Milly, as if she mustunderstand what foolish creatures men often were and how wives likeMilly and herself had to save them from their follies. 

"Of course, " she continued, "if he had had Reinhard's luck, it wouldhave been another thing. Clive Reinhard's stuff is just rot, of course, but people like it and he gets all kinds of prices. "

She took a cigarette and throwing herself comfortably on a divan blew asilvery wreath upwards. Meditatively she summed up the philosophy sheheld, --

"It's better to stay with the game and make the most you can out of it, don't you think so?"

Milly agreed. 

"And _Bunker's_ is a very good game, if you haven't any money. "

Milly admired her new friend's cleverness. She was the kind who knew howto manage life, --her own life especially, --and get what she wanted outof the game. Milly began to have great respect for that sort of womenand wished she were more like them. She felt that Hazel Fredericks neverdid things waywardly: she always had a well-calculated purpose hidden inher mind, just as she had a carefully conceived picture of herself thatshe desired to leave upon the minds of others. If Mrs. Billman had puther husband where he was in _Bunker's_ by force, as her rival hinted, Mrs. Fredericks had also engineered "Stanny's" career with skilfulstrategy. 

 * * * * *

Just at present she was involved in a project for a coöperativeapartment building, which some people she knew were to put up in adesirable neighborhood. She quite fired Milly with the desire to buyspace in the building. 

"It's really the only way you can live in New York, if you haven'tmoney, " Mrs. Fredericks said convincingly, displaying the plan of theirtiny apartment. "Of course we can't have children--there's no room forthem--but Stanny is so delicate I shouldn't feel it was right to havethem, anyway. "

She spoke as if it were a sacrifice she had deliberately made for herhusband.... 

Milly talked enthusiastically to Jack that night of the new coöperativebuilding and urged him to look into it. "I do so want a home of my own, "she said with a touch of pathos. "Mrs. Fredericks still thinks there'sspace to be had on one of the floors. "

Bragdon looked into it, and reported that a good deal of space was to behad. He was dubious of the wisdom of the scheme, even if by acomplicated arrangement of loans they could manage to buy a nominalshare. But Milly was persistent and proved to him with a sudden commandof figures that it would really reduce the cost of rent. She found outmore details, and she gained the support of Big Brother, who generouslyoffered to finance the undertaking for them. "It will make you feelsettled, " he said, "to own your own home. " Jack could not see that inthe end he should own much of anything unless by some surprising strokeof luck a good many thousands of dollars fell into his lap. But he feltthat Milly should have a permanent place of her own, such as the sliceof the new ten-story building offered, and it would be better for thechild than to be wandering from rented apartment to apartment. So theplans were drawn, the agreements practically made, when he had a finalmisgiving. 

The agreements lay on the table before him to be signed, and he had justread them over carefully. They seemed to him like a chain that, oncesigned, bound him to the city, to _Bunker's_ for an indefinite future. His editorial chair had been specially galling that day, perhaps, or theimpulse to paint stronger than usual. He threw down the papers andexclaimed, --

"Let's quit, Milly, before it's too late!"

"What do you mean?"

And he made his plea, for the last time seriously, to take their livesin their hands and like brave people walk out of the city-maze tofreedom, to a simple, rational life without pretence. 

"I want to cut out all this!" he cried with passion, waving his handcarelessly over the huddle of city roofs, "get into some quiet spot andpaint, paint, paint! until I make 'em see that I have something to say. It's the only way to do things!"

With passionate vividness he saw the years of his youth and desireslipping away in the round of trivial "jobs" in the city; he saw theslow decay of resolves under the ever increasing demands to "make good"by earning money. And he shrank from it as from the pit. 

"I don't see why you say that, " Milly replied. "Most painters live inthe city part of the year. There's ---- and ----"

She argued the matter with him long into the night, obstinately refusingto see the fatality of the choice they were making. 

"We can get rid of the apartment any time, if we don't want it, " shesaid, and quoted Hazel Fredericks. 

They came nearer to seeing into each other's souls that night than everbefore or ever again. They saw that their inmost interests wereantagonistic and must always remain so for all the active, creativeyears of their lives, and the best they could do, for the sake of theirdead ideals, much more for the sake of the living child, was decently tocompromise between their respective egotisms and thus "live and letlive. "

"If I had married a plain business man, " Milly let fall in the heat ofthe argument, revealing in that phrase the knowledge she had arrived atof her mistake, "it would have been different. "

Bragdon was not sure of that, but he was sure that in so far as he couldhe must supply for her the things that "plain business man" could havegiven her. Or they must part--they even looked into that gulf, fromwhich both shrank back. At the end Milly said:--

"If you don't think it's best, don't do it. You must do what you thinkis best for your career. "

Such was her present ideal of wifely submission to husband in allmatters that concerned his "career, " but she let him plainly perceivethat in saying this she was merely putting the responsibility of theirlives wholly upon his shoulders, as he was the breadwinner. 

With an impatient gesture, Bragdon drew the agreements towards him andsigned them. 

"There!" he said, with a somewhat bitter laugh, "nothing in life isworth so much talk. "

Afterwards Milly reminded him that he had made this choice himself ofhis own free will: he could not reproach her for their having bought aslice in the East River Terrace Building. 

III

MORE OF "BUNKER'S"

One of the notable incidents of this period was the visit they made tothe Bunker's place on Long Island. It was in the autumn after Bragdonhad been on the magazine staff for some months. Milly went out in thetrain with Hazel Fredericks, who took this occasion to air her views ofthe Bunkers and the Billmans more fully than she had before. Shedescribed the magazine proprietor and his wife in a succinct sentence, --

"They're second-class New York: everything the others have but the rightcrowd--you'll see. "

Howard Bunker, she admitted, was likable, --a jolly, unpretentious, shrewd business man, with a hearty American appetite for the bustle ofexistence. As for the handsome Mrs. Bunker, --"She was from Waterbury, Connecticut, you know, " she said, assuming that Milly, who had heard ofthe Connecticut town solely as a place where a popular cheap watch wasmanufactured, would understand the depth of social inferiority Mrs. Howard Bunker's origin implied. "She's too lazy to be really ambitious. They have a box at the Opera, but that means nothing these days. She'skind, if you don't put her to any trouble, and they have awfully goodfood.... It's a bore coming out to their place, but you have to, once inso often, you understand. You sit around and eat and look over thestables and the garden and all that sort of thing. "

She further explained that probably Grace Billman was motoring out withtheir host. "She always manages that: she regards him as her property, you know. " It would be a "shop party, " she expected. "That's all thesocial imagination these people have: they get us together bygroups--we're the magazine group. Possibly she'll have Clive Reinhard. He's different, though, because he's made a name for himself, so thatall sorts of people run after him. "

Mrs. Bunker met the young women at the station, driving her own ponies. Milly recognized the type at a glance, as much from her Chicagoexperience as from Mrs. Fredericks' description. Mrs. Bunker was alargish, violent blonde, with a plethora of everything about her, --hairand blood and flesh. She was cordial in her greeting to the editors'wives. She apparently regarded the magazine as one of her husband'sfads, --an incident of his wealth, --like a shooting-box or a racingstable or a philanthropy. It gave prestige. 

"I've got Clive Reinhard, " she announced, as they started from thestation, a note of triumph in her languid voice. "My, but he's popular. I've tried to get him for a month. This time I had him on the telephone, and I said 'I won't let you go--simply won't ring off until you promise. I'll tell Howard to turn down your next book. '"

She laughed at her own wit. Hazel Fredericks glanced at Milly with alook of intelligence. Milly was much amused by the good lady andlistened appreciatively to her petty conversation.... 

It was all just as Mrs. Fredericks had predicted. Their host arrivedshortly in his car with Mrs. Montgomery Billman, who cast a scornfulglance at the "shop party, " nodded condescendingly at Milly, kissedHazel on the tip of her nose, and retired to her room. The men camealong later, in time for dinner, all except the popular novelist, whowas motored over from another house party the next morning. Dinner waslong and dull. The Responsible Editress absorbed the host for the mostpart. What little general talk there was turned on the magazine, especially on the noise it was making with a series of "exposure"articles on the "Crimes of Big Business. " Milly could not understand howMr. Bunker, who seemed to have prospered under the rule of Big Business, could permit such articles in his magazine. But Reinhard explained toher the next day that Radicalism was the "new note. " "You have to beprogressive and reform and all that to break into notice, " he said. 

After dinner there was a little music, some bridge, more talk; then thewomen yawningly went to bed, while the men stayed up for another cigarand further shop talk. The next day was also much as Hazel Frederickshad said it would be. It was hot, and after the very late and copiousbreakfast everybody was languid. Milly was much interested in beingshown over the place by her hostess. She admired the gardens, thehothouses, the planting, the stables, and all the other appurtenances ofa modern country estate. Later she had a brief tête-à-tête with Bunker, who had been prejudiced against her by Mrs. Billman and was bored by hertoo evident flattery. She had also a talk with Clive Reinhard, with whomshe discussed his last story and his "ideas about women. " For the restit was a torpid and sensual Sunday with much to eat and drink, --verymuch like the Sunday of some thousands of rich Americans all over theland. Most of the guests returned to the city on an evening train, boredand unconsciously glad to get back into their respective ruts. 

All but Milly! She had enjoyed herself quite genuinely, and with herquick social perceptions had gathered a great deal from the visit, muchof which she imparted to her drowsing husband on the train. She mappedout for his duller masculine apprehension the social hierarchy of_Bunker's_. Mrs. Bunker patronized Mrs. Billman, invited her to her bestdinners and to her opera box, because she was striking in looks and hadmade a place for herself in "interesting circles" in the great city andwas more or less talked about. "Hazel is jealous of her, " Milly averred. Nevertheless the junior editor's wife accepted Mrs. Billman's patronageand invitations to Mrs. Bunker's opera box when it was given on offnights or matinées to the chief editor's wife, and in turn she wasinclined to patronize Mrs. Bragdon by sending her tickets to improvinglectures and concerts. 

Hazel Fredericks, in her quiet and self-effacing manner, hadaspirations, Milly suspected. She could not compete either with Mrs. Howard Bunker or Mrs. Montgomery Billman, of course, but she aspired tothe Serious and the Distinguished, instead of the Rich or the merelyArtistic. She went in for "movements" of all sorts and was a member ofvarious leagues, and associations, and committees. Occasionally her namegot into public print. Just at present she was in the "woman movement, "about which she talked to Milly a good deal. That promised to be themost important of all her "movements. "

Indeed, as Milly saw, all these women "went in" for something. Theytried to conduct their lives and their husbands' lives on lines ofdefinite accomplishment, and she was decidedly "old-fashioned" in livinghers from day to day for what it offered of amusement or ennui. She wasrather proud of the fact that she had never deliberately "gone in" foranything in her life except Love. 

Nevertheless, she found the flutter of women's ambitions exciting andliked to observe the indirect working of their wills even in the man'sgame.... 

"Mrs. Billman is too obvious, don't you think Jack?" she said to herhusband. But Jack had gone sound asleep. 

IV

THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE

Before the winter they were established in their own home, in a cornerof the new East River Terrace Building, and thereafter their lifesettled down on the lines it was to follow in New York. Theiracquaintance gradually widened from _Bunker's_ and the editorial set toother circles, contiguous and remote, and the daily routine broughthusband and wife less often into contact, and they were thrown less andless on each other's resources. As the artist no longer tried to work athome, the large room designed for studio became the living-room of theirapartment. Bragdon went off immediately after his breakfast to themagazine office, like a business man, and as Milly usually had hercoffee in bed they rarely met before dinner. Sometimes he came back fromthe office early to play with Virgie before her supper time, but Millyusually appeared about seven, just in time to dress for dinner. 

If she ever stopped to think of it, this seemed the suitable, normalrelation of husband and wife. He had his business, and she had hers. Sundays when he did not go to the office, he dawdled through the morningat his club, talking with men or writing letters, and they often hadpeople to luncheon, which consumed the afternoons. On pleasant days hemight take the child to the Park or even into the distant country. Hewas very devoted to his little girl and on the whole a considerate andkindly husband. Milly thought she had forgiven him for breaking herheart. As a matter of fact there is less forgiveness than forgetting inthis world. Milly felt that on the whole "they got on quite well" andprided herself on her wise restraint and patience with her husband "atthat time. "

The household ran smoothly. At first there were only two maids, --thesecond one serving as nurse for Virginia and Milly's personal helper aswell, --a triumph of economic management, as Milly pointed out. For HazelFredericks had two merely for household purposes and the Billman's houseboasted of four and a boy in buttons. They had to have the laundry doneoutside and engage extra service when they entertained. By the end ofthe first year Milly convinced herself it would be cheaper to have threeregular servants, and still they depended more or less on outsidehelp.... 

They saved nothing, of course. Few Americans of their class ever save. They were young, and the future seemed large. Living in New York washorribly expensive, as every one was saying, and it was worse the morethey got to know people and had their own little place to keep in theworld. It seemed to Milly hard that such perfectly nice people as theywere should be so cramped for the means to enjoy the opportunities thatcame to them. The first year they spent only five thousand dollars andpaid something towards the huge loan on their apartment. The second yearit was seven thousand and they paid nothing, and the third year theystarted at a rate of ten thousand dollars. The figures were really smallwhen one considered what the other people they knew were spending. Bragdon began to suspect that here was the trouble--they didn't know anypoor people! Milly said they "barely lived, " as it was. Of course therewere good people who got along on three or four thousand dollars a yearand even indulged occasionally in a child or two--professors and youngpainters and that sort. Milly could not see how it was done, --probablyin ghastly apartments out in the _hinterland_, like the Reddons. Thenewspapers advertised astonishing bargains in houses, but they werealways in fantastically named suburban places, "within commutingdistance. " One had to live where one's friends could get to you, or gowithout people, Milly observed. 

Husband and wife discussed all this, as every one did. The cost ofliving, the best way of meeting the problem, whether by city or suburbor country, was the most frequent topic of conversation in all circles, altogether crowding out the weather and scandal. At first Jack wassevere about the leaping scale of expenditure and inclined to hold hiswife accountable for it as "extravagance. " He would even talk of givingup their pretty home and going to some impossible suburb, --"and all thatnonsense, " as Milly put it to her closest friend, Hazel Fredericks. ButMilly always proved to him that they could not do better and "getanything out of life. " So in the position of one who is sliding downhill in a sandy soil, he saw that it was useless to stick his feet inand hold on--he must instead learn to plunge and leap and thus makeprogress. And he did what every one was doing, --tried to make moremoney. It was easy, seemingly, in this tumultuous New York to make money"on the side. " There were many chances of what he cynically called"artistic graft, "--editing, articles, and illustration. One had merelyto put out a hand and strip the fat branches of the laden tree. It waskilling to creative work, but it was much easier than sordid discussionof budget with one's wife. For the American husband is ashamed toconfess poverty to the wife of his bosom. 

Milly, perceiving this power of money-getting on her husband's part, didnot take very seriously his complaints of their expenditure. Even whenthey were in debt, as they usually were, she was sure it would come outright in the end. It always had. Jack had found a way to make the extrasums needed to wipe out the accumulation of bills. Bragdon might feelmisgivings, but he was too busy these days in the gymnastic performanceof keeping his feet from the sliding sand to indulge in long reflection. Perhaps, in a mood of depression, induced by grippe or the coming on oflanguid spring days, he would say, "Milly, let's quit this game--it's nogood--you don't get anywhere!"

Milly, recognizing the symptoms, would bring him a cocktail, prepared byher own skilful hand and murmur sweetly, --

"What would you like to do?"

This was her rôle of wife, submissive to the "head of the house. "

 * * * * *

That archaic phrase, which Milly used with a malicious pompousness whenshe wished to "put something hard up" to her lord, was of course anironical misnomer in this modern household. In the first place there wasno house, which demanded the service and the protection of a strongmale, --merely a partitioned-off corner in a ten-story brick box, whereno man was necessary even to shake the furnace or lock the front door. It was "house" only symbolically, and within its limited space theminimum of necessary service was performed by hirelings (engaged by themistress and under her orders). Almost all the necessities for existencewere manufactured outside and paid for at the end of each month(supposably) by the mistress with little colored slips of paper calledcheques. In the modern world the function of the honorable head of thehouse had thus been reduced to providing the banking deposit necessaryfor the little strips of colored paper. He had been gradually relievedof all other duties, stripped of his honors, and become Bank Account. The woman was the real head of the house because she controlled theexpenditures. 

"I draw all the cheques, " Hazel Fredericks explained to Milly, "even forStanny's club bills--at is so much easier. "

That was the perfect thing, Milly thought, forgetting that she had oncetried this plan with disastrous results and had returned to theallowance system with relief. Most men, she felt, were tyrannical andarbitrary by nature, especially in money matters, or as she sometimescalled her husband, --"Turks. " She often discussed the relation of thesexes in marriage with Hazel Fredericks, who had "modern" views andleant her books on the woman movement and suffrage. Although sheinstinctively disliked "strong-minded women, " she felt there was greatinjustice in the present situation between men and women. "It is aman's-world, " became one of her favorite axioms. She could not deny thather husband was kind, --she often boasted of his generosity to herfriends, --and she knew that he spent very little on his own pleasures:whatever there was the family had it. But it always humiliated her to goto him for money, when she was behind, and in his sterner moods try tocoax it from him. This was the way women had always been forced to dowith their masters, and it was, of course, all wrong: it classed thewife with "horrid" women, who made men pay them for their complaisance. 

Ideas on all these subjects were in the air: all the women Milly knewtalked of the "dawn of the woman era, " the coming emancipation of thesex from its world-old degradation. Milly vaguely believed it would meanthat every woman should have her own check-book and not be accountableto any man for what she chose to spend. She amplified this point of viewto Reinhard, who liked "the little Bragdons" and often came to their newhome. Milly especially amused him in his rôle of student of the comingsex. He liked to see her experiment with ideas and mischievouslyencouraged her "revolt" as he called it. They had tea together, tookwalks in the Park, and sometimes went to concerts. He was very kind tothem both, and Milly regarded him as their most influential friend. Shefelt that the novelist would make a very good husband, understanding ashe did so thoroughly the woman's point of view. 

"I'm not a 'new woman, ' of course, " Milly always concluded herdiscourse. 

"Of course you're not!" the novelist heartily concurred. "That's why youare so interesting, --you represent an almost extinct species, --justwoman. "

"I know I'm old-fashioned--Hazel always says so. I believe in men doingthe voting and all that. Women should not try to be like men--theirstrength is their difference!"

"You want just to be Queen?" Reinhard suggested. 

"Oh, " Milly sighed, "I want what every woman wants--just to be loved. "

She implied that with the perfect love, all these minor difficultieswould adjust themselves easily. But the woman without love must fightfor her "rights, " whatever they were. 

"Oh, of course, " the novelist murmured sympathetically. In all hisvaried experience with the sex he had found few women who would admitthat they were properly loved. 

 * * * * *

Milly's daily programme at this time will be illuminating, because itwas much like the lives of many thousands of young married women, in ourtransition period. As there was no complicated house and only one childto be looked after, the mere housekeeping duties were not burdensome, especially as Milly never thought of going to market or store foranything, merely telephoned for what the cook said they must have, orleft it to the servant altogether. She woke late, read the newspaper andher mail over her coffee, played with Virgie and told her charmingstories; then, by ten o'clock, dressed, and her housekeeping arrangedfor, she was ready to set forth. Usually she had some sort of shoppingthat took her down town until luncheon, and more often than not lunchedout with a friend. 

Occasionally on a fine day when she had nothing better to do, she tookVirginia into the Park for an hour after luncheon. Usually, however, thechild's promenade was left to Louise. Her afternoons were varied andcrowded. Sometimes she went to lectures or to see pictures, because thiswas part of that "culture" essential for the modern woman. Old friendsfrom Chicago had to be called upon or taken to tea and entertained, andthere was the ever enlarging circle of new friends, chiefly women, whomade constant demands on her time. She finished her day, breathlessly, just in time to dress for dinner. They went out more and more, becausepeople liked them, and when they stayed at home, they had people in"quite informally" and talked until late hours. On the rare occasionswhen they were alone Milly curled up on the divan before the fire anddozed until she went to bed, --"dead tired. "

There was scarcely a single productive moment in these busy days. YetMilly would have resented the accusation that she was an idle woman inany sense. She had the feeling of being pressed, of striving to overtakeher engagements, which gave a pleasant touch of excitement to cityexistence. That she should DO anything more than keep theirsmall home running smoothly and pleasantly--an attractive spot forfriends to come to--and keep herself personally as smart and youthfuland desirable as her circumstances permitted, she would never admit. Awoman's hold on the world, she was convinced, lay in her looks and hercharms, not in her character. And what man who had anything of a man inhim would expect more of his wife?... Her husband, at any rate, gave nosign of expecting more from _his_ wife. All their friends consideredthem a contented and delightful young couple.... 

It should be added that Milly was a member of the "Consumers' League, "though she paid no attention to their rules, and had been put on a"Woman's Immigration Bureau" at the instance of Hazel Fredericks, whowas active in that movement just then. She also had a number of poorfamilies to look after, to whom she was supposed to act as friend andguide. She fulfilled this obligation by raising money for them from themen she knew. "What most people need most is money, " Millyphilosophized.... All told, her public activities occupied Milly alittle more than an hour a week. 

 * * * * *

As a whole, Milly looked back over her life in New York withsatisfaction. They had a pleasant if somewhat cramped home and a greatmany warm friends who were very kind to them. They were both well, as arule, though usually tired, as every one was, and the child, thoughdelicate, was reasonably well. Jack was liked at _Bunker's_, and hisperiods of depression and restlessness became less frequent. They weresettling down properly into their place in the scheme of things. Butsometimes Milly found life monotonous and a trifle gray, even in NewYork. 

"Love is the only thing in a woman's life that can compensate!" sheconfided to Clive Reinhard. 

And the novelist, trained confessor of women's souls, let her think thathe understood. 

V

A SHOCK

Milly supposed their life would go on indefinitely like this. She livedmuch in the slight fluctuations of the present, with its immediategratifications and tribulations. It seemed to her foolish to take longviews, as Jack did sometimes, and wonder what the years might bringforth. Life had always been full enough of interesting change. 

The most disturbing fact at present was the difficulty they had indeciding where to go for the summers. The question came up every spring, the first warm days of March, when Bragdon developed fag and headaches. Then it was he would suggest "chucking the whole thing, " but thatobviously, with their present way of living, they could not do. So itresolved itself into a discussion of boarding-places. It had to be someplace near enough the city to permit of Bragdon's going to his office atleast three or four times a week. One summer they boarded at an inferiorhotel on Long Island. That had been unsatisfactory because of the foodand the people. Another summer they took a furnished cottage, inConnecticut. That had been hot, and Milly found housekeeping throughoutthe year burdensome--and it may be added expensive. As the third summerapproached, Bragdon talked of staying in the city until midsummer. Millyand the child could go to the Maine coast with the Fredericks, and hewould join them for a few weeks in August. Milly accepted thiscompromise as a happy solution and looked forward to a really cool andrestful summer. 

While she was making her arrangements, there was a threatened upheavalin their life. This time it was the magazine. There had been growingfriction in _Bunker's_ for some time. The magazine, having to maintainits reputation, had become more and more radical, while the proprietor, under the influence of prosperity and increasing years, had become moreconservative. 

"You see, " Hazel Fredericks explained, "the Bunkers find reform isn'tfashionable the farther up they get, and the magazine is committed toreform and so is Billman. There must be a break some day. "

She further hinted that if it had not been for Grace's strong hand, thebreak would have already come. 

"She's not ready for Montie to get out, yet, " she said. 

Milly was much interested in the intrigue, but she could learn littlefrom her husband, who always expressed a weary disgust with the topic. One evening in early June, just before her departure, he told her that_Bunker's_ had changed hands: a "syndicate" had bought it, and heprofessed not to know whose money was in the syndicate. Hazel hintedthat Grace Billman knew.... 

Bragdon seemed more than usually fagged this spring, after his annualattack of the grippe. He had not recovered quickly, and his face waswhite and flabby, as the faces of city men commonly were in the spring. Milly noticed the languor in his manner when he came to the train to seeher off for the summer. 

"Do be careful of yourself, Jack, " she counselled with genuine concern. He did not reply, merely kissed the little girl, and smiled wearily. 

"Try to get away early--in July, " were her last words. 

Jack nodded and turned back to the steaming city. Milly, reflecting witha sigh that her husband was usually like this in the spring, sank backinto her chair and opened _Life_. For several weeks after that partingshe heard nothing from Jack, although she wrote with what for her wasgreat promptness. Then she received a brief letter that contained theastonishing news of his having left the magazine. "There have beenchanges in the new management, " he wrote, "and it seemed best to getout. " But neither Billman nor Fredericks had felt obliged to leave themagazine, she learned from Hazel. 

She could not understand. She telegraphed for further details and urgedhim to join her at once and take his vacation. He replied vaguely thatsome work was detaining him in the city, and that he might come later. "The city isn't bad, " he said. And with that Milly had to contentherself.... The summer place filled rapidly, and she was occupied withimmediate interests. She said to Hazel, --"It's so foolish of Jack tostay there in that hot city when he might be comfortably resting herewith us!" Hazel made no reply, and Milly vaguely wondered if she knewmore about the situation on the magazine than she would tell. 

It was in August, in a sweltering heat which made itself felt evenbeside the Maine sea, that a telegram came from Clive Reinhard, verybrief but none the less disturbing. "Your husband here ill--bettercome. " The telegram was dated from Caromneck, --Reinhard's place on theSound.... 

By the time Milly had made the long journey her husband was dead. Reinhard met her at the station in his car. She always rememberedafterwards that gravelly patch before the station, with its rows ofmotor-cars waiting for the men about to arrive from the city on theafternoon trains, and Reinhard's dark little face, which did not smileat her approach. 

"He was sick when he came out, " he explained brusquely; "don't believehe ever got over that last attack of grippe.... It was pneumonia: thedoctor said his heart was too weak. "

It was the commonplace story of the man working at high pressure, oftenunder stimulants, who has had the grippe to weaken him, so that when thestrain comes there is no resistance, no reserve. He snaps like a sappedreed.... The tears rolled down Milly's face, and Reinhard looked away. He said nothing, and for the first time Milly thought him hard andunsympathetic. When the car drew up before his door, he helped her downand silently led the way to the darkened room on the floor above, thenleft her alone with her dead husband. 

 * * * * *

When a woman looks on the face of her dead comrade, it should not bealtogether sad. Something of the joy and the tenderness of theirintimacy should rise then to temper the sharpness of her grief. It wasnot so with Milly. It was wholly horrible to plunge thus, as it were, from the blinding light of the full summer day into the gloom of death. Her husband's face seemed shrunken and pallid, but curiously youthful. Into it had crept again something of that boyish confidence--the joyousswagger of youth--which he had when they sat in the Chicago beer-garden. It startled Milly, who had not recalled those days for a long time. Underneath his mustache the upper lip was twisted as if in pain, and thesunken eyes were mercifully closed. He had gone back to his youth, thehappy time of strength and hope when he had expected to be a painter.... 

Milly fell on her knees by his side and sobbed without restraint. Yether grief was less for him than for herself, --rather, perhaps, for themboth. Somehow they had missed the beautiful dream they had dreamedtogether eight years before in the beer-garden. She realized bitterlythat their married life, which should have been so wonderful, had cometo the petty reality of these latter days. So she sobbed and sobbed, herhead buried on the pillow beside his still head--grieved for him, forherself, for life. And the dead man lay there on the white bed, in thedim light, with his closed eyes, that mirage of recovered youth hauntinghis pale cheeks. 

When she left him after a time, Reinhard met her in the hall. She wasnot conscious of the swift, furtive glance he gave her, as if he woulddiscover in her that last intimacy with her husband. When he spoke, hewas very gentle with her. He was about to motor into the city to makesome arrangements and would not return until the morning, leaving to herthe silent house with her dead. She was conscious of all his kindnessand delicate forethought, and mumbled her thanks. He had alreadynotified Bragdon's older brother, who was coming from the Adirondacksand would attend to all the necessary things for her. As he turned toleave, Milly stopped him with a half question, --

"I didn't know Jack was visiting you. "

The novelist hastened to reply:--

"You see he had promised to do another book for me, and came out to talkit over. That was last Saturday. "

"Oh!"

"He was not well then, " he added, and then he went. 

 * * * * *

He never told her--she never knew--that he had run across Bragdon quiteby accident one day of awful heat, and stopped to exchange a few wordswith an old friend he had not seen for some time. Bragdon had the limpappearance of a man thoroughly done by the heat, and also to thenovelist's keen eye the mentally listless attitude of the man who hasbeen done by life before his time, --the look of one who knows he is not"making good" in the fight. That was what had tortured the lip beneaththe mustache. 

So on the spur of the moment he had suggested to the artist the newbook, though he knew that his publisher would demur. For his fame hadraised him altogether out of Bragdon's class. But it was the onlytangible way of putting out that helping hand the artist so obviouslyneeded just then. Bragdon had hesitated, as if he knew the motiveprompting the offer, then accepted, and the two had motored out of thecity together that evening. Even then the artist had a high fever.... 

 * * * * *

That night Milly lived over like a vivid nightmare her married life downto the least detail, --the time of golden hopes and aspirations, Parisand Europe, her disillusionment, the futile scurry of their life in NewYork, which she realized was a compromise without much result.... Itended in a choke rather than a sob. There was so little left!

In the morning Reinhard reappeared with her brother-in-law. Sheremembered little of what was done afterwards, in the usual, orderedway, until after the brief service and the journey to the grave she wasleft alone in their old home. She had wished to be alone. So HazelFredericks took Virginia to the Reddons and left Milly for this nightand day to collect herself from her blow and decide with herbrother-in-law's help just what she should do. 

VI

THE SECRET

The large "studio" room of the apartment had an unfamiliar air ofdisorderliness about it. Bragdon's easel was there and his uncleanedpalette. Also a number of canvases were scattered about. These lastweeks, after he had left the magazine--voluntarily as Milly nowlearned--he had got together all his painter's things and worked in theempty apartment. When Milly began to pick up the odds and ends, she wassurprised at the number of canvases. A few of them she recognized aspictures he had attempted in his brief vacations. Almost everything wasunfinished--merely an impression seized here and there and vigorouslydashed down in color, as if the artist were afraid of losing itsdefinite outline in the rush and interruption of his life. Nothing wasreally finished she saw, as she turned the canvases back to the wall, one by one. Tears started to her eyes again. The tragedy of life waslike the tragedy of death--the incomplete! The nearest thing to afinished picture was the group done in Brittany of herself, Yvonne, andthe baby on the gleaming sands, which he had tried to get ready for theNew York exhibition on their return. That had the superficial finish ofmechanical work from which the creator's inspiration has alreadydeparted. With a sigh she turned it to the wall with the others, andsomehow she recalled what Reinhard has said once about her husband. 

"He had more of the artist in him than any of us when he was incollege--what has become of it?"

The remark stabbed her now. What had he done with his gift--what hadthey made of it?... 

She came to the last things, --the canvas he had been working on the dayhis friend had found him. The touch of fever was in it, --a grotesquehead, --but it was as vivid as fresh paint. Yes, he had been one whocould see things! She had a sense of pride in the belief. 

Another of Reinhard's sayings came back to her, --

"It's all accident from the very beginning in the womb what comes to anyof us, and most of all whether we catch on in the game of life, whetherwe fit!"

The novelist himself, she knew, had not "caught on" at first. He hadconfessed to her that he had almost starved in New York, writing storiesthat nobody would read and few publishers could be induced toprint--then. They were the uttermost best he had in him, and some hadbeen successful since, but they didn't fit then. Suddenly he arrived byaccident. A slight thing he had done caught the fancy of an actress, whohad a play made out of it, in which she was a great success. A sort ofreflected glory came to the author of the story, and the actress withunusual generosity paid him a good sum of money. From that first touchof golden success he had become a different man. His new and popularperiod set in when he wrote stories about rich and childish boys andgirls and their silly love affairs. Hazel Fredericks and her setaffected to despise them, but they were immensely popular. 

If he had sold himself, as his critics said, he had made a sharp bargainwith the devil. He had become prosperous, well-known, envied, invited. Milly had always admired his intelligence in grasping his chance when itcame. 

She remembered now another story about the popular novelist. He hadnever married, and the flippant explanation of the fact was that he wasunder contract with his publishers not to marry until he was fifty inorder not to impair his popularity among his bonbon-eating clientèle, who wrote him intimate, scented letters. But she knew the truth. She hadthe story from the sister of the girl, whom she had met in Paris. Thegirl was poor and trying to paint; they met in the garret-days whenReinhard "was writing to please himself, " as they say. The two wereobviously deeply in love, and only their common poverty, it wassupposed, prevented the marriage. It was still desperate love when thefortunate accident befell Reinhard that led him out of obscurity tofame. It was then that the affair had been broken off. The sister foundthe poor girl in tears with a horrible resolve to throw herself away. (Later she married a rich man, and was very happy with him, the sisteraverred. ) Milly had always felt that Reinhard must have been "hard" withthis poor girl, --he would not let his feeling for her stand in the wayof his career. Now she understood better why he would have none of hersex except as buyers of his wares. She admired him and disliked him forit all at once. That was what Jack should have done with her. But he wastoo tender-hearted, too much the mere man.... Oh, well, these artistswith their needs and their temperaments!

Slowly Milly went over all the sketches, one by one. It was like afragmentary diary of the life she had lived beside and not looked atclosely while it was in being. She was surprised there were so manyrecent ones--all unfinished. She could not recall when he had done themor where. It proved that Bragdon had never really given up the idea ofpainting. The desire had stung him all the time, and every now and thenhe must have yielded to it, stealing away from the piffling duties ofthe magazine office--spat on popular art, so to speak--and shut himselfaway somewhere to forget and to do. Milly remembered certain unexplainedabsences, which had mystified her at the time and aroused suspicionsthat he "was having another affair. " On his returns he had been moroseand dispirited. Evidently the mistress he had wooed in this intermittentand casual fashion had not been kind. But the desire had never lefthim, --the urge to paint, to create. And during these last desperate dayswhen, fevered, he was stumbling towards his end, he had seized the brushand gone back to his real work.... 

At last she had reached the bottom of the pile--the Brittany sketches. These she looked over as one might views of a past episode in life. Thememories of those foreign days rushed over her with a sad sort of joy. There, they had been completely happy--at least she thought sonow--until that hateful woman had taken her husband from her. She hadalmost forgotten the Russian baroness. Now with a start of freshinterest she thought of the portrait and wondered where it was, --themasterful picture of the one who had ruined her happiness. She lookedthrough the clutter again, thinking that it was probably with theRussian wherever she was. But the portrait was there with the rest, wrapped carefully in a piece of old silk. 

With eager hands Milly undid the cover of the picture and dragged itforward to the light. It was as if an old passion had burst from thecloset of the past. There she was, long, lean, cruel, --posed on herhaunches with upturned smiling face, --"The woman who would eat. " Shelived there on the canvas, eternally young and strong. Milly couldadmire the mastery of the painting even in the swell of her hatred forthe woman who had taken her lover-husband from her. He was young when hehad done that, --barely twenty-seven. A man who could paint like that attwenty-seven ought to have gone far. Even Milly in the gloom of herprejudiced soul felt something like awe for the power in him, whichseemingly justified the wrong he had done her. Even Milly perceived thetragic laws stronger than herself, larger than her little world ofdomestic moralities. And thus, gazing on her husband's masterpiece, sherealized that her hatred for the woman who she believed had done her thegreatest wrong one woman can do another was not real. It was not theBaroness Saratoff who had cheated her: it was life itself! She no longerfelt eager to know whether they had been lovers, --as the saying is, had"deceived" her. For this ghostly examination of her husband's workconvinced her that Jack did not belong to her, never had, --the stronger, better part of him. She had lived for eight years, more or less happily, with a stranger. She understood now that domestic intimacy, the pettyexchanges of daily life, even the habit of physical passion, cannot maketwo souls one.... 

She turned at last from the picture with weariness, a heavy heart. Ithad all been wrong, their marriage, and still more wrong their going onwith it "in the brave way. " Well, _he_ was done with the mistake atlast, and he could not be sorry. She was almost glad for him. 

 * * * * *

Her brother-in-law had asked her to look through her husband's papersfor an insurance policy he thought Jack had taken on his advice. In theold desk Bragdon had used there was a mass of letters and bills, a greatmany unpaid bills, some of which she had given him months and monthsbefore and had supposed were paid. There were two letters in an oddforeign hand that she knew instantly must be the Russian woman's. Thefirst was dated from the _manoir_ at Klerac on the evening of theirsudden departure. Milly hesitated a moment as if she must respect thesecrets of the dead, then with a last trace of jealousy tore it open andread the lines:--

 ... "So you have decided--you are going back. You will give up all that you have won, all that might be yours, --and ours. I knew it would be so. The puritan in you has won the day, --the weak side. You will never be content with what you are doing, never. I have seen far enough within your soul to know that.... I ask nothing for myself--I have had enough, --no, not that, --but more than I could hope. But for you, who have the great power in you, it is not right. You cannot live like that.... Some day you will be glad as I am that we were not little people, but drank life when it was at our lips. "

Milly dropped the letter and stared blankly at the dark wall opposite. What it revealed did not come to her with shock, because she had alwaysfelt sure that it had been so. What startled her was the realization forthe first time how much the experience had meant to both, --theexamination of the picture and the silence of death enabled her tounderstand that. He had had the strength--or was it rather weakness?--todo "the right thing, " to renounce love and fulfilment and fame becauseof her and their child. It came over her in a flash that she could nothave done as much. Give up love that was strong and creative--no, never, not for all the right and convention on the earth. Any more than theRussian woman would have given it up! Women were braver than mensometimes. 

She folded the letter and put it back in its envelope with a curiousfeeling of relief, a sort of gladness that he had had even the littlethere was--those few days of fulfilment, of the diviner other life whichwith all the years between them they had failed to grasp. 

It was the most generous, the most genuine, the most humiliating momentof Milly's life. Yes, she was glad that in all the drab reality of theirlife, --in spite of the bills, the worry, the defeat, --he had had hisgreat moments of art and love. They were not stolen from her: suchmoments cannot be stolen from anybody. She wished that he might onlyknow how freely she was glad, --not forgave him, because forgiveness hadnothing to do with it. She understood, at last, and was glad. If heshould come back to life now by some miracle, she would have the courageafter this self-revelation to leave him, to send him back, if not toher, --at least to his great work. Only that, too, might now be toolate--alas!

With a quiet dignity that was new, Milly opened the other letter. It wasdated only a few weeks before from some small place in Russia. MadameSaratoff explained briefly that she was now living with her children onher mother's estate in central Russia, and she described the life therein its perfect monotony, like the flat country, with its half animalpeople. "I live like one of those eastern people, " she wrote, "dreamingof what has been in my life. " She had heard accidentally of the Americanfrom some one who had met him in New York. He was no longer painting, she understood, but engaged in other work. That was sad. It was amistake always not to do that which one could do with most joy. In thewhirlpool of this life there was so much waste matter, so little thatwas complete and perfect, that no one with power had the right not toexercise it. 

She sent this letter with the picture he had made of her. It belongedmore to him than to her because he had created it--the man's part--whileshe had merely offered the accidental cause, --the woman's share. Andfurther she wished to torture him always with this evidence of what oncehad been in him; not with _her_ face, --that doubtless had already fadedfrom his mind. But no other one had he fixed eternally by his art as hehad hers. Of that she was sure. "Farewell. "

It was cold; it was cruel. And it must have burned the artist like acidon his wound. The letters should have gone with him to his grave.... 

With a sense of finality, --that this was the real end, the end of hermarriage, --Milly did up the letters carefully and folded the piece ofold silk about the portrait. They must be returned to the BaronessSaratoff. And now for the first time since they had met and married, everything seemed clear and settled between her and her husband. She wasleft with her little girl "to face life, " as the saying is. 

And Milly bravely turned her face towards life. 

VII

BEING A WIDOW

Many times during the ensuing months Milly had occasion to recall theremark of a clever woman she had once heard. "There's no place in modernsociety for the widow. " She came to believe that the Suttee custom was afrank and on the whole a merciful recognition of the situation. Everyone was kind to her, --unexpectedly, almost embarrassingly kind, as isthe way with humanity. But Milly knew well enough that no one can livefor any considerable period on sympathy and the kindness of friends. Theprovoking cause for any emotion must be renewed constantly. 

It would have been much easier, of course, if her husband had left herand his child "comfortably off, " or even with a tiny income. Instead, there were the bills, which seemed to shower down like autumn leavesfrom every quarter. The kindly brother-in-law, who undertook tostraighten out affairs, became impatient, then severe towards the end. What had they done with their money? For Bragdon until the last weekshad been earning a very fair income. Nothing seemed paid. On theapartment only the first thousand dollars had been paid, and all therest was mortgage and loan from him. Even the housekeeping bills for theyear before had not been fully settled. (It seemed that one had merelyto live with a false appearance of prosperity to secure easy credit, ina social system that compels only the very poor to pay on the nail. )

Milly could not explain the condition of their affairs. She had no ideathey were "so far behind. " She was sure that she had given Jack most ofthe bills and supposed that he had taken care of them. She protestedthat she had always been economical, and she thought she had been, because there were so many more things she wanted, --things that alltheir friends seemed to have. When confronted by the figures showingthat they had spent seven, nine, eleven thousand dollars a year, --andyet had many unpaid bills, --she could not believe them andstammered, --"I know I'm not a good manager--not really. But all that!You must be mistaken. " Then the business man showed his irritation. Figures did not lie: he wished every woman could be taught that axiom ather mother's knee.... 

"We lived so simply, " Milly protested. "Just two maids most of thetime, --three this winter, but, " etc. In the end the brother-in-lawgathered up all the unsettled bills and promised to pay them. He wouldnot have his brother's name tarnished. And he arranged for anadvantageous lease of the apartment from the first of the next month, sothat after paying charges and interest there would be a little incomeleft over for Milly. Here he stopped and made it clear to Milly thatalthough he should do what he could for his brother's child, she mustsee what she could do for herself, and what her own people offered her. Big Business had been disturbed of late. He was obliged to cut his ownexpenses. First and last he had done a good deal for Jack. His wifecalled Milly "extravagant"--Milly had never found her congenial. In theend Milly felt that her brother-in-law was "hard, " and she resolved thatneither she nor her child should ever trouble him again. 

She had already written her father of her bereavement, and receivedpromptly from Horatio a long, rambling letter, full of warm sympathy andconsolation of the religious sort. "We must remember, dear daughter, that these earthly losses in our affections are laid upon us for ourspiritual good, " etc. Milly smiled at the thoroughness with which hervolatile father had absorbed the style of the Reverend Herman Bowler ofthe Second Presbyterian. To Milly's surprise, there was not a word ofpractical help, beyond a vague invitation, --"I hope we shall see yousome day in our simple home in Elm Park. Josephine, I'm sure, willwelcome you and my granddaughter. "

Milly very much doubted whether the hard-featured Josephine wouldwelcome her husband's widowed daughter. In fact she saw the fear ofJosephine in her father's restrained letter. She contemplated a returnto Chicago as a last resort, but it was sad to feel that she wasn'twanted.... 

At this point Milly began to reproach her husband for failing to leaveher and his child with resources. "He ought to have made some sort ofprovision for his family--every man should, " she said to herself. Therewas manifest injustice in this "man-made world, " where a good wife couldbe left penniless with a child to care for. 

Milly always thought of herself as "a good wife, " by which she meantspecifically that she had been a chaste and faithful wife. That was whatthe phrase in its popular use meant, just as "a good woman" meant merely"a pure woman. " If any one had questioned Milly's virtue as a wife, shewould have felt outraged. If any one had said that she was a bad wife, or at least an indifferent wife, she would have felt insulted. A girlwho gave herself to a man, lived with him for eight of her best years, bore him a child and had been faithful to him in body, must be "a goodwife, " and as such deserved a better fate of society than to be leftpenniless. All her friends said it was a very hard situation. 

 * * * * *

These same friends were endeavoring to do their best for her, pricked bysympathy with her evident need. If it had not been for a cheque for twothousand dollars, which Clive Reinhard sent her, "in payment for yourhusband's work on the new contract, " Milly would soon have been withouta dollar in her purse. She took Reinhard's cheque thankfully, withoutsuspecting her right to it. Others might suspect. For there was nocontract, no illustrations made--nothing but the novelist's recognitionof a need. The cheque was merely one of the ways he took of squaringhimself with his world. 

When Milly's women friends heard of it, they said with onevoice, --"Thank heaven! If Clive Reinhard would only marry Milly--heought to!"

Which merely meant that, as he was a rich bachelor who had amassed moneyby exploiting the sentimental side of their sex, there would be a poeticjustice in his chivalrously stepping into the breach and looking afterhis dead friend's helpless widow. It would make up for "the others, "they said, and were enthusiastic over their sentimental plan. 

"Milly would make a charming hostess in that big country place ofClive's. It would give her a free hand. What Milly has always wanted isa free hand--she has the ability. And Clive is getting pudgy and set. Heought to marry--he's too dreadfully selfish and self-centred, " etc. 

Mrs. Montgomery Billman took the affair specially in charge. Of course adecent time must elapse after poor Jack's death, but meanwhile there wasno harm in bringing the two together. The masterful wife of theResponsible Editor conceived the scheme of having a private exhibitionand sale of Bragdon's work, and that took many interviews and muchdiscussion on Sunday evenings when the hostess tactfully left the two tothemselves before the fire, while she retired "to finish my letters. "When she returned, however, she found them dry-eyed and silent orchatting about some irrelevant commonplace. The private exhibition cameoff during the winter in the "Bunker's Barn, " as they called the bigRiverside Drive house. A good many cards were scattered about inliterary and artistic and moneyed circles; tea was poured by the ladiesinterested; Milly appeared in her widow's black, young and charming. Anumber of people came and a few bought. Mrs. Billman contented herselfwith the sketch of a magazine cover representing a handsome woman and ayoung boy, which was said to resemble herself and her son. On the wholethe sale would have been a dreary failure if it had not been forBunker's liberal purchases and Reinhard's taking all that was unsold "todispose of privately among Jack's friends. "

The hard truth was that Jack Bragdon had not shaken the New Yorkfirmament, certainly had not knocked a gilt star from its zenith. Atthirty-two he was just a promising failure, one of the grist that thelarge city eats annually. And his friends were not powerful enough tomake up for his lack of _réclame_. "He had a gift--slight though. Nothing much done--charming fellow--died just as he was starting, poorchap!" so the words went. If the portrait of the Russian had been there, the tone might have been less patronizing; but Milly had already sentthis off on its long journey. 

The practical result was fifteen hundred dollars, of which Bunkercontributed a thousand, and various convenient sums that dribbled inopportunely from the novelist, "whenever he was able to make a sale. " (Agood many of Jack Bragdon's things ultimately will come under the hammerwhen the Reinhard house is broken up. )

And that romance which Milly's friends had staged came to nothing. Reinhard called on her often, was very kind to her, and reallysolicitous for her welfare; he also was charming to little Virginia, whocalled him Uncle Clive; and he had both at his country place for longvisits, --abundantly chaperoned. Nothing could have been "nicer" than thenovelist's attitude to his friend's widow, all the women declared, andit must have been _her_ fault--or else that "other affair" had gonedeeper with him than any one supposed. 

Milly herself was not averse to entertaining a new "hope. " Hermarriage seemed so utterly dead that she felt free to indulge in anew sentiment. But the novelist looked at her out of his beady, blackeyes, --indulgently, kindly, --but through and through, as if he had knownher before she was born and knew the worth of every heart-beat inher.... Gradually beneath that scalping gaze she grew to dislike him, almost to hate him for his indifference. "He must be horrid with women, "she said to Hazel, who admitted that "there have been stories--a manliving by himself, as he does!"

And so this solution came to naught. 

 * * * * *

Milly was "up against it again, " as she said to herself. Her smallbank-account was fast melting away. (She had her own sheaf of bills thatshe had not cared to present to her brother-in-law, and she found that apenniless widow has poor credit. ) Collectors came with a disagreeablepromptness and followed her with an unerring scent through her variouschanges of residence. It became known among her friends that "Milly mustreally do something. "

The competent wife of the Responsible Editor thought it ought not to bedifficult to find something of "a social nature" for Milly to do. "Yourgift is people, " she said flatteringly. "Let me think it over for a dayor two, and I'm sure the right idea will come to me. "

She promptly turned the problem over to Mrs. Bunker, with whom she stillmaintained amicable relations. That lady in due time wrote Milly a noteand asked her to call the next morning. Milly went with humbled pride, but with a misgiving due to her previous experiences in the parasiticfield of woman's work. When after many preambles and explanations, punctuated by "like that, you know, " "all that sort of thing, " "we'llhave to see, " etc. , the good lady got to her offer, it sounded like acombination of lady-housekeeper and secretary. With considerabledecision Milly said that she did not feel qualified for the work, butMrs. Bunker was most kind; she would consider her offer and let herknow, and left. She had decided already. The memory of her work forEleanor Kemp, --the humiliation and the triviality of this form ofdisguised charity, --had convinced her, and Eleanor Kemp was a lady and afriend and a competent person, all of which Mrs. Howard Bunker was not. "I'd scrub floors first, " Milly said stoutly, and straightway despatcheda ladylike refusal of the proffered job. 

("I thought you said she was in great need, " Mrs. Bunker telephoned Mrs. Billman in an injured tone of voice. "She is!" "Well, you wouldn't thinkso, " the Bunkeress flashed back. "It's so hard to help that sort. Youknow, the kind that have been ladies!" "I know, " the Editress rejoined, without the glimmer of a smile. )

 * * * * *

The only one of all Milly's friends beside the novelist who camepromptly to the rescue at this crisis was Marion Reddon, --the one Millyhad seen least of since she had been thoroughly launched in New York. Marion with her puritan directness went to the point at once. 

"What you want is a place to stay in while you look around. You andVirginia come to us. The hang-out, as Sam calls it, isn't large, butthere's always room somehow. "

Milly demurred at first, but later when Marion Reddon was obliged todepart hurriedly for the south because one of the children wasthreatened with tuberculosis, she gratefully accepted the offer of theReddons' apartment during their absence. She moved from theboarding-house where she had been staying between visits to the topfloor of the flimsy building behind Grant's Tomb in which the Reddonshad perched themselves latterly. Virginia was obliged to leave herschool where "the very nicest children all went, " which was a keenregret to Milly, for she had already formed ambitions for her daughter. The contrast of her own pretty apartment with the shabby, worn rooms ofthe Reddon flat brought home to her, as nothing else had, her precarioussituation. And she set herself vigorously to meet it. 

VIII

THE WOMAN'S WORLD

Milly's most intimate friend was Hazel Fredericks. That restless, keenyoung woman, after experimenting variously in settlement work, hygienefor the poor, and immigration, had concentrated her interests on thewoman movement then coming more and more into notice. The agitation forthe suffrage, it seemed to her, was the effective expression of alladvanced, radical ideas for which she had always worked. Her activity inthe movement had brought her into close relations with some of the localleaders, among whom were a few women socially prominent, as everybodyknows. (In this way she had eclipsed her old rival, Mrs. Billman, whohad kept to Art and Society. ) Hazel was on intimate terms with a veryrich young married woman, who lived apart from her husband, "for thevery best of reasons, my dear, " and who spoke in private houses on theCause. 

In those happier days when Milly still had her own little place in theworld, she had rather made fun of Hazel's views and imputed them tosocial ambition. "She wants to be talked about, " she said. But since theexperience of widowhood, Milly was changing her mind and listened muchmore attentively to all that Hazel had to say about "the womanmovement, "--the "endowment of motherhood, " the "necessity for thevote, "--and read "What Forty Thousand Women Want, " "Love and Marriage, "and other handbooks of the Cause. 

One of the theories with which Milly most heartily agreed was that thelabor of women in the home should be paid just as the labor of men. Milly felt that she had a valid claim for a number of years' wages stilldue her. This and other subjects she talked over with Hazel and becamefired with enthusiasm for the Cause. Now, in her need of work, sheasked, --

"Why shouldn't I do something for the movement?"

"I've been thinking of that, " Hazel replied, with a shade of hesitationin her voice. 

"You said there were paid secretaries and organizers. "

"Yes--there are some, and we need more. "

She did not explain that there were hundreds of eager young women, college graduates and social workers, younger and much better informedand more modern than Milly, --in a word, trained women. She did not wishto discourage Milly, and believed she had enough influence with Mrs. Laverne (the pretty married worker) and with Mrs. Exeter, the socialleader most prominently identified with the Cause, to work Milly intosome paid place. So she said reflectively, --

"There's to be a most important meeting of the leaders in the movementat Mrs. Exeter's, and I'll see what I can do. "

With a laughing "Votes for Women" and "For a Woman's World, " the twofriends kissed and parted. Shortly afterwards a card came to Milly froma very grand person in the social world, a name that is quite familiarwherever newspapers penetrate. The card invited Mrs. John Bragdon totake part in a meeting of those interested in the Woman Forward Movementon the evening of the twentieth, at which addresses would be made bycertain well-known people. The last name on the list of speakers wasthat of Mrs. Stanfield Fredericks. Milly was much excited. She was eagerto go to the meeting, if for no better reason than from a naturalcuriosity to see the famous house, so often the theme of newspaperhyperbole. Also she was anxious to hear Hazel talk. But she doubted thepropriety of her going anywhere so early in her widowhood. While she wasdebating this point with herself the telephone rang and Hazel Fredericksasked if she had received the card. 

"You're going, of course?"

There followed a long feminine discussion over the propriety ofaccepting, the dress to be worn, etc. Hazel insisted that this occasionwas not really social, but business, and steadily bore down Milly'sscruples. "There'll be a great crush. It won't make any difference whatyou wear--nobody'll know!"

Milly went. She had to bribe the raw Swedish servant to remain in thatevening with little Virginia, and she went to the expense of a cab inorder not to arrive at the grand house in a sloppy and tousledcondition. It was in many respects a thrilling experience. Once insidethe glassed vestibule on the marble steps, Milly felt that she would nothave missed it for a great deal. In the first place she enjoyed seeingthe solemn liveried men servants, one of whom proffered pamphletliterature of the suffrage cause on a large silver tray. (The littlebooks were sold at a good price, and Milly dropped another dollar or twoin acquiring stuff that she could have had for nothing from HazelFredericks, whose apartment ran over with this "literature. ")

Having supplied herself with the ammunition of the Cause, she followedthe throng into the celebrated ball-room hung with beautiful oldtapestries and with a ceiling stolen bodily from a French château. For atime the richness and the gayety of the scene sufficiently occupiedMilly's attention. After the sombre experiences through which she hadbeen and her present drab environment, it all seemed like fairyland. Shetried to guess who the important-looking people were. A few were alreadyknown to her by sight, and others she recognized from their newspaperportraits. There was a majority of elegantly dressed women, and aminority of amused or bored-looking men. 

At last the gathering was hushed by the voice of the hostess, --a plumpand plethoric person, who said wheezily that in assembling here to-nightthere were two objects in view: first, to hear cheering words of wisdomfrom the leaders of the Cause, and secondly, to show the world that thecultivated and leisure classes were for the Emancipation of Woman. Itwas a democratic movement, she observed, and the toiling sisters most inneed of the vote were not with them to-night. But all effective revolts, she asserted, started from above, among the aristocrats. They must rousethe womanhood of the nation, the common womanhood that now slumbered inignorant content, to a sense of their wrongs, their slavery. Shemurmured _noblesse oblige_ and sat down. Thereat a little bespectacledlady bobbed up at her side and began reading a poem in a low, intensevoice. There were interminable verses. The well-dressed, well-dined menand women in the audience began to show signs of restlessness andboredom, although they kept quiet in a well-bred way. One lone man witha lean, humorous face, who was jammed into the corner beside Milly, looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. She could not help smilingback, but immediately recomposed her face to seriousness. 

The verses ended after a time, as all things must end, and the speechesfollowed, --the first by a very earnest, dignified woman, --a noted workeramong the poor, --who argued practically that this man-governed world wasa failure, from the point of view of the majority, the unprotectedworkers, and therefore women should be permitted to do what they couldto better things. There was a slight murmur of appreciation--rather forherself than for her argument--when she sat down. She was followed by apompous little man, who made a legal speech with lumbering attempts athumor. Milly was much impressed by the long list of legal disabilitieshe cited which women suffered in this "man-made world, " and which shehad not hitherto suspected. The man by her side was yawning, and Millyfelt like reproving him. 

After the pompous judge came the star of the performance, --the prettylittle woman who was separated from her husband. She was very becominglydressed, much excited apparently, and swayed to and fro as she talked. Sometimes she closed her eye in a frenetic vision of women's wrongs, then suddenly opened them wide upon her audience with flashingindignation, as old-fashioned actresses once did. After the dull pleasof the preceding speakers, based on general principles and equity, thiswas an impassioned invective against the animal man. One felt that herswas a personal experience. The low, degraded nature of the sex that had, by physical force, usurped the rule of the universe was dramaticallyexposed. Milly glowed with sympathy while she listened, though she couldnot explain why, as her experience with men had not been with lechers, drunkards, wife-beaters. The men she had known had been on the whole afairly clean, hard-working, kindly lot, yet she knew instinctively, asshe often said, that "All men are alike, " by which she meant tyrannicaland corrupt in regard to women.... The audience listened closely to thespeaker. No doubt their interest was increased by the gossip every oneknew, --how her husband had struck her at a restaurant, how he haddragged her by the hair, cut her with a bottle from her owndressing-table, etc. Milly noticed that Hazel Fredericks and thesettlement worker kept their heads lowered disapprovingly. The man nexther twisted his quizzical face into a smile, and turning to Milly as thespeaker stopped, amid a burst of applause, said frankly and simply as toan old friend, --

"Whew--what rot!"

Milly could not help smiling back at the engaging stranger, but sheprotested stoutly, --

"I don't think so!"

Before they could extend their remarks, the next speaker, a rich widowwell-known for her large charities, was addressing the audience in low, earnest tones. Her theme was taken from the poet's verses: she pleadedfor the full emancipation of Woman as man's equal comrade in the advanceof the race. It was a vague, poetic rhapsody, disconnected in thought, and made slight impression on Milly. The last speaker was HazelFredericks. Her subject was the intellectual equality of women with menand their right to do their own thinking. Milly recognized many of thepat phrases and all the ideas which were current in the magazine setwhere she had lived, --woman's self-expression and self-development, etc. It was the most carefully prepared of all the addresses and very welldelivered, and it made an excellent impression, though it containednothing original either in thought or in expression. Like Milly's famousgraduation essay on Plato it was a masterpiece of skilful quotation, butin this case the theft was less obvious and the subject was certainlyfresher. 

There was the usual movement of relieved humanity after it has beentalked to for two hours, and then the hostess rose again, and in herlanguid drawl announced that all who felt interested in the Cause wererequested to sign the "Roster" and give their addresses, so that theymight be kept in touch with the movement. The "Roster" was a veryhandsome gilt-edged, blue levatine-bound book, which was carried aboutin the crowded room by a footman, another man carrying a gold inkstandand pen. 

The stranger beside Milly murmured in her ear, --

"So Society has taken up the Cause!"

"I'm afraid, " Milly replied with an arch smile, "you don't take us quiteseriously. "

"Don't think it for one moment!" he retorted. "I don't believe I haveever taken anything so seriously in all my life as Women. "

"In what way?"

"In every way. "

He resumed in a moment, more seriously, --

"Frankly, I don't believe much is accomplished for your Cause by thissort of thing!"

His gesture included comprehensively the gorgeous room, the gorgeousassembly of socially elect, the speakers, and the liveried servants whowere now approaching their corner with the "Roster. "

"But you have to start things somehow, " Milly rejoined, rememberingHazel's arguments. "Social prestige counts in everything. "

"Is that what you need--social prestige?... I don't believe one of thosewomen who talked, including the poet, ever earned a dollar in her life!"and with a glance about the room he added, "nor any woman in this room. "

"Oh, yes--I have myself!" Milly replied promptly and proudly. 

The man looked at her sharply. 

"And that doesn't make any difference, " she continued with a superiorair; "you men are always trying to bring things down to dollars andcents. "

"You'll admit it's a tangible basis of discussion. "

"I've no doubt if they only had their rights many of them ought to bepaid a great deal for what they've done for you men. "

"I mean that not one has ever done anything really productive in herlife--has added anything to the world's supply of necessities, " hecontinued with masculine arrogance. 

"Oh?" Milly protested. 

"Not even children!" he added triumphantly, and glanced at the names onhis programme. "I don't believe they could produce a child among 'em. "

Milly knew that the women speakers of the evening happened all to bechildless women. One of them was not married, another was a widow, athird separated from her husband, and of the others at leastone--Hazel--had deliberately evaded maternity. 

"That may not be their fault!" Milly retorted with meaning. 

"True, " the man admitted. "But I'd like to hear something on thequestion from Mothers. "

"Having children isn't the only thing women are good for, " Millysuggested. 

"It's one mighty fine thing, though!"

(Milly could never understand why men, as a rule, were so enthusiasticover women who had children. )

"Aren't we getting away from the subject?" she suggested. 

Their talk was interrupted by the presence of the solemn footman withthe book of irreproachable names. To Milly's surprise her unknowncompanion grasped the pen and scrawled beneath her signature a name thatlooked like "A. Vanniman, " with the address of a well-known club. So hewas a single man!

"How could you do that?" Milly demanded accusingly. 

"Why not? I want women to vote, just as soon and as often as they like. Then they'll know how little there is in the vote and maybe get down tobrass tacks. "

"You don't really believe in women, " Milly remarked coquettishly. 

"I don't believe in this sort of flummery, no.... I want to hear fromthe waitresses, the clerks, the factory girls--the seven or eightmillions of women who are up against it every day of their lives to earna living. I want to hear what _they_ have to say about suffrage and therights of women--what _they_ want? Did you ever ask them?"

"No-o, " Milly admitted, and then recalled another of Hazel's arguments. "All those women need the vote, of course, to make laws to help themearn their living. But they haven't the time to agitate and organize. They are not educated--not expressive. "

"Not expressive!" the man exclaimed. "I wish you and all these goodwomen here could listen to my stenographer for ten minutes on what womenneed. She knows the game!"

Milly did not approve of her companion's sentiments: he clearly belongedto the large class of prejudiced males whose indifference the Cause hadto combat. But he had an interesting face and was altogether anattractive specimen of his species. She wondered who he might be. Itseemed to her that "Vanniman" had a familiar sound, and she believed hewas some man of importance in the city. 

There was a general drift towards the supper room. But Milly hesitated. She had promised Hazel to join her after the speaking and be introducedto some of the leaders, --especially to the pretty young woman who haddenounced Man, --in the hope that a paid position could be found for her. At first she could not find her friend, and then she saw Hazelsurrounded by a number of important-looking men and women, talking veryearnestly with them, and a sudden timidity came over her in the midst ofthis distinguished gathering. 

"We'd better get something to eat, " her unknown acquaintance suggested. He had waited for her, and she felt relieved to have some one to speakto. "It makes one fearfully hungry to listen to a lot of talk, don't youthink?"

So Milly went out to supper with the agreeable stranger. 

"No, " he resumed, after presenting her with a comforting beaker ofchampagne, "I've every sympathy with the woman with a job or with thewoman who wants a job. All this silly talk about the sexes makes metired. Man or woman, the job's the thing. "

"Yes!" Milly assented with heartfelt emphasis. 

"What every one needs is something to do, and women must be trained likemen for their jobs. "

He began to talk more seriously and entertainingly on the economicchanges in modern society that had produced the present state of unrestand readjustment. He sketched quite feelingly what he called theold-fashioned woman, with her heavy duties and responsibilities in thepioneer days. "The real pillar of Society--and often a domestic slave, God bless her!" he said. "But her granddaughter has become either aparasite, or another kind of slave, --an industrial slave. And the voteisn't going to help her in either case. "

Milly wondered in which class she fell. She didn't like the word"parasite, "--it sounded like a disease, --and yet she was afraid that waswhat she was. 

"I think that I must be going, " Milly said at last. She noticed that therooms were fast emptying after the food had been devoured, and she couldsee Hazel nowhere. She would call her up in the morning and congratulateher on her speech. And so with a nod to the stranger she went for herwraps. But she found him again in the vestibule, and wondered if he hadwaited for her to come down. 

"What's the name?" he asked, as the servant came forward to call hercarriage. 

"I haven't any cab, " Milly replied bravely. It was her custom these daysCinderella-like to dispense with a return cab. 

"But it's raining, " the man protested. "You must let me set you down atyour home. "

A private hansom had drawn up to the curb before the awning. "Where?" heinsisted. 

"It's an awful way out, " Milly faltered; "just take me to the nearestsubway station. "

Embarrassed by the gaze of the servant and by the waiting people behind, she got into the hansom. The man gave some sort of order to his driverand got in beside her. They trotted briskly around the corner on to theAvenue, and as it was misting heavily the driver let down the glassshield. It seemed cozy and pleasant to jog home from a party in aprivate cab, with an agreeable man by one's side. Quite like old times, Milly thought!

"You'd better let me take you all the way. Where shall I say?" and heraised the top with his stick. For a moment Milly was about to yield. She liked the sense of having a masterful man near her, overbearing herdoubts, but she still protested, --

"No, no--it's too far. Just put me down at Columbus Circle. "

The man hesitated, looked at Milly curiously, then gave the driver thedirection. Milly wondered why he had not insisted as she had expected hewould or did not again suggest driving her out, when they had reachedthe subway station. There was a time when men would not have taken nofor an answer. But he didn't--nor even ask her name. Instead hecourteously helped her to alight and raising his hat drove off. 

 * * * * *

She was depressed going up-town in the crowded, smelly, shrieking train. The meeting had not been as thrilling as she had anticipated. Hazelwould probably scold her to-morrow for not coming forward and meetingthe leaders. But she felt that the Woman Forward movement had little tooffer her in her perplexities. Hers was part of that economicmaladjustment that the good-looking stranger had talked about, and evenwith the suffrage it would take generations to do anything for womenlike her. 

What really depressed her most was the fact that her unknownacquaintance had not considered it worth while to find out her name andpave the way for further relations. She realized cynically that for thepresent at any rate the woman question came down to just this: men coulddo many pleasant and useful things for women when they were so inclined. And a woman failed when she could not interest a man sufficiently tomove him to make the advance. Of course Milly knew that the "modernwoman" would fiercely desire to be independent of all such malepatronage. But as Milly climbed wearily the long flight of stairs to herapartment, feeling tired and forlorn and very much alone in the world, she knew that in the bottom of her heart she had no wish to be "modern. "And she was even sceptical as to how sincerely the other women, likeHazel Fredericks, desired that "complete independence of the male" theychattered so much about. 

 * * * * *

When Milly turned on the electric light in the little apartment, it wasforebodingly still. She glanced at once into the room where Virginiaslept and found it empty, with the bedclothes tumbled in a heap. Sherushed to the maid's room. That too was empty and the rear door waslocked on the outside. For a moment Milly's heart ceased beating, thenwith a shriek, --"Virgie, Virgie--where are you!" she ran into the fronthall and plunged, still shrieking, down the stairs. 

A door opened on the floor below, and the figure of a large woman in arose-pink negligee confronted Milly. 

"Lookin' for yer little girl?" the stranger asked in a loud, friendlyvoice. "Well, she's all right--just come in here!"

She held open the door and pointed to the front room, where under acrocheted shawl little Virginia was curled up asleep on the divan. Millyfell beside her with an hysterical sob. The child, partly awakened, putout her thin arms and murmured sleepily, "The strange lady's very nice, but she's queer. Take me home, mama, please. "

The "strange lady, " who was looking on interestedly, explained, --

"I heard the kid runnin' round up above and cryin'--oh, that was hoursago when I first com' home--and as she kep it up cryin' as if she werescared and callin', I went up there and brought her down to stay with metill you got back.... Guess she woke up and was lonesome all byherself. "

"That brute Hilda, " Milly gasped, "must have gone off and left her. "

"They're all like that, --them Swedes, " the woman of the rose-pinknegligee agreed. "Got no more heart than a brick. "

She spoke as from a vast experience with the race. 

"The little girl has been as nice as pie, " the woman replied to Milly'sstammered thanks. "We've been real friendly. Good-by, girlie, I'll be upto-morrer some time and tell you the last of that story.... Good-night!"

Milly gathered her precious bundle in her arms and with renewed thanksstaggered back to her own quarters. 

"She's queer, mama, and something happened to her arm and leg, long ago, but she's very kind, " the small Virginia explained sleepily as hermother dropped her on her own bed. 

By "queer" Virginia merely meant that her good Samaritan was not of theclass she had been accustomed to, and did not use language precisely asher mother and her mother's friends used it. To Virginia the janitor ofthe building was "queer, " and almost all of the many thousands of herfellow-beings whom she saw daily on the streets of the great city. 

So Milly thought no more about it. 

IX

THE NEW WOMAN

But the "queer" woman in the rose-pink negligee who befriended Virginiaon the night when her mother had gone to the meeting of the WomanForward Movement in the very grand house and "the beast of a Swede"Hilda had slipped out to meet her lover beside Grant's Tomb, has more todo with Milly and the woman question itself than the suffrage meetingand all the talk there. Ernestine Geyer, for such was the woman's name, came into Milly's life rather late, but she will have much to do with ithereafter and deserves a chapter to herself to begin with. 

Incredible as it would seem to Milly, Ernestine's origin was not widelyseparated from that of Milly Ridge. She might very well have been one ofthe many little schoolmates, not exactly "nice, " who sat beside Milly onthe benches of the St. Louis public school. Her ancestry, to be sure, was more mongrel than Milly's; it would defy any genealogist to trace itbeyond father and mother or resolve it properly into its elements. Thename itself indicated that there must have been some German or Dutchblood in the line. Neither would it be possible now to explain whatexigencies of the labor market compelled Ernestine's family to migratefrom St. Louis to New York. 

All that Ernestine herself knew was that her father worked in breweries, and that she with her five brothers and sisters lived in one of thoseforbidding brick rookeries on the lower west side of New York. This waswhen she was ten. When she reached fourteen--the legal age--she escapedfrom the routine of school and joyfully went to work in a laundry. Forchildren of her class it was like coming of age, --to become wage-earnerswith the accompanying independence and family respect. 

The laundry where she found her first job was a small affair, of the"domestic-hand laundry" type, situated in a low brick building that hadonce served as a gentleman's private stable on one of the cross streetsnear Gramercy Park. At that time Ernestine was a hearty, vigorous child, strong for her age, or she never could have endured the long hours ofhard work on wet floors in a steaming room and with heavy bundles tolift and carry. As a grown woman her squat figure, large and slightlyround-shouldered, betrayed these early years of stooping labor, and hercolorless complexion, not a sickly pallor but a neutral white beneaththe thick black hair, was the result of years spent in a dark, mistyatmosphere, through which even the gas-lights burned dimly. In thoseearly days when Ernestine scurried across the city in the procession ofworking-girls, mornings at seven forty-five and evenings at six, she wasvery much like all the others, --a not wholly unattractive young womanwith quick eyes. Perhaps she was a trifle quieter, less emotional thanher companions at the laundry--more reflective in disposition--but notnoticeably more intelligent than the many thousands in her class. 

And if it had not been for an accident, which at the time seemedfrightful to her, Ernestine Geyer would probably have turned out, asmost of her kind turn out, either have become the wife of a workingmanwith a brood of children to feed the labor hopper or gone to her endmore rapidly on the streets. But one day, owing to a defect in themachinery that controlled the huge cauldron over which she was bending, the thing tipped and scalded her with a flood of boiling water on herright arm and leg. At the hospital it was thought she would have to losethe arm; but she was too robustly made for that. A frightful red scarfrom her hip to below the knee and a withered right hand and forearmwere the results. They took her back at the laundry when she left thehospital out of pity and a sense of responsibility for her bad luck, andgave her some light work sorting out clothes and checking pieces, whichshe could do after a fashion with her left hand and the withered stump. 

Ernestine quickly realized--and just here was the proof of her innatesuperiority to the majority--that her only chance for existence was tomake herself so useful in the irregular labor she could perform that shewould not be discharged at the first opportunity. And she worked as shehad never before dreamed she could work! She counted, sorted, marked, checked the huge piles of restaurant and office linen that the laundrytook. She had the sense to employ a younger brother to assist her withhis whole hands. She became, in a word, the order, the system, theregulator of the small establishment, and hence indispensable to theoverworked proprietor. Her accident by depriving her of the ordinaryamusements of her fellows also made her more intelligent, because shehad nothing but her work to occupy her mind. The laundry became the onething she lived for: it had her every thought and emotion. She knew fromthe first that no man would ever think of marrying her--she saw it inthe pitying glances that the girls gave her. No man would endure a womanwith a withered stump of a right hand, not to mention the ugly scar thatdefaced her body. Thus the world of sex shut out with all its relateddisturbances, she became by the process of intense specialization a mostefficient worker. 

It is not necessary to recount all the steps of her progress upward. When the small proprietor of the "hand laundry" acquired anotherproperty farther up town she persuaded him to let her manage the oldbusiness under his direction. (He was a widower now and no longer young;he would have married her, perhaps. But she knew what that meant--a lossof salary and double work; and she would have none of him as husband. )She was twenty now, and earning more than she had ever expected tomake, --eighteen dollars a week. After that the years passed quicklyuntil she was twenty-five and getting thirty dollars a week. Her familyhaving broken up, she was living in a boarding-house not far from thelaundry.... 

Through the misty, dirty panes of the window in the rough office on theupper floor of the old stable where Ernestine now had her desk, shecould look across the narrow street to the row of small brick housesopposite. These houses had suffered various vicissitudes since Ernestinehad first come to work in the laundry. Then they had been shabby-genteelboarding-houses like the one a block or two away where she herself nowlived. Gradually the character of the street had improved. Some youngcouples, hunting for a spot in all this crowded, expensive city wherethey might make their modest nests, had moved into the old-fashionedhouses and renovated them according to modern ideas. Number 232, almostdirectly opposite Ernestine's loft, had been among the first thus torenew its youth. The old iron balconies had been restored and littlegreen shutters with crescent-shaped peep-holes added, and alsoflower-filled window-boxes. 

Ernestine had taken a special interest in this house and oftenspeculated about the life going on within its sober brick walls, behindthe fresh muslin curtains of the upper windows. At first there was justa man and his wife and a small child, whose young mother wheeled it outeach morning in a basket carriage, for the one maid was busy all daylong. Then another child had come and another. The first child went toschool with a maid--there were three maids in the house now. Ernestinewatched the orderly development of this family with all the interest ofa nature lover observing a nest of robins. At first when the shutterswere closed in the early hot days of June she was afraid lest otherhands might open them in the autumn, but after a time she knew herfamily well enough to understand that they were not the kind that moves, except for death or other cogent cause. She inferred that they werebecoming more prosperous, as was quite proper. There was an increasingamount of coming and going at the old-fashioned door, and she got toknow the habitual visitors apart from the merely casual acquaintances. In time she built up from her myriad glances across the street asubstantial family tree of uncles and aunts, cousins and brothers. Whatinterested her most were the occasional glimpses of the front rooms shehad when the maids opened wide the windows and pushed aside thecurtains. She was enabled thus to observe three layers of an orderly, inviting domesticity: on the first floor she could see a large, softrug, an oil painting, a lovely silk hanging that shut off the innerroom, and a corner of a mahogany case with some foreign bric-a-brac. Sheliked best the floor above, where the family mostly lived when they wereby themselves: here was one large recessed room where the crowdedbook-shelves went to the ceiling, a real fire burned in a fireplace, andreal lamps lighted a large table, around which the members of the familyread or worked or played. Here the lady of the house--a vigorous littlebody, with laughing eyes--sat and sewed, had tea with visitors, read toher children, and wrote letters. Here in the winter twilight before theday at the laundry was finished the man of the house entered with ajerky little masterful step, crossed to the chair where his wife satreading, leaned over, kissed her, and having established himself withback to the fire delivered himself, so Ernestine judged, of his dailybudget of news. How she would like to hear what he had to say!

It was all a little pantomime of domestic life, --a varied, yet orderlypantomime, and it had continued with suitable variations for more thanseven years. Ernestine often thought about it, not so much during theday when her mind was occupied with business wherever her eyes might be, as at night when she returned to her forlorn boarding-house room. Thatcommonplace domestic interior of number 232 had more to do withErnestine Geyer's life than it would be easy to say. It was her dream, her ideal of life as it should be--and almost never was. 

Unconsciously it moved this solitary woman to listen favorably to theadvances of a man she met at her boarding place. He was not much of aman--she knew that! A feeble body of a man, indeed, with a drooping, sallow face, and as Ernestine shrewdly suspected, he was making lessmoney at the dry-goods shop where he worked than she made at thelaundry. But for a time they "went out together"--a better phrase thanbecame "engaged. " Then Ernestine, with an unexpected keenness of visionand readiness to recognize a fact, even if it hurt her pride, knew thatthe man was marrying her to be taken care of. She had seen enough ofthat sort of marriage and had no mind for it. If he had wanted her withgenuine passion, she would have lived with him--and gladly. But theshame of it all was that he had no desire of any kind for her. And shewas not bad looking in spite of her deformity and her glasses. Herlarge, regular face was full of intelligence, and her black hair wasthick and slightly curling. But no man wanted her, just for herself. Shelooked the fact in the face--and moved to another boarding-house. 

About that time another change took place in the laundry business. Theold proprietor sold out to two young men who knew little about thebusiness. They incorporated as the "Twentieth Century Domestic Laundry"and left the management in Ernestine's competent hands. The old locationwas bought for a loft building, and a new building to be wholly occupiedby the laundry business was put up farther north. Ernestine dislikedleaving her family, as she called "number 232, " but she judged that eventhey would not remain long after all their light had been cut off by theloft building. Anyway she had no time for sentimental regrets, for thebusiness, with fresh blood and new capital, was growing past all belief. "Everybody has to get washed some time, " was one of Ernestine's sayings, and it seemed as if a great many had to be washed by the TwentiethCentury Company. She was neck and neck with the expanding business, andher salary went up rapidly until by the time she came into Milly's lifeshe was drawing five thousand dollars a year, and earning it all as theresponsible head of a business that netted twenty per cent on itscapital, with nearly a hundred operatives under her. 

In trade circles Ernestine was known as the "Laundryman, " a name inwhich respect was mixed with chaff. Ernestine did not care. She knewthat she had "made good, " and it was pleasant. She could afford now tohave a home of her own, and so she had installed herself in thisapartment, far out of the dirt and the noise in which she had lived herlife. She filled it with a strange assortment of furniture andornamental accessories that did not please her. Somehow after all heryears of longing, and all her efforts to make a home like other people, she had failed lamentably, and she knew it. 

"I guess it ain't in me!" she confessed to Milly. 

Nevertheless, she kept the vision of it, --the vision she had had throughthe swaying muslin curtains of "number 232. "

Thus far Ernestine had come when she happened into Milly's life. Onlythe merest outline of her strenuous, if monotonous, existence has beengiven, and though Ernestine deserves much more, --deserves to be known inher mind and her feelings, yes, and in her soul, --she must put up, asshe did in life, with getting less than her deserts, and let her roughactions reveal her nature imperfectly. 

X

MILLY'S NEW MARRIAGE

The next morning--it was Sunday--when Ernestine presented herself at theReddon flat to inquire in her heavy, grumbling voice for "the littlegurl, " Milly had difficulty in recognizing the woman who had offeredVirginia an asylum the night before. Ernestine was now clothed in awell-cut walking suit of dark blue broadcloth, which became her squarefigure much better than the soft folds of the rose-pink negligee. YetMilly thought her "quite common, " and had a momentary pang, realizinghow she and her daughter had come down in the world when they wereobliged to have such neighbors. But Ernestine Geyer was not "common, "and Milly, with her quick instinct for personal values, realized it assoon as she could recover from the shock of the harsh voice and theungrammatical idiom. 

After the obvious remarks about the evening's episode and someconversation with Virginia, for whom the stranger's withered hand had agreat fascination, there was a pause. It was time for Ernestine todepart, and she knew it; but either her awkwardness kept her fixed inher chair or she was too much fascinated by Milly to stir. This morningMilly had put on a loose silk blouse, open at the neck, in which shelooked very pretty and girlish. Ernestine stared at her in frankadmiration. Milly could not understand that she embodied to this "queer"woman all that her heart had secretly longed for, --all the feminism inwhich she knew herself to be utterly lacking. She tried to take Virginiain her lap to caress her, but that demure little lady, submittingpolitely for a few moments, slipped off at the first chance and tookrefuge in her mother's lap, where she snuggled with conscious pleasure. Ernestine did not know how to hold a child. 

"That's a nice picter, " Ernestine grumbled, covering mother and daughterwith glowing eyes. "Wished I had one of 'em in my place!"

"Perhaps you will some day, " Milly replied politely. But Ernestine shookher head. 

"Not unless I took one out of an asylum. I've thought of that, but Iguess it ain't the same thing. "

"Are you all alone?" Virgie asked gravely. 

Ernestine nodded and added in a burst of confidence to Milly, --

"And it _is_ lonely, I can tell you, coming home every night from yourwork to find just a hired girl waitin' for you and your food on thetable!"

To which Milly made some commonplace rejoinder, and as another pausethreatened she remarked pleasantly, --

"Where do you suppose I was last night, when I should have been at homelooking after my little girl? At a suffrage meeting. Wasn't that likethe modern mother?"

"Were you at that swell Mrs. ----'s house with all those big-bugs?"Ernestine questioned excitedly. 

"Yes.... There were speeches about the suffrage, --the reasons why womanshould have the vote, you know. "

"I read all about it in the paper this morning. "

Milly recalled what the interesting stranger had said to her about thepoint of view of actual women workers, and inquired, --

"What do you think about suffrage, Miss Geyer?"

Ernestine gave a hoarse laugh. 

"I don't think much, " she said succinctly. 

Milly made some remarks on the subject, quoting freely from HazelFredericks on the injustices to women in this man-made world. Ernestinelistened with a smile of sceptical amusement on her homely face, andslowly shook her head. 

"There ain't much in _that_, " she pronounced dogmatically. "The troubleain't there. Any working-woman will tell you she ain't bothered much bylack of political power. We've got all the political powers we canuse.... What does it amount to, anyhow? Things aren't done in this worldby voting about 'em. "

She easily threw down the feeble structure of Milly's arguments, whichwere largely borrowed from the talk she had heard the night before. Ernestine spoke with the assurance of one who has had reason to know. 

"What women want is money, ain't it? Same as the men?" she demandedflatly. 

"That's so!" Milly assented heartily. 

"And they'll get it when they know how to do something somebody wantsdone as well as a man can. They do get it now when they've got somethingto give--that's truth!"

She gave Milly a brief account of her own struggles in the labor market, which interested Milly deeply. 

"Now how did I get where I am to-day?" she concluded dramatically, drawing up her right sleeve and pointing to the withered arm. "Becauseof that. It taught me a lesson when I was nothing but an empty-headedgirl. That and the burn on my leg made a man of me, because it took mostof the woman thing out of me. I learned to think like a man and to actlike a man. I learned my job, same as a man. Yes! And beat my boss at itso he had to pay me a man's wages to keep me, and the company has to payme big money now--or I'd go out and get it somewheres else. "

Milly was impressed. She said doubtfully, --

"But you had great ability to do all that. "

Ernestine shook her head, --

"Not so much more'n most. "

"And good health. "

"Yes. My health don't trouble me--and that's partly because I've had nochance to fool it away like most girls. "

"So you think it all depends on the women, " Milly said unconvinced. 

"Women--oh, Lord!" Ernestine exclaimed irreverently, getting up andwalking about the room. She examined the books and the few sketches ofJack's that Milly had kept and hung on the bare walls of the Reddons'living-room. 

"My husband did those, " Milly explained. 

"Widow?"

Milly nodded. 

Examining a drawing, with her back to Milly, Ernestine continued herremarks on the great question:--

"Women! I guess the trouble with 'em started 'way back--in the Garden ofEden. They didn't like being put out, and they've never got reconciledto it since. They're mostly looking for some soft snap, --working-women, that is, " she said deferentially for Milly's sake. "The ones I know atany rate. When they're young they mostly expect to marry rightoff--catch some feller who'll be nice to 'em and let 'em live off him. But they'd oughter know there's nothin' in that sort of marriage. Allthey have to do is to look at all the women the men get tired of anddesert. And the slaves the mothers are! I knew that!" she interpolatedwith a woman's pride to prove to this other pretty woman that even shewas not single in the world because she had not had her chance. "I c'dhave married once, and came near making one great fool of myself likethe others. But I got wise in time. You see he weren't no good, " sheexplained frankly. "I expect, though, he's eatin' off some other womanbefore this.... Girls always expect to draw the grand prize in thelottery, where there's mostly blanks, and get a man who'll love 'emmore'n anythin' else in the world, and give 'em a good time all theirlives. Ain't that so?"

Milly agreed with reservations. Ernestine's observations had beenconfined to a class of women with whom Milly was not familiar, but herconclusions applied fairly well to the class Milly knew best, --theso-called "educated" and well-to-do women. 

"Well, that ain't life, " Ernestine pronounced with clenching force. 

"Women have hearts, you must remember, " Milly sighed a littlesentimentally. "They'll always be foolish. "

"Not that way--when they learn!"

"I wonder. "

"And that's the reason I've been givin' yer why girls don't take to anywork seriously and make somethin' of it, same as a man has to. Oh, I'veseen lots of 'em--just lots!"

She waved a hand disgustedly. 

Milly was now thoroughly interested in her new acquaintance, and theywent deeper into the complicated woman-question. Ernestine, sheperceived, had learned her lessons in the hard school of the man's worldof give and take, and learned them thoroughly. And she had the rareability to learn by experience. This with her good health and an innatesense of orderliness and thrift, possibly due to the Teutonic strain inher blood, had sufficed to put her ahead in the race. For she was evenless educated than Milly, and naturally less quick. But having touchedrealities all her life, she had achieved an abiding sense of fact thatMilly was now totally incapable of acquiring. Her philosophy was simple, but it embraced the woman question, suffrage, and the man-made world. Tolive, she said, you must give something of yourself that is worth thewhile of Somebody Else to take and pay for--pay as high as he can bemade to pay. To Milly it seemed a harsh philosophy. She wished to givewhen and what she liked to whom she pleased and take whatever shewanted. It was the failure of this system to work that had brought aboutthe present crisis in her affairs. 

 * * * * *

One o'clock arrived, and Milly, who was genuinely aroused by theharsh-voiced working-woman, invited Ernestine to stay for the mid-daymeal, which on account of the child was dinner rather than lunch. Thelight in Ernestine's black eyes and the pleased, humble tone in whichshe exclaimed, --"Oh, may I!" touched Milly. 

So the three presently sat down around the small table, which Milly hadserved in the front room of the flat rather than in the dark pocket of adining-room. That seemed to Ernestine a very brilliant idea, and she wasalso much impressed by the daintiness of the table and the littledetails of the meal. Milly had a faculty of getting some results evenfrom such unpromising material as Marion Reddon's sullen Swede. She knewvery well how food should be cooked and served, how gentlefolk were inthe habit of taking their food as a delightful occasion as well as achance to appease hunger, and she always insisted upon some sort ofform. So the mid-day meal, which seemed to Milly poor and forlorncompared with what she had known in her life, was a revelation toErnestine of social grace and daintiness. Her keen eyes followed Milly'severy motion, and she noted how each dish, and spoon, and fork wasplaced. All this, she realized, was what she had been after and failedto get. Milly apologized for the simple meal, --"Hilda isn't much of acook, and since we've been by ourselves, I have lost interest in doingthings. "

"It ain't the food, " Ernestine replied oracularly. 

(When Virgie went to take her nap, she inquired of her mother why thenice "queer" lady said "ain't" so often. )

 * * * * *

It was raining in torrents, and the two women spent the long afternoonin a series of intimate confidences. Milly's greatest gift was thefaculty of getting at all sorts of people. Now that she had become usedto the voice and the grammar of the street which Ernestine employed, andalso to the withered hand, she liked the working-woman more and more andrespected her fine quality. And Ernestine's simple, obvious admirationfor Milly and everything about her was flattering. In the plain woman'seyes was the light of adoration that a man has for the thing mostopposite to his soul, most lacking in his experience. 

In the course of this long talk Milly learned everything about ErnestineGeyer's life contained in the previous chapter of this book and muchmore that only a woman could confide in another woman, --intimate detailsof her honorable struggle. Ernestine bared her hungry heart, herloneliness in her new home, and her feeling of helplessness in notgetting, after all, what she wanted and what she had earned the money topay for. 

"I guess I'm too much of a man, " she said, after she had described hersolitary life in the apartment below. "There ain't enough of a womanleft in me to make a home!"

Milly tried to cheer her and encourage her, and promised to take dinnerwith her some day and give her any suggestions she could. 

 * * * * *

After that Sunday Milly saw Ernestine Geyer almost every day and oftenon Sundays for the whole day. Ernestine was fertile in clumsy ways ofwooing the new-found friends. She brought Virgie fruit and candies andtoys and insisted upon thrusting flowers and dainties on Milly. Thelatter heartily liked the "queer" lady, as Virginia still calledErnestine, and invited her cordially to come in whenever she would. InMilly's busier, more social days, Ernestine's devotion might have proveda bore. But this was a lonely winter. Very few friends came to see her, and Milly had many idle hours. 

Hazel Fredericks had not been offended by Milly's neglect to takeadvantage of her opportunities the night of the suffrage meeting, --atleast she showed no pique when Milly finally got around to telephoningher friend and congratulating her on her successful speech. But Hazelhad become so involved in the movement by this time, especially sointimate with the fascinating young married agitator, that she had lesstime and less interest to spare for Milly's small affairs. She wasplanning with her new friend, so she told Milly when she did get out tothe flat, a serious campaign that promised to be immenselyexciting, --nothing less than a series of drawing-room meetings in somewestern cities, especially Chicago, where "Society" had shown alamentable indifference hitherto to the Cause. Presently this missiontook Hazel Fredericks altogether beyond Milly's narrow sphere for theremainder of the winter. From time to time Milly received newspaperclippings and an occasional hurried note from Hazel, recounting thesocial flutter that they had created by their meetings, and the progressthe Cause was making in the most fashionable circles of the middle west. Milly envied Hazel this new and exciting experience, and wished shemight be in Chicago to witness the triumphs of the two missionaries. Butshe realized, nevertheless, more than ever before, her unfitness for thework. She no longer had a very fervent faith in it.... 

So in her loneliness she came to accept Ernestine Geyer's companionshipand devotion, at first passively, then gratefully. Together they tookVirginia on holiday sprees to the theatre, and the three had many oftheir meals together, usually in Milly's apartment, as she had foundErnestine's home "impossible, " a "barracks, " and the food, --"just food. "Virginia had gotten used to the withered hand and no longer foundErnestine so "queer. " Like the little egotist she was, as most children, she valued this new friend for all the good things that came from her, and found she could "work" Ernestine much easier than her mother. 

"We make a pretty cosey family, " Ernestine said happily, summing it upone day at dinner. 

"Mama, papa, daughter, " Virgie added, pointing demurely to Ernestine as"Papa. " After that the Laundryman was known as "Pa" by the trio. 

Milly was occasionally embarrassed by Ernestine, --and she was ashamed ofher feeling, --as when Clive Reinhard came in on them one evening withoutwarning. Reinhard glanced at the squat figure of the Laundryman, andtried to make her talk. Fortunately for Milly's feelings, Ernestine satbolt upright and tongue-tied in the novelist's presence and thus did notbetray her ungrammatical self. But she stayed on relentlessly until thevisitor went, and observed afterwards, --

"So that's the Johnnie that writes the books I see in the windows? Andthe girls are crazy about 'em--humph!" All of which would have amusedthe popular novelist. 

It was inevitable, of course, that sooner or later Ernestine should meetall of Milly's friends who still sought her out. And she always satthrough these occasions, quiet and sharp-eyed; when she trusted herselfto speak, her harsh, positive voice had the effect of dropping a pieceof china on the floor. Milly was often mortified at first, though bythis time she cared for Ernestine so genuinely that she would not lether suspect or hurt her feelings. She convinced herself that Ernestine'sgrammar was an accident of the slightest importance, and that as aperson she compared quite favorably with all the people she knew. 

Ernestine's fondness for Milly's visitors was not due to any vulgardesire to push herself into superior circles, merely a human curiosityabout these members of another world and a pathetic admiration for theirrefinement. With the same attitude she was painstakingly, if shyly, improving her table manners and her speech. To Virginia's relief she hadlargely suppressed "ain't" already, and occasionally bestowed a finalsyllable on the participles. 

 * * * * *

But Milly had many more real worries than these trifling socialmaladjustments between her old friends and her new one. Her small fundswere dwindling rapidly, as usual, even with the practice of a greatereconomy than she had ever before attempted. All her feeble efforts tofind employment and earn money had failed. She felt herself slippingdown, and with all her courageous determination to save herself fromsocial chaos she was like a bird fluttering at the brink of a chasm, unable to wing itself steadily out of danger. The Reddons, she knew, would soon need their apartment, for Marion was coming north in thefirst warm weather. Then there would be for herself and Virginia nothingbut a boarding-house, from which she shrank. And after that, what?Mornings she woke to consciousness with a start of terror, realizingthat the weeks were melting to days, --days of grace as for a criminal!What should she do? What _could_ she do? She envied Ernestine as she hadnever envied any one in her life, when she saw her striding off in themorning, her head in the air, a serious scowl on her plain face, competent and equipped in the face of life.... 

Ernestine found her one evening at a low point in her depression overher fate. Milly had told far less of her circumstances to theworking-woman than Ernestine had told of hers in their mutualconfidences. Social pride--a sense of caste--had prevented Milly fromconfessing her miserable situation. But now she unfolded the wholestory, with a few tears. 

"If it wasn't for Virgie, " she sobbed, "I'd walk into the riverto-night--I'd do anything to end it. I'm no good. "

"Don't you talk like that, dearie!" Ernestine said, getting upimpulsively and with her heavy tread crossing the room. She took Millyin her strong arms and held her tight. "Don't ever say those thingsagain!" she murmured in an uncertain voice, hugging the yielding figureto her. "Don't I know how you feel?... I guessed things weren't veryrosy with you, but I didn't like to ask you until you were ready tosay.... Now we'll straighten this thing out. "

Her robust, confident manner cheered Milly as much as her embrace. Shetrusted Ernestine's strength as she had once that of her husband. Ernestine went at things like a man in more ways than one. ReleasingMilly, she stood over her frowningly, her hands on her hips, and lookedsteadily, intently at the pitiful face of the other woman. 

"Couldn't I do something in the laundry?" Milly suggested timidly. "Youemploy so many women there, " she faltered. It had taken a struggle withher pride to contemplate this work. "I'm pretty strong. "

Ernestine smiled and shook her head very positively. 

"No, that's one thing that _wouldn't_ do. You'd be no good as aworking-woman now, dearie!"

"But I _must_ do something!" Milly wailed, "or starve and let Virgie goto her father's people. Isn't there _anything_ I can do in the world?"

She had reached the ultimate bottom of life, she felt, and her demandhad a tragic pathos in it. She waited for her answer. 

"Yes!" Ernestine exclaimed, a smile of successful thinking on her broadface. "You can make a home for me--a real one--that's what you cando--fine! Now listen, " she insisted, as she saw the look ofdisappointment on Milly's expectant face. "Listen to me--it ain't bad atall. "

And she unfolded her plan, recounting again her longing for her ownhearth, and proving to Milly that she could do a real, useful thing inthe world, if she would make life pleasanter and happier for one who wasable to earn money for three. 

"Don't wait for your friends to come back, " she urged. "Just pack rightup as soon as you can and move downstairs. Do you suppose Virgie'sasleep? We'll tell her to-morrer any way.... And you do with my shackwhat you want, --any old thing, so's you let me sleep there. It'll befine, fine!"

And so it was agreed, although Milly was not greatly pleased with theprospect of becoming homemaker and companion to the Laundryman. It wasnot very different in essentials from her marriage with Jack, and sherecognized now that she had not made a success of that on the economicside. In short, it was like so much else in her life, practically allher life, she felt bitterly, --it was a shift, a compromise, a_pis-aller_, and this time it was a social descent also. What would herfriends say? But Milly courageously put that cheap thought out of hermind. If this was all that she could find to do to support herself andher child, --if it was all that she was good for in this world, --shewould do it and swallow her pride with her tears. 

And she was sincerely grateful to Ernestine for the warm-hearted way inwhich she had put her proposal, as if it were a real favor to her. Shemade this one mental reservation to herself, --it should last only untilshe found "something better" as a solution. When Milly told the littlegirl of the new move, Virgie was delighted. "It'll be like having a realman in the house again, " she said. "We'll have to teach her how to speaklike we do, shan't we, mama?"

 * * * * *

Ernestine came bubbling in the next day with a new inspiration. 

"Been thinking of our scheme all night, " she announced breathlessly, "and couldn't attend to business I was so excited. Now this is theconclusion I got to. You can't make a home in one of these flat-boxes, can you?"

Milly agreed listlessly that they were a poor compromise for the realthing. 

"Well, I said to myself, --'Why not a real house?' So this morning I quitwork and took a taxi so's I could get over ground faster and wentdown--"

"I know, " Milly interrupted with a laugh, --"to number 232!"

"Yes! And they're there still, and I've got number 236! What do youthink of that? It don't take me long to do business when I got anidea.... Of course there is that loft building opposite, but it's thinand don't take much light.... So to-morrow, Mrs. Bragdon, you meet me atluncheon and we'll go down and look over our new home!"

How could any one be doleful under so much joy? Milly kissed Ernestinewith genuine emotion. 

"It will be splendid. Virgie will like a house so much more than this. "

"Of course, of course--it's the only proper thing for afamily.... You'll have to do the whole thing, Madam. " (Ernestine hada curious shyness about using Milly's name. ) "I'll give you 'CarterBlanch' as they say.... Only one thing!"

She shook her thick finger at Milly solemnly. 

"What's that?"

"Muslin curtains at all the front windows, and a real fireplace in thelivin'-room--"

"And window boxes at the windows and real oil lamps on the table, Mr. Geyer!" Milly completed, entering into Ernestine's spirit. 

"We'll be comfy and homelike, don't you think so?" Ernestine shoutedgleefully, putting an arm around Milly's soft figure. "Now I've got whatI want, " she said almost solemnly. 

"Don't be too sure--I'm a pretty bad housekeeper. "

"I know you're not. "

"Careless and horribly extravagant--every one says so. "

"I won't let you break _me_!... Say, you'd ought to be married to a realman--that's what you are made for. "

"Thanks!" Milly said a little sadly. "I've had all of _that_ Iwant.... This suits me far better. "

"Well, it does me, anyway!"

 * * * * *

Thus Milly's second marriage came off. In another month she and Virginiawere living quite happily in Ernestine Geyer's establishment at "number236, " with muslin curtains behind the windows, and flower-boxes. 

PART FIVE

THE CAKE SHOP

I

"NUMBER 236"

Milly was content. At least she felt that she ought to be, and shereally was--for a time. Thanks to Ernestine's "Carter Blanch, " she hadmade a comfortable, homelike interior out of the little old house, inwhich she installed her own furniture and almost nothing of Ernestine's. Sam Reddon helped her make the alterations and decorate afresh "number236, " as the new home came to be known among Milly's friends. Reddon wasexplosively enthusiastic over the Laundryman, whom he described as a"regular old sport, " "one of the finest, " "the right sort, " and theclimax of praise--"one first-class man. " He took a mischievous delightin drawing her out, especially on the æsthetic side, where she waswildest, and he revelled in her idiom, which reminded him of the dear_argot_ of his beloved city, and which he declared was "the language ofthe future. " Clive Reinhard, also, who came to dinner at the new housevery soon, approved warmly of Ernestine. In his more conventionalvocabulary she was "a character, " "a true type, " and "a trump. " He likedher all the better, perhaps, because he did not feel obliged to studyher professionally, and relaxed in her company. 

Indeed, all the men Milly knew liked Ernestine Geyer and quickly got thehabit of dropping in at "number 236" at all hours, --it was soconveniently near their offices and clubs, they said. They came forbreakfast and luncheon and tea, and even for whiskey and cigarettesafter the theatre. With the blunted sense of fine proprietiescharacteristic of their sex, they approved unreservedly of Milly's newmarriage. In Reddon's frank phrase it was "an extraordinary fit. " "Youtwo are complements--which is more than one can say of most regularmarriages. "

(It was more than Milly could say of her union with Jack, alas!)

"I wonder more women don't do the same thing, " the architect continuedin a vein of philosophical speculation; "get married to other women. NowErnestine has every good quality of a man, and she can't deceive youwith a chorus girl! It cuts out all the sex business, which is a horridnuisance--see the newspapers. "

"Sam!" Milly warned, and then ventured, --"How about the children--wherewould they come in?"

"That _is_ a difficulty, " Reddon admitted, stretching his feet to thefire. 

"You see I had mine already, --bless her little heart!"

"One of 'em would have to do as you did, " Sam mused, "get the childrenon the side. "

At this point Milly with a "Sam, don't be horrid" shut off furthersocial theorizing. Ernestine grinned and chuckled over Sam's sallies. AsReddon said, --"You can say anything to her! She has a man's sense ofhumor, --the only woman I ever saw except Marion who has. "

 * * * * *

With the exception of Marion, Milly's women friends were much moredubious than the men about the new household. Mrs. Bunker and Mrs. Billman, of course, had long since lost sight of Milly in the course ofher migrations. Although Hazel Fredericks looked her up soon after herreturn from the suffrage tour and praised the little house and said ofthe domestic arrangement, --"How interesting!... Miss Geyer must be awoman of remarkable force of character.... It is a wise experiment, "etc. , yet Milly knew that to others Hazel would shrug expressiveshoulders and drop eyelids over muddy eyes and in other feminine waysindicate her sense of Milly's social descent. And from this time thefriendship between them declined swiftly. Hazel explained, "They wereinterested in different things, " and "Milly doesn't care for ideas, youknow. " Mrs. Fredericks, who considered herself to be in the flood-tideof the modern intellectual movement, had few moments to spare for herinsignificant friend. Milly realized this with a touch of bitterness. "Ican't do anything for her in any way. I can't help on her game. " Sheknew that these ambitious, modern, intellectual women, with whom she hadbeen thrown, had no use for people "out of the game. "

It was that really, more than the fact that she had lost caste bykeeping house for a business woman, that cost her women's friendship. Milly no longer in the least "counted. " She had done something rather"queer" from the feminine point of view, however sensible a solution ofher own problem it might be. She had confessed herself without ambitionand "aim, " as Hazel would put it; had no social sense or wish "to beSomebody, " as Mrs. Billman would put it. She had become just plain Mrs. Nobody. Of course she could not entertain in any but the most informal, simple fashion as she entertained the men who came to the house, andwomen find no distinction in that sort of hospitality and do not like tooffer it. All this Milly realized more and more, as any woman wouldhave, when the house had settled into its groove. She bravely put thethoughts aside, although they rankled and later manifested themselves, as such things must. For the first time her own sex dropped Milly, andit cut. 

Meantime there was much that was pleasant and comforting in her new lifein pretty little "number 236, " and Milly got what joy there was out ofVirginia's delight in having a real home and Ernestine's beaminghappiness all the time she was in the house. The little girl couldreturn now to that "very nice school" where other nice little girlswent. She departed every morning beside the Laundryman, tugging at herarm, skipping and chattering like a blackbird in June. Ernestine saw hersafely up the school steps and then took the car to her business. Milly, after the housekeeping and her morning duties, walked up town for herdaughter and spent most of the afternoons with her, as she had not muchelse to do. She had suggested at the beginning helping Ernestine in someway in the business, but the Laundryman had not encouraged that. Infact, she showed a curious reluctance in even having Milly visit theoffice or call for her there. 

"It ain't any place for you, dearie, " she said. "You just stick to yourend of the business, the house--and that's enough. "

Milly paid much more attention to the details of their simplehousekeeping than she had ever cared to do for herself and Jack. It mayhave been from a sense of obligation in spending Ernestine's money, forafter all the Laundryman was not her legal husband. Or it may have beendue to the fact that Ernestine, being another woman, knew and could notbe easily bluffed with, "Everybody does that, " "You can't get along withless and live, anyhow, " etc. , as a mere man could. Nor did she like towheedle a woman. Whatever the cause, Milly gave up her lazy habit oftelephoning to the dearest stores for supplies or letting the servantsdo the ordering, and went forth herself each morning to market. Sheaccepted Ernestine's suggestions about where things could be boughtcheaply, and even condescended to enter the large department storeswhere groceries were sold for cash at wholesale rates. The Laundrymanpurchased all the supplies for her business, and she knew that buyingwas a science and a game combined, --a very ancient game which is thebasis of "trade. " She took it for granted that Milly would play the gameto the best advantage for all of them, and after a few attempts at theold slovenly, wasteful method of providing, Milly accepted the situationand did the best she knew how to meet Ernestine's idea. "Number 236" wasto be well stocked with an abundance of wholesome food, but there was tobe no waste and no "flummery. " In a word, "efficiency. "

There was almost no friction between them. It would seem that theLaundryman knew how to be both gentle and firm, --the requisites, so thesages say, for successful domesticity. Jack had often been not gentlewith Milly, and almost never firm. Milly did not take seriously hisconstant complaint over bills, and in some way sooner or later got whatshe wanted. With Ernestine it was quite different: she did not dare letthe accounts run on or run over. After the first few equivocations shehad her bills ready for examination by the first of the month, and theywere reasonably near the figures agreed upon. So, as Ernestine put it, slapping her knee with the cheque-book, "it all goes as slick as paint. "

 * * * * *

And so, to sum it up in conventional terms, one might call Milly's newmarriage a success and expect that the modest little household of"number 236" would go its peaceful way uneventfully to nature'sfulfilment of a comfortable middle age--and thus interest us no more. For a time both Ernestine and Milly so believed it would be. But theywere deceived. Human affairs, even of the humblest, rarely arrangethemselves thus easily and logically. 

Milly, in spite of her sincere resolve to be contented with what shehad, was growing restless. Once this orderly domestic life of the threein the small house was running smoothly, she began to feel cramped, fullof unexpended energies. She would have spent them naturally inentertaining and the usual social activity, to which she had becomeaccustomed as the fit expression of woman's life, but that obviouslycould not be in the present circumstances. Milly recognized this and didnot attempt the impossible. Even if she had had the money, Ernestine wasnot one who could be made a social figure, nor could she be ignored inher own house. The situation, as has been described, had a flavor ofsocial irregularity, like an unauthorized union, and the social penaltymust be paid. With Milly's lean purse there was not much shopping to bedone, beyond the daily marketing, and it was dreary to walk the New Yorkstreets and gaze into tempting shop windows, though Milly did a gooddeal of that in her idle hours. She had never cared to read, except asan occasional diversion, or to "improve her mind, " as Grandma Ridgemight have put it, by lectures such as Hazel Fredericks had oncepatronized. Lectures bored her, she admitted frankly, unless she knewthe lecturer personally. Perhaps Hazel and her set were justified incondemning Milly's general lack of purpose and aim in life. But itshould be remembered that the generation with which Milly began hadnever recognized the desirability of such ideals for women, and Milly, like many of her sisters in the middle walk of life, always resented theassumption that every human being, including women, should have a planand a purpose in this life. She liked to think of herself as anirresponsible, instinctive vessel of divine fire to bless and inspire. But such vessels very often go on the reefs of passion, and if Milly hadnot been so thoroughly normal in her instincts, she might have sufferedshipwreck before this. Otherwise, they float out at middle age more orless derelict in the human sea, unless they have been captured andconverted willy-nilly to some other's purpose. Now Milly was driftingtowards that dead sea of purposeless middle age, and instinctivelyfeared her fate. 

She felt that her present life with the Laundryman offered her no outletfor her powers, and this was the period when she became fertile inlaunching schemes for which she displayed a few weeks' intenseenthusiasm that gradually died out before Ernestine's chilly good sense. One of the first of these enthusiasms was "Squabs. " She tried tointerest Ernestine in the business of raising squabs for the market. Shehad read in some country-life magazine of a woman who had made a verygood income by breeding this delicacy for the New York market. Ernestinehad talked of buying a farm somewhere near the city for the summers, andMilly thought this could be made into a productive enterprise. "With aman and his wife to run it, " they could raise squabs by the thousands. But Ernestine, who had all the business she could attend to with herlaundry, was apathetic. She averred that any man and his wife who couldmake money in the poultry business would be exploiting it forthemselves, not for "two green-horn women. "

The next proposal was "Violets, " and then "Mushrooms, " to whichErnestine was equally indifferent. You had to get your market in everycase, she suspected. "You don't know how to sell violets or mushrooms, dearie, any more than you know how to raise 'em. "

"But I could learn!" Milly pouted. She thought Ernestine wasunenterprising and also underrated her ability, just because she had notbeen a working-woman. 

"'Twould cost too much for you to learn, " Ernestine replied dryly. 

Milly's little schemes were oddly always of the luxury order, --to caterto the luxury-class, --squabs, violets, mushrooms. Her ideas revolvedabout the parasitic occupations because they seemed to promise large, immediate returns. Rebuffed in these first attempts she brought forth nonew scheme for a time, but she was seeking. She envied Ernestine hermanlike independence, her Bank-Account aspect, and wanted to become aBusiness Woman. 

One invariable objection that Ernestine had made to all Milly'sproposals was:--

"I don't know anything about that business. I know the laundry businessfrom the skin to the clothes-line and home again--and that's all! It's agood enough business for me. Everybody has to get washed sometimes!" Shewas for the fundamental, basic occupations that dealt in universal humannecessities, and once said to Sam Reddon, who had banteringly offeredher the job of running his new office, "No, thank you! If I ever make achange from the laundry, I'm going into the liquor business. Every manseems to need his drink the same as he has to be washed. " (This retorthad immensely pleased Reddon, and he was always asking Ernestine whenshe would be ready to start a saloon with him. )

At last Milly thought she had cornered Ernestine's favorite objection bya new scheme, which was nothing less than starting a model "IdealLaundry" in some pretty country spot near the city, "where the water isclean and soft, " and there were green lawns and hedges on which tospread the clothes, "as they do abroad. " It was to be manned by a forceof tidy, white-clothed laundresses, who might do their washingbare-legged in the running brook. (She described to Ernestine thepicturesque, if primitive, laundry customs of the south of Europe. )"They do such nice work over there: their linen is as soft and white assnow, " she said. 

"And whose goin' to pay for all that gilt?" Ernestine demanded inconclusion. For Milly had expatiated on the fortune they mightconfidently expect from the new laundry. Milly was sure that all nice, well-to-do families would be only too thankful to pay large prices fortheir laundry work, if they could be assured that it would be done insuch sanitary, picturesque fashion by expert laundresses. And she hadthought of another plan which combined philanthropy with æstheticism andbusiness. They might employ "fallen women" as laundresses and teach themalso expert mending of linen. To all of which Ernestine smiled as onewould at the fancies of an engaging child. She said at the end in herheavy-voiced way:--

"I don't know how it is in Europe, but in this country you don't makemoney that way. You've got to do things cheap and do 'em for a whole lotof people to get big money in anything. It's the little people withtheir nickels and tens and quarters as pile up the fortunes. "

Milly felt that Ernestine betrayed in this the limitations of herplebeian origin. 

"S'pose now you c'd get all the capital you need for your IdealLaundry--who'd patronize it? The swells, the families with easy money tospend? There ain't so many of them, take the whole bunch, and I can tellyou, so far as I know, the rich want to get somethin' for nothin' as badas the little fellers--I don't know but worse! I guess that's why theyget rich. "

Thus Ernestine would have nothing of any business that catered solely tothe rich and exclusive classes. A sure democratic and business instinctmade her rely for steady profits upon the multitude, who "must all getwashed sometime, " in her favorite axiom, and as cheaply as possible. 

"You never take any of my ideas seriously, " Milly complained after thisrebuff. 

 * * * * *

It happened to be a stormy winter's evening when the Ideal Laundry hadbeen up for discussion. They could hear occasional spats of snow againstthe window-panes behind the long red curtains, which had been drawn. Awood fire was crumbling into glowing coals on the hearth. Virginia hadlong since gone to bed, and Sam Reddon, who had dropped in for dinner inthe absence of his wife from the city, had left after an evening ofbanter and chit-chat.... At Milly's despairing exclamation, Ernestinesquatted down on a footstool at her feet and looked up at her mate withthe pained expression of a faithful dog, who wants to understand hisIdol's desires, but can't. 

"What's the matter with _this_, dearie?" she grumbled, taking one ofMilly's hands in her powerful grip. "Can't you be satisfied just as itis? Seems to me--" and she broke off to look around the cheerful roomwith a glance of appreciation--"seems to me we're pretty comfortable, wethree, just as we are, without worrying 'bout making a lot more moneyand trying things that would be a bother and might turn out badly in theend. "

As Milly's face still gloomed, unresponsive, she added contritely, --

"I know it's small. It ain't what you--"

"Oh, it isn't that!" Milly interrupted hastily. "You don't understand, Ernestine; I want to do something for myself just to show I can. I'm souseless--always have been, I suppose.... Well. " She rose from her chair, disengaging herself from the Laundryman's embrace, and stood musinglywith one foot on the fender, the firelight playing softly over the silkof her gown. (The favorite attitude, by the way, of the heroine inJack's illustrations of Clive Reinhard's stories. )

"You ain't one mite useless to _me_!" Ernestine protested. (In heremotional moments she lapsed into her native idiom in spite of herself. )

"You're kind, Ernestine, " Milly replied almost coldly. "But I really_am_ nearly useless. Can't you see why I want to do something for myselfand my child, as you have done for yourself? And not be always adependent!"

Ernestine threw herself on the lounge, looking quite miserable. The wormin her swelling bud of happiness had already appeared. 

"I'm content, " she sighed, "just as it is. "

"I'm not!" Milly retorted, rather unfeelingly. 

"It suits me to a T, if it could only last. "

For a time neither added anything to the subject. Milly, who was neverhard for more than a few moments, went over to the lounge and caressedthe Laundryman's face. 

"That was horrid of me, " she said. "It's going to last--forever, Iguess. "

But in spite of herself she could not keep the droop from her voice atthis statement of the irrevocable, and Ernestine shook her head sadly. 

"No, it ain't. You'll marry again sometime. "

"I'll never do that!" Milly exclaimed impatiently. 

"I s'pose it would really be the best thing for you, " Ernestineadmitted, looking at Milly thoughtfully. Milly was now barelythirty-four and more seductive as a woman than ever before. Ernestine'sjealous heart could understand why men would desire her mate. "And thistime, " she continued more cheerfully, "you'll know enough to pick a goodprovider. "

"Don't talk such nonsense. "

Nevertheless Milly was pleased at this proof that she was stilldesirable, merely as a woman. What woman wouldn't, be? Her earlyromantic notion that second marriages were impure had completely changedsince the failure of her marriage with Jack. Now she had merely afeeling of disgust with the married state in general and with husbandsas a class. 

"They ain't all bad, I expect, " Ernestine remarked in a spirit offairness. "There must be exceptions among husbands the same as ineverything else in life. "

"I don't care to take the risk. "

"But I expect if you'd happened to marry one of those others whowanted you to you'd felt different. You'd be on easy street to-day, anyhow!... The trouble was, my dear, you trusted to your feelin' toomuch, and not enough to your head. "

She nodded her own large head sagely. 

"Perhaps, " Milly agreed vaguely.... "Well, will you shut the house up?"

Ernestine went downstairs to lock the doors and see that the lights wereout in the servants' quarters. 

II

AT LAST, THE REAL RIGHT SCHEME

Whenever Eleanor Kemp came to New York--which happened usually at leasttwice a year, on her way to and from Europe--she always endeavored tosee her old friend, if for only a few minutes. So when she landed thisspring, she went almost immediately from her hotel to number 236, andMilly found her waiting in the little reception room on her return fromher marketing. 

"You see I didn't forget the number, and just came over!" Mrs. Kemp saidgayly. "We docked at ten, and Walter has already disappeared to see somepictures.... How are you, dear?"

The two friends had kissed, and then still holding each other by thearms drew off for the preliminary scrutiny. Eleanor Kemp's black hairshowed gray about the temples, and there were lines around the tremblingmouth. "She's getting old, really, " Milly thought in a flash. "But itdoesn't make so much difference to her, they are so rich!"

"Milly, you are prettier than ever--you always are when I see you--howdo you keep so young?" the older woman exclaimed admiringly, and drewMilly's smiling face closer for another kiss. "And you have been throughso much since I saw you last--so much sadness. "

"Yes, " Milly admitted flatly. 

Somehow she did not want to talk of her marriage and Jack's death withEleanor Kemp, who had been so near her during the ecstatic inception ofthat passion. 

"How pretty your house is!" Eleanor said, divining Milly's reluctance tointimacy. "I've been peeking into the next room while I waited. "

"Yes, it's pleasant, " Milly replied unenthusiastically. "It's small andthe street is rather noisy. But it does well enough. You know it isn'tmy house. It belongs to a friend, --Ernestine Geyer. "

"Yes, you wrote me. "

"She's in business, away all day, and I keep house for her, " Millyexplained, as if she were eager not to have her position misunderstood. 

"It must be much pleasanter for you and Virginia than being alone. "

"Yes, " Milly agreed, in the same negative voice, and then showed herfriend over the house, which Mrs. Kemp pronounced "sweet" and "cunning. "As Milly's manner remained listless, Eleanor Kemp suggested theirlunching at the hotel, and they walked over to the large hostelry on theAvenue, where the Kemps usually stayed in New York. 

Walter Kemp not having returned from his picture quest, the women hadluncheon by themselves at a little table near a window in the ornatedining-room of the hotel. Milly grew more cheerful away from her home. It always lightened her mind of its burdens to eat in a public place. She liked the movement about her, the strange faces, the unaccustomedfood, and her opportunities of restaurant life had not been numerous oflate. It was pleasant to be again with her old friend and revive theircommon memories of Chicago days. They discussed half the people theyknew. Milly told Eleanor of Vivie Norton's engagement finally to thedivorced man and the marriage, "a week after he got his decree. " AndEleanor told Milly of the approaching marriage of Nettie Gilbert'sdaughter to a very attractive youth, etc. 

"You must come to visit me this summer, " she declared. "Your friends areall dying to see you. "

"Do you think they remember me still?"

"Remember you! My dear, they still talk about your engagement toClarence Parker. "

Milly laughed gayly. 

"That!"... She added quite unexpectedly, "I suppose I ought to havemarried him really. "

"Milly!"

"Why not?" Milly persisted in a would-be indifferent tone. "Then Ishouldn't be keeping house for somebody else for my living. "

Mrs. Kemp gave her a quick look, and then turned it off with, --

"You should have stayed in Chicago, whatever you did. We all miss youso!... "

In her glances about the crowded room Milly's eyes had rested upon alittle woman seated at a table not far away, --a blond, fluffy-haired, much-dressed and much-jewelled creature, who was scrutinizing the longmenu with close attention. 

"Do you know who she is, Nelly?" Milly asked, indicating the littleblond person. "It seems to me she's some one I ought to know. "

Mrs. Kemp glanced out of her lowered eyes; then as the other looked upboth bowed. She said in a whisper to Milly, --

"You ought to know her, Milly! She was Annie Dove. "

"Who is she now?"

Eleanor Kemp paused to laugh before replying and then whispered, --

"She's who you might have been--Mrs. Clarence Parker!"

"Oh!" Milly murmured and looked again with more curiosity at thefluffy-haired little woman. "She dresses a good deal, " she observed. "Iwonder how Clarence likes to pay the bills. "

"We saw them at Wiesbaden this spring. They seemed quite happy. He wastaking the cure. "

"Did it do him any good?" Milly inquired amiably.... 

Presently a short, bald-headed man took the place opposite theirneighbor, and Milly examined him with much care. Clarence Albert wasbalder and whiter than ever, and his cold gray eyes were now concealedby glasses which gave him the look of an eminent financier. His wifecoached him evidently about the menu. Milly thought she could hear hissqueaky voice saying, "Well, now, I don't know about that. " A queerlittle smile came around her lips as she considered that she might haveoccupied the seat the richly dressed, bejewelled little lady had, and belistening at that moment to Clarence Albert's observations on theluncheon menu. Just then Parker looked over, recognized Mrs. Kemp, andhurried across with outstretched hand. He did not see Milly until hereached the table, and then he stopped as if he did not know what to donext. Milly smiled and extended a hand. 

"How do you do, Mr. Parker!" she said gayly. "Eleanor has just pointedout your wife to me--such a pretty woman! How are you?"

"Very well now Miss--Mrs. --"

"Bragdon, " Milly supplied. 

"Very well indeed, Mrs. Bragdon, and I see you are the same. "

He retreated at once, and Milly glancing roguishly at Eleanor Kempmurmured, --

"I take it back.... No, I couldn't! Not even with all the clothes andjewels. "

"Of course you couldn't!"

"It's fate--it's all fate!" Milly sighed. That was her way of sayingthat everything in this world depended upon the individual soul, and shecouldn't manage her soul differently. She felt relieved. 

The dessert arriving just then, Milly's attention was distracted fromthe Clarence Alberts and from her soul. She took much time and care inselecting a piece of _patisserie_. French pastry, which had become acommon article in New York hotels by that time, always interested Milly. She liked the sweet, seductive cakes, and they brought back to memoryhappy times in Paris and her visits to Gagé's with Jack. 

"I am afraid they aren't very good, " her hostess remarked, observingthat Milly after all her research into the dish merely tasted her cakeand pushed it away. "They don't seem able to make the nice French onesover here--they're usually as heavy as lead. "

"No, they're not a bit like those we used to get at Gagé's. I wonder whythey don't find somebody who can make real French pastry.... Now there'san idea!" she exclaimed with sudden illumination. "A cake shop likeGagé's with real cakes and a real _Madame_ in black at the desk!"

She gave Eleanor a vivid description of the charms of Gagé's. Her friendlaughed indulgently. 

"You funny child, to remember that all this time!"

"But why not?" Milly persisted. "Everybody likes French pastry. Ibelieve you could make heaps of money from a good cake shop in America. "

"Well, when you are ready to open your cake shop, come toChicago!... And anyway you are coming to visit me next month. "

Milly readily promised to make the visit when Virginia's school closed, and shortly afterwards the friends parted. 

 * * * * *

Milly strolled home in a revery of Eleanor Kemp, who always brought backher past, of Clarence Albert and Clarence Albert's expensive wife. "If Ihad--" she mused. If somehow she had done differently and instead ofbeing a penniless widow she were happily married with ample means; ifthe world was this or that or the other!... But back of all herthoughts, beneath all her revery, simmered the idea of the Cake Shop. Intelling Ernestine of her day's adventure, however, she made no referenceto the New Idea. This time she would not expose her conception to thechilling blast of the Laundryman's criticism until she had perfected it. She nursed it like an artist within her own breast. 

III

CHICAGO AGAIN

A month later Milly and Virginia went to Chicago to visit the Kemps. Milly's heart leaped as the miles westward were covered by the rapidtrain. Old friends, she thought, are nearest, warmest, dearest to us, and again and again during the joyous weeks of her visit to the bustlingcity by the Lake, Milly felt the truth of this platitude. Everybodyseemed delighted to see "Milly Ridge, " as half the people she met stillcalled her. She could not go a block without some more or less familiarfigure stopping, and throwing up hands exclaiming, "Why, Milly! not_you_--I'm _so_ glad. " And they stopped to talk, obstructing traffic. 

Milly was conscious of being at her very best. She had decided todiscard her mourning altogether on going back to Chicago, and had someattractive new gowns to wear. Instead of a forlorn and weary widow, shepresented herself to her Chicago public fresher and prettier than ever, beaming with delight over everything and very much alive. That is theway Chicago likes. 

"Chicago _is_ different, " she repeated a dozen times a day, meaning bythat vague comment that Chicago was more generous, kindly, hospitable, warmer and bigger-hearted than New York. Which was perfectly true, andwhich Chicago liked to hear as often as possible. The purely humanvirtues still nourished there, it seemed to Milly, in their primalbloom, while they had become somewhat faded in the more hectic air ofthe Atlantic seaboard. There was a feeling of frank good-fellowship andan optimistic belief in everybody and in the world as well as inyourself that was spoken of as the Spirit of the West. "In New York, "Milly said to Eleanor Kemp, "unless you make a great noise all the time, nobody knows you are there. And when you fail, it's like a stone droppedinto the ocean: nobody knows that you have gone under! I want to livethe rest of my life in Chicago, " she concluded positively. 

"Yes, " all her friends assented with one voice, "you must come back tous--you belong here!" (With the future, the setting sun, and all therest of it. )

And they laid their little plans to entrap her and hold her in theirmidst for good, --obvious plans in which men, of course, were designedlyincluded. They said a great many nice things about her behind her backas well as to her face. 

"Milly has shown such pluck.... Her marriage was unfortunate--he lefther without a cent.... And treated her quite badly, I hear, " etc. , etc. 

Her two weeks' visit to the Kemps stretched to a month; there were manylittle parties and engagements made for her, and then she went toseveral suburban places to visit. Unlike other American cities summer isalmost the liveliest season in and around Chicago, for having its ownrefrigerating plant at its door Chicago prefers to stay at home duringthe hot weather and take its vacation in the raw spring. So Milly foundlife very full and gay. And she perceived after a time a new spirit inher old home, --the metropolitan spirit, which was funnily self-consciousand proud of itself. "We too, " every one seemed to be saying, "arenatives of no mean city. " Milly heartily approved of this spirit. Sheliked to think and to say that after all, in spite of her husband'serrancy, Chicago was also _her_ city. 

So she had the best of times the ten weeks she spent in the strong youngmetropolis, and saw a great many people new and old, and was morepopular than ever. She was well enough aware of those little plans kindfriends were making for her, matrimonially, but her heart seemed dead toall men. She looked at them critically, and her heart gave no sign. 

"I'm going to be a business woman, " she announced to the Kemps one day. 

"Milly in business! What do you think of that now?" the banker respondedwith a good-natured laugh that covered the jeer. "What next?"

But his wife, with jealous promptitude, added, --

"Milly, you are a wonder!"

"Yes, " Milly affirmed stoutly. "Wait, and you will see. "

For in spite of all the good times, the flattery, and the socialpleasures, the great New Idea still simmered in her head. She would dosomething "unusual, " and "in Chicago too, " which was the place fororiginality and venture, --this big-hearted, hopeful city whose breath oflife was business, always business, and where people believed in oneanother and looked favorably at "the new thing. "

One day Milly stepped into the shop of the smart man-milliner, where inher opulent maiden days she had got her hats, --"just to see what Bamberghas this season. " After chatting with the amiable proprietor, who, likeevery one who had dealings with Milly, was fond of her (even if she didnot pay him promptly), Bamberg called to one of his young ladies tobring Mrs. Bragdon a certain hat he wished her to try on. "One of mylast Paris things, " he explained, "an absolutely new creation, " and hewhispered, "It was ordered for Mrs. Pelham--the young one, you know, butit didn't suit her. " He whispered still more confidentially, "She wastoo old!"

After that how could Milly help "just trying it on"?

The girl who brought the hat exclaimed with a charming smile and adecided French accent, "It cannot be--but it is--it _is_ MadameBrag-donne!"

"Jeanne--Jeanine!" and they almost embraced, to the scandal of Bamberg. 

It was one of the girls Milly had known at Gagé's, the chief_demoiselle_ of the pastry shop. And how was Madame Catteau, the_patronne_, and when did Jeanne come to America? The hat was forgottenwhile the two chattered half in French and half in English about Gagé's, Paris, and Chicago.... 

Of course Milly bought the hat in the end, --it was such a "jewel" andbecame her as if "it were made for Madame Brag-donne, " who, Jeanneaverred, was really more than half French. (Bamberg generously cut theprice to "nothing, --$35, " and Milly promised to "pay when I can, youknow. " Which perfectly contented the man-milliner. "We know _you_, Mrs. Bragdon, " he said, conducting her himself to the Kemps' motor in whichshe had come. )

The negotiations over the hat, which had to be altered several times, gave Milly a chance to confide in her old friend Jeanne the New Idea. ACake Shop--a real Paris _patisserie_, _chic_, and with French pastry, here in this Chicago! The idea thrilled the pretty French woman, andthey discussed many of the details. "I must have a real French pastrycook, and girls, Paris girls like you, " Milly said with suddeninspiration, "and a _madame_, of course, and the little marble-toppedtables and all the rest" as nearly as possible like the adorable Gagé's. Jeanne thought that it would be "furiously successful. " There would benothing like it in Chicago or anywhere else in the new world, whereMadame Brag-donne would admit the eating was not all that it might be inquality. Oh, yes, it was a brilliant idea and Jean remembered asister-in-law who would make a remarkable _dame de comptoir_. She wasliving in strict retirement at Grenoble, the fault of a wretched man shehad been feeble enough to marry.... 

Thus by the time the hat was hers Milly's scheme had taken definiteform, and it was also time for her to return to New York. "But I shallbe back soon, " she told all her friends confidently, with a mysteriousnod of her pretty head. 

 * * * * *

She had seen Horatio, of course, had taken Virginia to spend a Sundaywith her unknown grandfather in the little Elm Park cottage. Josephinereceived her husband's daughter and granddaughter with a carefullyguarded cordiality, which expanded as soon as she saw that Milly hadnothing to ask for. Horatio was very happy over the brief visit. He wasan old man now, Milly realized, but a chirping and contented old man, who still went faithfully every working day in the year to his humbledesk in Hoppers' great establishment, on Sundays to the SecondPresbyterian, and in season watered the twenty-six square feet of turfbefore his front door. He talked a great deal about Hoppers', which hadbeen growing with astounding rapidity, like everything in Chicago, andnow covered three entire city blocks. That and the church and Josephinequite filled all the corners of Horatio's simple being. Milly promisedher father another, longer visit, but with her many engagements couldnot "get it in. " Horatio wrote her "a beautiful letter" and sent her onthe eve of her departure a box of flowers from his own garden. 

Milly carried the flowers back to New York with her. She had much tothink over on that brief journey. Life seemed larger, much larger, thanit had ten weeks before, and her appetite for it had grown wonderfullykeener in the Chicago air. That was the virtue of the West, Millydecided. It put vigor and hope into one. She also felt more mature andindependent. It had been a good thing for her to get away from New York, out from under Ernestine's protecting wings, which closed uncomfortablytight at times. She realized now that "she could do things for herself, "and need not be so "dependent. "

That, it must be observed, was the prevailing desire in Milly's newambitions. Like all poor mortals who have not either triumphedindubitably in the world's eyes or sunk irretrievably into the mire, shehungered for some definite self-accomplishment, something that wouldgive meaning and dignity to her own little life. All of her variedexperience, --all the phases and "ideas" through which she had lived fromher eager, unconscious girlhood to the present, were resolved and summedup in this at last, --the desire to have some meaning to her life, somedignity of purpose, --no longer to be the jetsam on the stream that somany women are, buffeted by storms beyond their ken, the sport of menand fate. She looked at her little daughter, who was absorbed in thepictures of a magazine, and said to herself that she was doing it allfor her child, more than for herself. Virginia must have a verydifferent kind of life from hers! Parentlike she yearned to graft uponthe young tree the heavy branch of her own worldly experience. Andperhaps Milly realized, also, that the world into which little Virginiawas rapidly growing would be a very different sort of place--especiallyfor women--from the one in which Milly Ridge had fluttered about withuntutored instincts and a dominating determination "to have a goodtime.... "

Tired at last with so much meditation, Milly bought a novel from thenewsboy, --"Clive Reinhard's Latest and Best"--_A Woman's Will_, andburied herself in its pages. 

IV

GOING INTO BUSINESS

"Ernestine, " Milly announced gravely that first night after Virginia wastucked in bed, "I've something important to say to you. "

"What is it, dearie?" Ernestine inquired apprehensively. 

The Laundryman had taken a half holiday to welcome her family home aftertheir prolonged vacation. She and the old colored cook--a great admirerof Milly's--had decorated the dining-room with wild flowers andcontrived a birthday cake with eight candles for Virginia, who hadcelebrated her nativity a few days previously. Ernestine had alsoindulged in a quart of champagne, a wine of which Milly was very fond. But like poor Ernestine, in whom thrift usually fought a losing battlewith generosity, she had compromised upon a native brand that the dealerhad said was "just as good as the imported kind, " but which Milly hadtasted and left undrunk.... She had also put on her best dress, a muchgrander affair of black silk than the rose-pink negligee, which Millyhad compelled her to bestow upon Amelia. And she had lighted the fire inthe living-room and all the wax candles, though it was still warmoutdoors and they had to open the street windows and endure the thunderof the traffic. 

Milly, although she had received all Ernestine's efforts graciously, hadbeen wearied by the noise, --the fierce song of New York, --and had beenserious and non-communicative since her arrival. Virginia, however, hadbeen eloquently happy to return to her own home, her own things, her ownbed, and her own Amelia and Ernestine, which had somewhat made up to theLaundryman for Milly's indifference. 

Now Milly stood in the middle of the room, looking straight before her, but seeing nothing. Ernestine, with hands clasped around her knees, satin a low chair and anxiously watched her friend, --

"Well, what is it?" she demanded, as Milly's silence continued after herfirst announcement. Milly turned and looked at Ernestine, then saidslowly, --

"I'm going into business--in Chicago. "

Ernestine gave a little gasp, of relief. 

"What is it this time?" she asked. 

Then Milly explained her project at great length, growing more eloquentas she got deeper into the details of her conception, painting glowinglythe opportunities of providing hungry Chicagoans with toothsomedelicacies, and exhibiting a much more practical notion of the schemethan she had had of her other ideas. 

"Chicago is the place, " she asserted with conviction. "I'm known there, for one thing, " she added with a touch of pride. "And it is the naturalhome of enterprise. They do things out there, instead of talking aboutthem. You ought to know Chicago, Ernestine--I'm sure you'd like it. "

The Laundryman asked in a dull tone:--

"Where'll you get the money to start your cake shop? For it will takemoney, a sight of money, to do all those things you talk about. "

Milly hesitated a moment before this question. 

"I don't know yet, " she said thoughtfully, "but I think I shan't havemuch trouble in getting what capital I need. I have friends in Chicago, who promised to help me. "

(It was perfectly true that Walter Kemp had said half jestingly to Millywhen he last saw her, --"When you get ready to go into business, Milly, you must let me be your banker!")

"But, " Milly continued meaningly, "I wanted to talk it over with youfirst. That's why I came back now. "

Ernestine went over and closed the windows. It was a crisis. Sherecognized it, indeed she had felt it coming for a long time. She wouldhave to choose some day between Milly and her own life--the laundrybusiness--and the day had come. 

"Will you go in with me, Ernestine?" Milly asked directly... 

They talked far into the night until the traffic had died to a distantrumble. Probably in any case Ernestine would have yielded to Milly'sdesires. Her heart was too deeply involved with Milly and Virginia--"herfamily"--for her to allow them to take themselves out of her life, asshe saw that this time Milly would do should she refuse to share in thenew move. And as it happened the choice came when a crisis in her ownbusiness was on the way. The two young men who owned all but a fewshares of the Twentieth Century Laundry stock had been bitten by thetrustifying germ and had agreed to go into a "laundry combine" withseveral other large laundries. It was one thing, Ernestine realized, tobe the practical boss of a small business, and quite another to be asubordinate in a large stock-gambling venture with an unknown crew ofmasters. 

This complication had come up in definite form since Milly's departure, and Ernestine, after much consideration, had already resolved to sell tothe new company the few shares she owned in the Twentieth CenturyLaundry, and look about for another opening in the business she knew. But she hesitated with a woman's timidity before embarking alone in asmall independent business. She did not want the responsibility of beingthe head of a business, especially in these days when, as she was wellaware, the little pots usually get smashed by the big kettles in thestream. 

So Milly's scheme happened to come at the right moment. As far as themove to Chicago was concerned, Ernestine rather welcomed the change:hers had been a monotonous treadmill in one environment. She was readyfor a venture in a new city, and curious about Chicago, of which Millyhad talked a great deal. But above all, the conclusive reason for herconsent was Milly--her affections. She could not lose her family, costwhat it might to keep them. She had no clear idea of Milly's soaringambition to transplant a French _patisserie_ to the alien soil ofChicago. A cake shop, Ernestine supposed, was some sort of retail foodbusiness like a bakeshop or delicatessen stand, and cake seemed to heralmost as elementally necessary to mankind as washing or liquor. Buteven if the venture failed and took with it all her savings fromindustrious years of toil, she would do it "like a sport, " as Sam Reddonhad called her, and when the time came, face life anew.... 

"I'll go, Milly!" she said at the end, with a thump of her fist on herknee. "And I'll put my own money into the thing. With what my stock willbring and the cash in the bank, I'll have pretty nearly ten thousanddollars. That ought to be enough to start a cake shop, I should think. You won't have to go to any of your rich friends for help. "

Milly thought so, too, and was surprised at the amount of Ernestine'ssavings. She felt relieved not to have to go to the Kemps for money andgenuinely delighted to have Ernestine a partner in her venture. 

"Now we must start at once!" she said gayly. "Mustn't lose a day, sothat we can open before the fall season is over. "

She went to bed very happy and very confident. Ernestine, if lessconfident, had sufficient self-reliance not to worry about the future. Thanks to her eighteen years of successful self-support, she knew thatshe could meet life anywhere any time, and get the best of it. 

From the very next day there began for Milly the most active and thehappiest period of her existence. They packed hurriedly, and moved toChicago, Milly going on ahead to engage a house where they could liveand also have their cakes baked. With Eleanor's Kemp's advice Millywisely selected a large, old-fashioned brick house on the south side, not far from the business district. Once the handsome residence of aprosperous merchant, it had been abandoned in the movement outward fromthe crowded city and was surrounded by lofty office buildings andautomobile shops. Its large rooms were cool and comfortable, and theheavy cornices and woodwork gave an air of stately substantiality to theold house that pleased Milly. 

When Ernestine arrived the two partners went hunting for a suitableshop. Milly wanted a location in the very centre of the fashionableretail district on the avenue, somewhere between the Institute and theAuditorium, the two most stable landmarks in the city. But the rents, even at that time, were prohibitive, and they found they must contentthemselves with one of the cross streets. There at last they found agrimy little old building tucked in, as if forgotten, between two moremodern structures, which could be had entire for a rental that theymight (with a burst of courage) contemplate. It was only a few stepsfrom the great north and south thoroughfare and within the woman's zone. Ernestine, indeed, was for going farther away after something moremodest in rental, so that they should not have to sink so much of theircapital at the start. But Milly argued cogently that for the specialclientèle which they wished to attract they must be in the quarter suchpeople frequented, near the haberdashers and milliners and beautyparlors, and Ernestine yielded the point because she did not know aboutcake shops. When they came to the business of the lease, the goodservices of Walter Kemp were enlisted. After he had met Ernestine in thecourse of the negotiations with the agent of the property, he reportedmore hopefully to his wife of Milly's new undertaking. 

"Anyway, she's got a good partner, " he declared. "The Geyer woman is notmuch on looks, but she's solid--and if I'm not mistaken, she knows herbusiness. "

In this last the banker was mistaken. Ernestine was being carried alongpassively in the whirl of Milly's enterprise and hardly knew what shewas about, it was all so unfamiliar; but she kept her mouth shut and hereyes open and was learning all the time. She had already found out thattheir cake shop was not to be a plebeian provision business, but anaffair of fashion and taste--or, as she called it, --for the "swells, "and had her first instinctive misgivings on that score. And that tenthousand dollars, which had seemed to her a substantial sum, she sawwould look very small indeed by the time the doors of their shop wereopened to "trade. " But Milly's spirits were never higher: she sparkledwith confidence and ideas. On the signing of the lease, which WalterKemp guaranteed, they had a very jolly luncheon at the large hotel nearby. 

As soon as the lease had been signed Milly telegraphed--she never wroteletters any more, it was so much more businesslike to telegraph--to SamReddon to come on at once and superintend the rehabilitation of thepremises. Ernestine would have intrusted this important detail to ascrub woman, and the agent's Chicago decorator, but Milly saidpromptly, --"That would spoil everything!"

Reddon responded to "Milly's Macedonian cry, " as he described hertelegram, with an admirable promptness, arriving the next day "with oneclean shirt and no collars, " he confessed. Milly took him at once to thedingy shop. 

"Now, Sam, " she said to him in her persuasive way, "I want you to makethis into the nicest little _patisserie_ you ever saw in Paris. _Vraichic_, you know!"

"Some stunt, " he replied, looking at the grimy squalor of the abandonedshop, with its ugly plate-glass windows and forbidding walls. "Don't youwant me to get you a frieze for those bare walls--some Chicago nymphstaking a bath in the Lake with a company of leading citizens observingthem from the steps of the Art Institute, in the manner of the saintedPuvis?"

"Don't be silly, Sam!" Milly replied in reproof. "This is business. "

And Sam put it through for her. They had a good time over thetransformation of the Chicago shop to something "elegant andspirituelle, " as Sam called it. He entered into the spirit of the thing, as Milly knew he would, and turned out a creditable imitation of a Parisshop, with stucco marbles, black woodwork, and glass everywhere, even tored plush sofas along the walls and a row of little tables and chairs infront. It had a very gay appearance--"distinguished" in its sombresetting. "No one could help walking in to buy a cake, could they?" Samappealed to Ernestine. 

"Hope they'll have the price for more than one, " the former Laundrymanobserved. 

"Oh, you'll do a big business, " Sam rejoined encouragingly. "Mostly ontick, if Milly runs the cash drawer. "

"She won't!" Ernestine retorted. 

The last touch was the sign, --a long, thin black board on which wastraced in a delicate gilt script, --_The Cake Shop--Madame Millernine_. The firm name was Sam's personal contribution to the business. "You musthave a suitable name, and who ever heard of a Bragdon or a Geyer keepinga cake shop? There are proprieties in all these things. "

But long before the sign was in place, Milly had sailed away from NewYork for Paris. It had been discovered that a good French pastry cookwas not to be found in Chicago. A few were said to exist in America, chiefly in New York hotels, but their handiwork was not up to Milly'sstandard and their demands for wages were exorbitant. Also real _chic_French _dames des comptoirs_ were exceedingly rare. Jeanne's Grenoblesister-in-law proved to be, in Reddon's words, --"so infernally homelythat she would scare the customers from the door. " So it was agreed thatwhile Ernestine attended to the numerous details of the preparations inChicago, Milly should make a hurried trip abroad consult with herfriend, Madame Catteau, and secure among other things a competentpastry-cook and a few good-looking girls for waitresses. 

Milly enjoyed her trip immensely. She had an air of importance about herthat Sam Reddon described as "diplomatic. " She was a woman of affairsnow--large affairs and getting larger all the time. She spent tworapturous weeks, so breathlessly absorbed in consulting with MadameCatteau (who was ravished by Milly's scheme and deplored almosttearfully her fate in having a husband and two children to keep her fromreturning with Madame Brag-donne) and in interviewing men cooks andyoung Frenchwomen, that she had no time for memories or sentimentalgriefs of any sort. Once, flitting through the rue Gallilée in a cab, she saw the hotel-pension where she and Jack had spent their firstwinter, and she conjured up a vivid picture of the chilly salon, thetable of elderly English women, and the long, dull hours in her close, back room. How long ago all that was, and how young and stupid she hadbeen then! She felt very much more alive now, an altogether new person, with her business on her hands, --but not old, oh, not that!... 

An ideal man pastry-cook was finally engaged, one highly recommended byMadame Catteau as _vrai Parisien_, skilful in every sort of pastry, andalso three young women were induced, for love of Madame Brag-donne, totry their fortune in the great city of Chicago. Also, Milly boughtquantities of bonbons, liquors, sirops, and other specialities of thebusiness, which she knew could not be had "really, truly French" inAmerica. With a feeling of having accomplished much, Milly gathered herflock and set sail from Havre on the French steamer. M. Paul--thepastry-cook--insisted on having a first-class passage, and wouldconverse with Milly whenever he found her on deck. The girls were sickin the second cabin. Milly was indulgent with them all by sympathy aswell as by policy, but she was glad to see Sandy Hook. She decided thatthe French temperament needed occupation, and she hustled her conscriptsacross the city and into the Chicago train without an hour's delay. 

Ernestine, Virginia, and Sam Reddon met the party at the Chicago stationand escorted the exclamatory laborers to their new home on the upperfloor of the old mansion. Then Milly and Sam went to see the Cake Shop, which was now ready for its sweet merchandise. Milly, though she wasfresh from Paris, was much pleased with Sam's results, and praised himwarmly. 

"It's cost an awful sight of money, " Ernestine observed lugubriously. 

Milly waved one hand negligently. Ernestine was almost as bad as Grandmahad been. Would she never rise to the conception of modern business? Itwas not the outgo that counted, but the receipts. Milly knew thatalready. 

"I'll do you a better one next time, " Sam promised, "when you open yourfirst _succursale_, Milly. "

"That will be next autumn--in New York, " Milly announced. 

"My stars!" said Ernestine. 

V

MILLY'S SECOND TRIUMPH

They opened the Cake Shop just before the holidays, with a great party. Milly was positive that was the right procedure, though Ernestine couldsee no point to giving away so much "trade. " Nearly a thousand finelyengraved cards were sent out to Milly's friends, the friends of Milly'sfriends, and their friends and acquaintances, to meet "Mrs. John Bragdonand Miss Ernestine Geyer at the Cake Shop on Saturday, December thefifteenth, from two until eight o'clock. " (Ernestine, to be sure, couldnot be "met, " because she was in the cellar most of the time attendingto many essential details of the occasion. But Milly was there in theshop above, prettily gowned in a costume she had managed to capture, incidentally, on her flying visit to the French capital. )

 * * * * *

It was a tremendous, resounding, thrilling success! Nearly everybody outof the thousand must have come, they reckoned afterwards, and severalmore besides who knew they had not been intentionally omitted from thelist of the invited. The guests began coming shortly after the doorswere thrown open (by a small colored boy, habited in Turkish costume), and no sooner did any tear themselves away from the shop than twice asmany squeezed their way in somehow. At first the pretty French girls insilk aprons and coquettish caps tried to execute the orders, but soontheir trays were seized by enthusiastic young men and the waitressestook refuge behind the marble table beside the Madame and helped to handout the tempting cakes and bonbons and sorbets and sirops and liqueurs. Even Milly pulled off her long white gloves, got in line with heremployees, and tried to appease her hungry guests. As a final touch adainty, gold-printed souvenir menu, with the list of delicacies to behad at the Cake Shop, was handed to every comer, as long as they lasted. 

There was one long glad chorus of praise for the Cake Shop andeverything it contained, from the mirrors, the fetching decoration, thetables, the cakes (such as never had been dreamed of) to the prettygirls, who were surrounded always by a cluster of men, trying with theirChicago French to get attention.... And Milly, of course, was theheroine of the occasion. Her health was drunk, and she had to get on achair to make a little speech of thanks and invitation to the Cake Shopas a new Chicago Institution. 

Many of the women who came knew their Paris better than New York, and"adored" "this _chic_ little place. " It recalled to them all mostdelightful moments. And even in Paris they had never eaten anything sodelicious as M. Paul's cakes. Henceforth they should buy all theirdesserts of "Madame Millernine, " and there was a spatter of Frenchphrases all over the place. 

"It was a wonder!" they declared, "this idea of creating a little ofParis here in old Chicago. A touch of genius really--just like thatastonishing Milly Ridge to have thought of the one thing--and the cakeswere so good, " etc. , etc. 

Milly's ears burned with the winged words, and she smiled all the time. If Ernestine only could hear this, it would cure her of doubting. Sheshould hear! Milly felt that at last she had demonstrated herself. Itwas like that other occasion so many, many years ago, when she hadsurmounted all the difficulties and entertained her friends at "tea. "Then her triumph had been indubitable. But this time it was moresignificant, for the affair was less childish: it meant money, Milly wassure, --much money. So every one said. 

At eight Milly was rescued by a party of friends and borne to a hotel intriumph for a dinner which lasted long after midnight. Her health wasdrunk again in real champagne; speeches were made to impromptu toasts of"The New Woman in Business--God Bless Her. " "The Poetry of the Palate, ""The Creative Cake, " etc.... At ten Ernestine and her aides, havingsucceeded in gathering the débris and straightening out the place forthe public opening the next morning, went wearily home to bed. She wastold that it had been a great success; she hoped that the enthusiasmwould last; but all these people had eaten "a mighty sight of expensivestuff" without paying for it, which seemed to the prosaic Ernestine "badbusiness. "

 * * * * *

But Milly knew. She was right. Those cakes cast upon the waters offashionable Chicago brought in a hundredfold return. The indulgentnewspapers, always patriotically loud over local enterprise, noted theopening of the Cake Shop as a minor social event and so in thesucceeding days all those who hadn't been invited and couldn't talkFrench with the waitresses crowded into the store. It was aNovelty, --the New Thing, --and became overnight a popular fad. M. Paulwas hard pressed to turn off enough of his delectable tid-bits--they hadto employ assistants for him almost at once, and one may suspect thatthe fairylike melt-in-the-mouth quality of his best work began todeteriorate from the second day. He had never baked cakes on thiswholesale scale. Did these gluttonous barbarians devour them by theplatterful?... Telephone orders were numerous, and Ernestine mustorganize an efficient delivery system, in which she was at home. Millyspent her days at the shop, where it became the fashion for men as wellas women to drop in late in the afternoon, to eat a cake or six and chatwith one's friends, to sip an anisette or grenadine, and maybe carryaway a bagful of cakes for the little ones at home or to eke out Mary'sthick-crusted New England pie. 

So it was a Success! Milly and Ernestine worked like willinggalley-slaves, getting things to run smoothly, fitting into all thecorners that their excitable French assistants created daily. Milly wasone broad beam these days, and went happily to bed so tired that she wasasleep before she touched her pillow. Even Ernestine's heavy browsrelaxed their tension, for the "queer" business seemed to be making goodbeyond her expectations. Milly had been right. They charged outrageousprices for their delicacies, which scandalized Ernestine, who could notbelieve that people would be foolish enough to pay twice and three timeswhat things were worth. But Milly insisted. "The people we are after, "she said, "like it all the better the more they have to pay. " And toErnestine's astonishment she seemed to be right again, for the present. That, Ernestine concluded, must be another freak of this "rich trade";the "swells" expected to be done and would be disdainful if theyweren't. Ernestine had a good deal of contempt for their patrons. Butthe glowing proof of their business success lay in the cash drawer, which literally overflowed with money, and they had accounts with halfthe families in Chicago who pretended to be "in society. "

Business men began to compliment Milly upon her shrewdness and predicteda marvellous growth for the business. One broker seriously suggestedincorporating the Cake Shop, as certain candy manufacturers hadincorporated, and offered to boom the stock on the local exchange, Millytalked of opening a summer branch in Newport or Bar Harbor, she couldnot decide which. But she was a little timid about the east. She feltthat she had been right in starting in Chicago. The west was lessaccustomed to Paris and had a lustier appetite for cake than New York, and the charm of their Gallic interior was more of a novelty beside LakeMichigan than it would be on Fifth Avenue. A branch in St. Louis orOmaha might pay: her mind was nimble with schemes.... She was also goingout more or less all the time, to dinners and theatre parties, whichwith her long day's work took every ounce of her strength and more. Virginia had to get along these days the best she could. But was hermother not building up a fortune for her future?

 * * * * *

Of course they had their troubles from the very start. M. Paul'sParisian morals, it was quickly found, could not be domesticated in aChicago home, and quarters had to be found for him outside the house. Then the prettiest of the girls suddenly disappeared, much to Milly'sgrief and anxiety. The men had been specially attentive to Lulu, and itwas found that she had taken a trip to the Pacific Coast with a youngbroker. Then in the midst of their harvest the receipts began to fallmysteriously, and Ernestine discovered an unauthorized trail from thecash drawer to the large pocket of their _dame de comptoir_. Ernestineresolutely handed her over to the police, which proved to be a very badmove indeed, for no good French substitute could be found immediatelyand her Nebraska successor spoke no French and twanged her English inthe good Omaha way. She gave the Cake Shop the air of a Childs'Restaurant. Milly cabled her ally in Paris, Madame Catteau, for a newQueen of the Counter, but she did not arrive until their first seasonwas drawing to a close. 

There were other difficulties, new ones almost every day, but the twopartners met them all pluckily, --Ernestine with a determined look and aheavy hand; Milly, with smiles and tactful suggestions. Ernestineadmired the wonderful way in which Milly managed "the French help, "talking to them in their own language, flattering them, findingcompanions and ways of forgetting their loneliness. And through theirtroubles both were buoyed up by the stimulating sense of success andprosperity. They were making money, --how much they did not know becausethe business was complex and they hadn't time to figure it all out, --buta good, deal they were sure. As the winter season came to a close therewas a lull naturally because many of their patrons left the city forCalifornia and the south. It was a convenient breathing time in whichthey could straighten out their affairs and plan the future campaign. Trade revived at the end of May and held pretty well into July, thendropped as the country season got into swing. Ernestine was for turningthe Cake Shop into a glorified ice-cream stand for the summer, but Millywould not hear of this desecration of her Vision; they were both tiredand had earned a vacation. So while Ernestine took Virginia to one ofthe lake resorts, Milly rested in the big, cool, empty house and playedaround Chicago with her numerous friends. 

She felt that she deserved a reward, and she took it. 

VI

COMING DOWN

The Cake Shop started the autumn season rather dully. Some of its éclathad evaporated by the second year, and M. Paul was decidedly gettingspoiled in the New World. His cakes were inferior in both quality andvariety, and he demanded a sixty per cent rise in wages, which they feltobliged to give him. Another girl had drifted away during the summer, sothat one lone Parisian maiden--and the homeliest of the trio--remainedto "give an air" to the Cake Shop, and she, already corrupted by thefree air of the west, gave it sullenly and with a Chicago heaviness. Theshop itself was, of course, less fresh and dainty, having suffered fromten months of smoke, although they had spent a good deal in having itlargely redecorated. Just as the cakes became heavier, tougher, moreordinary, as the months passed, so the whole enterprise sufferedgradually from that coarsening and griming which seems an inevitableresult of Chicago use. Much of the fine artistic flavor of Milly'sconception had already been lost. It was becoming commercialized. Ernestine did not perceive these changes, to be sure, though Milly didin her less buoyant moments. What troubled Ernestine was the fact thatthe receipts were falling off, and the accounts were hard to collect. 

She suspected that Milly had lost something of her enthusiasm for theCake Shop. Milly certainly devoted less ardor to the enterprise. Shecontinued to go out a good deal, more than Ernestine felt was good forher health or good for the business, and she often required the use ofthe house and the servants for elaborate luncheons or dinner-parties. This invariably put the machine out of order, although Milly always feedthe employees liberally for their extra service. Ernestine did not liketo complain, because it seemed selfish to deprive Milly of the socialrelaxation she craved. So she took her supper with Virgie in thelatter's nursery. When she did demur finally, Milly, without a word, transferred her party to an expensive new hotel, which was not good forMilly's all-too-open purse. 

Business picked up at the holiday season, but fell off again thereafter. They were not making much money this second winter, and Ernestine wasbecoming anxious. 

"You're always worrying about something, " Milly said, when Ernestinepointed out this fact to her. "If the Cake Shop fails, I'll think upsomething else that will put us right, " she added lightly, in the rôleof the fertile creator, and tripped off to the theatre. 

But that wasn't Ernestine's idea of business. She got out the books andwent through them again. 

The play proved to be entertaining, and Milly returned home in goodspirits. From the hall she heard the sounds of voices in altercation inthe rear room where Ernestine had her desk. M. Paul's excited accentcould be distinguished playing arpeggios all over Ernestine's grumblingbass. "Oh, dear!" thought Milly, "Paul's off the hooks again and I'llhave to straighten him out.... "

"See here, my man--" Ernestine growled, but what she was going to saywas cut off by a flood of Gallic impertinence. 

"Your man! Ah, non, non, non! Indeed not the man of such a woman as you!I call you 'my voman'? Not by--"

Here Milly intervened to prevent a more explicit illustration of M. Paul's contempt for Ernestine's femininity. 

"She call me her 'man'!" the pastry-cook flamed, pointing disdainfullyat Ernestine. 

"The fellow's been thieving from us for months, " Ernestine said angrily, and pointing to the door she said, --"Get out!"

"Oh, Ernestine!" Milly protested. 

But M. Paul had "got out" with a few further remarks uncomplimentary toAmerican women, and the damage was done. Ernestine could not be made tosee that with the departure of the pastry-cook, the last substantialprop to Milly's fairy structure was gone. 

"The beast has been selling our sugar and supplies, " Ernestineexplained. 

"It makes no difference what he has done!" Milly replied withjustifiable asperity. 

The next morning she set forth to track the fugitive pastry-cook andwile him back to their service. She found him after a time at one of thenew hotels, where he had already been engaged as pastry-cook. To Milly'splea that he return to his old allegiance, he orated dramatically uponErnestine and _la femme_ in general. 

"You, Madame Brag-donne, are _du vrai monde_, " he testified tearfully. "But that thing--bah! 'Her man'--_canaille du peuple_, "--etc. 

Milly, touched by the compliment, tried to make him understand themeaning of her partner's remark. But he shook his head wrathfully, andshe was forced to depart, defeated. It was some consolation to reflectthat this time it had been Ernestine's fault. Milly thought there mightbe something in the Frenchman's criticism of Ernestine. Her good partnerlacked tact, and she was indisputably "of the people. " Millyphilosophized, --"Servants always feel those things. "

She walked across the city from the hotel in a depressed frame ofmind, --not so much crushed by approaching disaster as numbed. She hadsomething of the famous "artistic temperament, " which is fervid andbuoyant in creation, but apt to lose interest and become cold when thegauzy fabric of fancy's weaving fails to work out as it should. Shepassed the Cake Shop, where through the long front windows she could seethe girls idling over the marble counter, and instead of turning in, asshe had meant to do, she kept on towards the Avenue. The place gave hera chill these days. All the dazzling gilt was dropping from the creatureof her imagination, and it was becoming smudged, like the sign, byreality. Ernestine had seriously suggested converting the Cake Shop intoa lunch-counter for the employees of the neighboring office buildings!Milly saw a horrible vision of coarse sandwiches, machine-made pies, andBismarcks (a succulent western variety of doughnut) on the marble tablesinstead of Paul's dainty confections; coffee and "soft drinks" in placeof the rainbow-hued "sirops. " Her soul shuddered. No, they would takedown the pretty sign and close the doors of the Cake Shop beforeadmitting such desecration into the temple of her dreams.... 

People seemed to be hurrying towards the Avenue, their heads tiltedupwards, and a crowd had gathered on the steps of the Art Institute. Milly, whose mind fortunately was easily distracted from her troubles, joined the pushing, good-natured throng of men and women, who werestaring open-mouthed into the heavens. It was the opening day ofChicago's first "Air Meet, " which Milly had forgotten in the anxietycaused by M. Paul. Far above the smoky haze of the city, in the dim, distant depths of the blue sky there was a tiny object floating, circling waywardly, as free apparently as a lark in the high heavens, onwhich the eyes of the multitude were fastened in fascination. Millyuttered a little, unconscious sigh of satisfaction. Ah, that would be tolive, --to soar above the murk and the roar of the city, free as a birdin the vast, wind-swept spaces of the sky! It filled her, as it did theeager crowd, with delight and yearning aspiration. She sighed again.... 

"It's a pretty sight, isn't it?" a familiar voice observed close behindher. With a start Milly turned and perceived, on the step below, --EdgarDuncan. His long face had an eager, wistful expression, also, causedperhaps by the aerial phenomenon above, as much as by the sight of hislost love; but the expression took Milly back immediately to the littlefront room on Acacia Street, when Duncan had stood before her to receivehis blow. 

"There!" Duncan exclaimed quickly, before Milly could collect anappropriate remark. "He's coming down!" Speechless they both cranedtheir heads backwards to follow the aeroplane. The airman, tired of hislofty wandering, or having done the day's stunt required of him, hadbegun to descend and shot rapidly towards the spectators out of the sky. As he came nearer the earth, he executed the reckless corkscrewman[oe]uvre: the great winged machine seemed to be rushing, tumbling ina perpendicular line just above the heads of the gazing crowd. There wasan agonized murmur, a prolonged, --"Ah!" It gave Milly delicious thrillsup and down her body. When the airman took another leap towards earth, her heart stopped beating altogether. With only a few hundred feetbetween him and the earth the airman turned his planes and begancircling in slow curves over the adjacent strip of park, as if he werejudiciously selecting the best spot for alighting. 

"It doesn't take 'em long to come down!" Duncan remarked, and Milly, with a swift mental comparison of the aeroplane flight and her ownlittle fate, replied, --

"It never takes long to come down, does it?"

She looked more closely now at her former lover. Apparently his blow hadnot seriously damaged him. His figure was fuller and his face tanned toa healthier color than she remembered. He seemed to be in good spirits, and not perceptibly older than he was ten years before. They descendedthe steps with the moving throng and strolled slowly up the crowdedboulevard, watching the distant flights and talking. 

Edgar Duncan, she learned, had not spent the ten years nursing a woundedheart. He had doubled the acreage of his ranch, he told her, and thanksto the fatherly government at Washington, which had trebled the duty onforeign lemons, he was doing very well indeed. The big yellow ballsamong the glossy leaves were fast becoming golden balls. He was now onhis way east to see his people and also to look after the interests of afruit-growers' association in the matter of a railroad rate on lemons. He seemed very much alive. The blow had probably done him good, Millyconcluded, --had waked him up. 

There were a few hours between his trains, he explained to Milly, and sohe had wandered over to the park to watch the aeroplanes, which were thefirst of the bird machines he had ever seen. It was almost time now forhim to leave. But he lost that Washington train. For he walked home withMilly to see her little girl, stayed to luncheon, and was still at thehouse telling Virginia about real oranges on real orange trees whenErnestine came in. She was hot and tired, evidently much disturbed, andmore than usually short with Milly's guest. Duncan left soon afterwards, and then Milly asked, --

"What's the matter, Ernestine?"

"I'd think you'd know!... If we can't get a cook, we might as well shutup the shop to-morrow. "

Milly had forgotten all about the loss of the pastry-cook and thebusiness in her surprise at meeting Edgar Duncan again and all thememories he had revived. 

"All right!" she said promptly. "Do it. "

"Give up the business?" Ernestine asked in amazement. She could notbelieve Milly meant to take her testy remark seriously. What had comeover Milly!

"We might try it in Pasadena, " Milly remarked after a time. "There are alot of rich people out there. "

This went beyond the bounds of Ernestine's patience. 

"Pasadena!... Last time it was Palm Beach, and before that it wasNewport. What's the matter with staying right here and making good?"

Milly did not reply. Ernestine's pent-up irritation overflowed stillmore. 

"You ain't any business woman, Milly!"

"I never said I was. "

"You always want to get in some society work--social pull! Rich folks!"Ernestine groaned with disgust. "That kind of furor don't last. They'retoo flighty in their notions. "

"Like me, " Milly interposed bitterly. 

"Well, it ain't business to quit. "

"Oh, business!" Milly exclaimed disgustedly. She felt like an artistwhose great work has been scorned by the philistines. 

"Yes, business!" Ernestine asserted hotly. "If you're going intobusiness, you've got to play the game and play it _hard_ all the time, too. Or you'd better marry and do the other thing. "

"Perhaps I'll marry, " Milly retorted with an enigmatical smile. 

Ernestine stared at her agape. Was that what was the trouble with Milly?She had not meant to go so far. 

VII

CAPITULATIONS

They found another pastry-cook, --a French-Canadian woman. But if herancestors had ever seen the Isle de France, it must have been centuriesago, and the family had become fatally corrupted since by Britishgastronomic ideals. Her pastry was thicker and heavier than Paul'sworst, and she had "no more imagination than a cow" according to Milly. How could one make fine cakes without imagination? "They make betterones at the Auditorium Hotel even, " Milly observed disgustedly. The CakeShop had gone down another peg. Now it served afternoon tea with Englishwafers instead of the exotic "sirops" and "liqueurs, " and advertised"Dainty Luncheons for Suburban Shoppers. " (That was Ernestine'sphrasing. ) Milly almost never went near the place, and acted as if shewanted to forget it altogether. 

In her efforts to revive her partner's waning interest Ernestine evensuggested Milly's going again to Paris to engage a fresh crew, but Millyonly shrugged her shoulders. "What's the use? You know we haven't themoney. "

"Borrow it!" Ernestine said desperately. 

"When a thing is dead, it's dead, " Milly pronounced, and addedoracularly, "Better to let the dead past bury its dead, " and murmuredthe lines from a celebrated new play, "Smashed to hell is smashed tohell!" If she were willing to see her creation die, Ernestine ought tobe. But that was not Ernestine's nature: she was not artistic nortemperamental, as Milly often proved to her. In her dumb, heavy fashionshe still tried to prop up the ill-fated Cake Shop and make it payexpenses at least, in one way or another. 

The time came, as it must come, when even this was more than Ernestinecould compass. She had tried every device she could think of, but, asshe reflected sadly, she had not been brought up to the "food business. "It was a peculiar business, like all businesses, especially thedelicatessen end, and needed an expert to diagnose its cure. So thedoors were closed, and a "To Rent" sign plastered on the front panes. Ernestine acknowledged defeat. 

Milly was outwardly unmoved. She had divined the outcome so much soonerthan her partner that she had already passed through the agonies offailure and come to that other side where one looks about for the nextengagement with life. Possibly she had already in view what this was tobe. She assented indifferently to Ernestine's proposal that they shouldmeet Mr. Kemp and the agent at the Shop and decide what was to be doneabout the lease, which had more than a year to run. 

"They'll be there shortly after noon, " Ernestine reminded Milly, as thelatter was about to leave the house that day. 

"All right, " she said evasively. "I'll try to be there, but it won'tmake any difference if I'm not--you know about everything. "

She was not there. Ernestine knew well enough that Milly would not cometo the funeral of their enterprise at the Cake Shop, and though she felthurt she said nothing to the men and went through with the lastformalities in the dusty, dismantled temple of cakes. At the end thebanker asked Ernestine kindly what she meant to do. He knew that theLaundryman's capital had gone--all her savings--and that "the firm" wasin debt to his bank for a loan of several hundred dollars, which heexpected to pay himself and also to take care of the lease. 

"I don't know yet, " Ernestine replied. "I'll find some place.... And itwon't be in any fancy kind of business like this, you can bet, " and shecast a malevolent glance over the tarnished glories of the Cake Shop. "Igot my experience and I paid for it--with every cent I had in the world. I ain't goin' to buy any more of that!"

The banker laughed sympathetically. 

"What's Mrs. Bragdon going to do?" he inquired. 

"I don't know--she hasn't told me yet. "

Her answer was evasive because Ernestine suspected very well what Millywas likely to do.... She turned the key in the lock, handed it over tothe agent, and with a curt nod to the two men strode away from the CakeShop for the last time. (That evening the banker, reporting theoccurrence to his wife, said, --"I feel sorry for that woman! She's lostevery cent she had--our Milly has milked her clean. " "Walter, how canyou say that?" his wife replied indignantly. "It wasn't Milly's fault ifthe business failed, any more than hers. " "Well, I'd like to bet it's agood big part the fault of our pretty friend. " "Miss Geyer ought not tohave gone into something she knew nothing about. " "Milly bewitched her, I expect. The best thing she can do is to shake her and go back to thelaundry business. ")

It was not Ernestine, however, who was to "shake" Milly. That ladyherself was busily evading their partnership, as Ernestine suspected. While the short obsequies were being transacted at the Cake Shop, Millywas lunching in the one good new hotel Chicago boasts with Edgar Duncan, who had returned from Washington sooner than expected and had askedMilly by telegraph to lunch with him. Seated in the spacious, cool roomoverlooking the Boulevard and the Lake, at a little table cosily placedbeside the open window, Milly might easily have looked through thefragrant plants in the flower-box and descried Ernestine doggedlytramping homeward from her final task at the Cake Shop. Milly preferredto study the menu through her little gold lorgnette, and when thatimportant matter had been settled to her satisfaction, she sat backcontentedly and smiled upon the man opposite her, who, after asuccessful hearing before the Commerce Commission, had more than everthe alert air of a man who knows his own business. Outside in the summersunlight, above the blue water of the Lake and over the dingy sward ofthe Park, the airmen were man[oe]uvring their winged ships, castinggreat shadows as they dipped and soared above the admiring throngs. 

"See, " Milly pointed excitedly through the open window. "He's going upnow!" And she twisted her neck to get the last glimpse of the mountingmachine. 

"Yes, " Duncan remarked indifferently, "they're doing a lot of stunts. "But he hadn't come back from Washington by the first train that leftafter the hearing to talk aeroplanes. And Milly let him do the talking, as she always had, listening with a childlike interest to what he had tosay. 

By this time the reader must know Milly well enough to be able to divinefor himself what was passing in her mind as she daintily excavated thelobster shell on her plate and listened to the plea of her rejectedlover. Probably this was no more able to stir her pulses to a mad rhythmto-day than it had been ten years before. Edgar Duncan was somewhatnearer being her Ideal, --not much. But Milly was ten years older and"had had her throbs, " as she once expressed it. She knew their meaningnow, their relative value, and she knew other values. 

The value of a home and a stable position among her fellows, forinstance, no matter how small, and so she listens demurely while the mantalks hungrily of the Joy of Home and the Beauty of Woman in the Home, "where they belong, not in business. " (How Ernestine would give it tohim for that, and Hazel, too, Milly thought!)

"You are such a woman, Milly!" he exclaims. --"Just a woman!" and in hisvoice the expression has a tender, reverential sound that fallspleasantly on Milly's ears. But she says nothing: she does not mean tobe "soft" this time. Yet in reply to another compliment, she admits, smiling delphically, --"Yes, I _am_ a woman!"

The man takes up another verse of his song, for he has planned thisattack carefully while the swift wheels were turning off the milesbetween Washington and Chicago. 

"You want your little girl to have a home, too, don't you? A real home, _your_ home, where she can get the right sort of start in life?"

"Yes, " Milly assents quickly. "The proper kind of home means so muchmore to a girl than to a boy. If I myself had had--" But she stopsbefore this baseness to poor old Horatio. "I want Virgie's life to bedifferent from mine--so utterly different!"

A wave of self-pity for her loneliness after all her struggle sweepsover her and casts a cloud on her face. 

"You can't be a business woman and make that kind of home for yourdaughter, " Duncan persists, pushing forward his point. 

Milly shakes her head. 

"I'm afraid a woman can't!" she sighs. 

(She doesn't feel it necessary to tell him that for almost one hour bythe clock she has not been a "business woman, " even in the legal senseof the term. )

"Oh, " she murmurs, as if convinced by his logic, "I'm good fornothing--I can't even be a good mother!"

"You are good for everything--for me!"

But Milly is not ready yet. In this sort of transaction she has grown tobe a more expert trader than she was once. 

"It must be the right man, " she observes impersonally. 

And the Ranchman takes another start. He paints glowingly the freedomand the beauty of that outdoors life on the Pacific Coast, --the fragrantlemon orchard with its golden harvest of yellow balls, the velvetyheavens spangled with stars each night, the blooming roses, etc. , etc. But he cannot keep long off the personal note. 

"I've sat there nights on my veranda, and thought and thought of you, Milly, until it seemed as though you were really there by my side and Icould almost touch you. "

"Really!" Milly is becoming moved in spite of herself. Somehow Duncan'swords have a genuine ring to them. "I believe, " she muses, "that you_are_ the sort of man who could care always for a woman. "

"I always have cared for one woman!"

"You are good, Edgar. "

"I don't know about that. Good hasn't much to do between men and womenwhen they love.... It's always love that counts, isn't it?"

(Milly is not as sure of that doctrine as she was once, but she iscontent that the man should feel that way. She does not argue thepoint. )

"Can't you sit there with me, Milly, and watch the stars for the rest ofour lives?"

Milly evades. She must have the terms set forth more explicitly. 

"It wouldn't be right to keep Virgie out there away from people all thetime, would it?"

He sees the point and yields. 

"We'll come here every year for the fall and see your friends. "

"That would be nice, " she accepts graciously. But Chicago doesn't appealto Milly as strongly as it had on her first return to its breezy, heartylife. 

"I should like to have Virgie study music, " she suggests, "andtravel--have advantages. "

"Of course!" he assents eagerly, and bids again, more daringly, --"We'lltake her to Europe. "

"That would be pleasant. "

"In a year or two, " he explains, "the ranch will almost run itself andbe making big money--with the right rate on lemons and the tariff as itis. Then we can do almost anything we please--live any place you like. "

A pause here. So far it is wholly satisfactory, Milly is thinking, andshe wonders what more she wants. Then, --

"Milly?"

She looks at him with kind eyes. 

"You won't make me wait--much longer?"

Milly slowly shakes her head, acceptingly. 

"God, how I have longed for you!"

"Silly man!"

But she is pleased. She is thinking, --

"I'm doing it for Virginia. It's her only chance--I must do it. "

Which was not altogether a falsehood, and she repeats this self-defenceto herself again when later on Duncan kisses her for the firsttime, --"It's for _her_ sake--I would do anything for her. " And with asigh of unconquerable sentimentalism she seals her bargain on the man'slips. She has found a new sentimental faith, --a mother's sacrifice forher child.... But she is really very glad, and quite tender with him. 

 * * * * *

In this mood she bade her lover good-by at the door and went back intothe house to meet her partner. Ernestine, who was not too obtuse torecognize what had happened without the need of many words, listened toMilly's announcement dumbly. At the end she put her hand on Milly'sshoulder and looked steadily at her for several moments. She was wellenough aware how false Milly had been to her, how careless of her stupidheart, how she had betrayed her in the final hour of their tribulations. Nevertheless, she said quite honestly, --"I'm so glad, dearie, for you!"and kissed her. 

VIII

THE SUNSHINE SPECIAL

A few weeks later a little party gathered in the murky railroad stationfrom which the California trains depart from Chicago. As they approachedthe waiting train, which bore on its observation platform the brasssign, "Sunshine Special, " the negro porters showed their gleaming teethand the conductor muttered with an appropriate smile, --"Another of thembridal parties!" At the head of the little procession the Ranchmanwalked, conversing with Walter Kemp. Duncan had an air of apparentdetachment, but one eye usually rested on Milly, who was walking withher father and was followed by a laughing group. Eleanor Kemp was notamong them. Somehow since the last evolution of Milly's affairs therehad been a coolness between these two old friends, and Mrs. Kemp had nottaken the trouble to leave her summer home "to see Milly off" again. Shehad sent her instead a very pretty dressing-case with realgold-stoppered bottles, which the new husband now handed over to theporter. 

Milly's arm was caressingly placed on her father's. Horatio was older, more wizened, than when we first met him, but he was genial and happy, with a boyish light in his eyes. 

"You'll be sure to come, papa!" Milly said, squeezing his arm. 

"I won't miss it this time, daughter, " Horatio replied slyly, --"mylong-delayed trip to California. " He chuckled reminiscently. 

"You must bring Josephine with you, of course, " Milly added hastily. 

Mrs. Horatio, still stern behind her spectacles, even in the midst of amerry bridal party, relented sufficiently to say, --

"I ain't much on travelling about in cars myself. "

Milly, with the amiability of one who has at last "made good, " remarkedpatronizingly, --

"You'll get used to the cars in three days, my dear. "

Horatio meanwhile was playing with little Virginia, teasing her abouther "new Papa. " The little girl smiled rather dubiously. She had theanimal-like loyalty of childhood, and glanced suspiciously at the "NewPapa. " However, she had already learned from the constant mutations ofher brief life to accept the New and the Unexpected without complaint. At last perceiving Ernestine, who was hurrying breathlessly down thelong platform in search of the party, a huge bunch of long-stemmed roseshugged close in her arms, Virginia ran to meet her old friend and clungtight to the Laundryman. 

"Take 'em!" Ernestine said, breathing hard and thrusting the pricklyflowers into Milly's arms. "My! I thought I'd miss the train. "

"Oh, Ernestine! why did you do that, dear?" Milly exclaimed in a pleasedvoice. 

"It's the last of the Cake Shop!" Ernestine replied with a grim smile. And the roses were almost literally the sole remains of that defunctenterprise, having taken the last of Ernestine's dollars. 

"They're perfectly gorgeous--it was lovely of you to think of bringingthem for me. I'll cut the stems and put them in water and they will keepall the way to the Coast--and remind me of you, " Milly said, who hadformed the habit of receiving floral offerings. 

She handed the awkward bunch over to "Husband, " who hastened dutifullyto place them in their compartment. 

"He's on his job, " Ernestine grinned. The banker laughed. 

"That's what we men are made for, isn't it, Milly?"

"Of course!"

She was in her right element once more, the centre of thepicture, --becomingly dressed in a gray travelling suit, "younger thanever, " about to start on a wonderful three days' journey to a strangenew land, with her faithful and adoring knight. What more was there inlife?

 * * * * *

"All aboard!" the conductor droned. 

Exclamations and final embraces. Milly came to Ernestine Geyer last. 

"Good-by, dear! You've been awfully good to me--I can never forget it!"

"Yes, you will--that's all right, " Ernestine replied gruffly, notknowing exactly what she was saying. 

"I hope you'll make a fortune in your new business--"

"Him and me, " Ernestine interrupted, nodding jocularly towards thebanker, "are going into the laundry business together. "

"You must write me all about it!"

"I will. "

In a last confidential whisper Milly said, --"And some day marry a goodman, dear!"

"Marry!!" Ernestine hooted, so that all could hear. "Me, marry! Notmuch--I'll leave the matrimony business to you. "

Then they kissed. 

There were tears in Ernestine's eyes as she stood waving apocket-handkerchief after the receding train. Milly was at the rail ofthe observation platform, leaning on the brass sign and waving bothhands to her old friends, Chicago, her past. Little Virginia at her sidewaved an inch or two of white also, while the smiling ranchman stoodover them benignantly, protectingly, one hand on his wife's shoulder tokeep her from falling over the rail. 

 * * * * *

When the train had swept out into the yards, the little party broke up. Horatio, who was choky, turned to his wife. Mrs. Horatio was alreadystudying through her spectacles a suburban time-card to ascertain thenext "local" for Elm Park. Ernestine and Walter Kemp slowly strolled upthe train-shed together. The banker was the first to break thesilence:--

"Guess they'll have a comfortable journey, not too dusty.... He seems tobe a good fellow, and he must have a fine place out there. "

Ernestine said nothing. 

"Well, " the banker remarked, "Milly is settled now anyway--hope she'llbe happy! She wasn't much of a business woman, eh?" He looked atErnestine, who smiled grimly, but made no reply. "She's better offmarried, I expect--most women are, " he philosophized, "whether they likeit or not.... That's what a woman like Milly is meant for.... She's thekind that men have run after from the beginning of the world, Iguess--the woman with beauty and charm, you know. "

Ernestine nodded. She knew better than the banker. 

"She'll never do much anywhere, but she'll always find some man crazy todo for her, " and he added something in German about the eternalfeminine, which Ernestine failed to get. 

There was a steady drizzle from a lowering, greasy sky outside of thetrain-shed, and the two paused at the door. With a long sigh Ernestineemitted, --

"I only hope she'll be happy now!"

As if he had not heard this heartfelt prayer, the banker mused aloud, --

"She's Woman, --the old-fashioned kind, --just Woman!"

Ernestine looked steadily into the drizzle. Neither commented on whatboth understood to be the banker's meaning, --that Milly was the type ofwhat men through the ages, in their paramount desire for exclusive sexpossession, had made of women, what civilization had made of her, andsociety still encouraged her to become when she could, --anadventuress, --in the banker's more sophisticated phrase, --a fortuitous, somewhat parasitic creature. In Ernestine's more vulgar idiom, if shehad permitted herself to express her conviction, "Milly was a littlegrafter. " But Ernestine would not have let hot iron force the wordsthrough her lips.... 

"And I suppose, " the banker concluded, "that's the kind of women menwill always desire and want to work for. "

"I guess so, " Ernestine mumbled. 

Had she not worked for Milly? She would have slaved for her cheerfullyall her life and felt it a privilege. Milly had stripped her to thebone, and wounded her heart in addition, --but Ernestine loved her still. 

 * * * * *

"Can I put you down anywhere?" Kemp asked, as his car came up to thecurb. 

"No, thanks--I'll walk. "

"Remember when you want some money for your new business to come and seeme!"

"I owe you too much now. "

"Oh, " he said good-naturedly, "that account is wiped off. Thepartnership's been dissolved. "

"That ain't the way I do business. "

"I wish more of my men customers felt like _you_, " the banker laughed asthe car drove away. 

Ernestine plunged into the drizzle, and while the Sunshine Special washurrying the old-fashioned woman westward to the golden slopes ofCalifornia, with her pretty

 "face that burned the topless towers of Ilium, "

the new woman plodded sturdily through the mucky Chicago streets on herway to the eternal Job. 

Milly was settled at last, and, let us assume, "lived happily everafter. "

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE HEALER

"Distinctly unusual--and distinctly interesting. "--_ChicagoInter-Ocean. _

"Mr. Herrick's finest. "--_Omaha Herald. _

"Had Ibsen been a novelist, and had he chosen Mr. Herrick's theme in'The Healer, ' he might have written much the same sort of anovel. "--_The Dial. _

"Of extraordinary vividness--a book of power. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

"Mr. Herrick has written a novel in which every page has sustainedinterest, though we think he does not intend the reader to grasp thefull moral purport of his story until he reveals it himself in the lastparagraph. We credit the writer not only with possessing a high ideal, but also with having carried out his object with great artisticsuccess--two things which are unhappily not often found between the samecovers. "--_London Athenæum. _

"... Exceedingly well done. "--_Bookman. _

"... Bears directly upon great evils in society to-day. "--_N. Y. Times. _

TOGETHER

"Scarce a page but is tense and strong. "--_Record-Herald. _

"A masterpiece of keen vision and vivid depiction. "--_Mail. _

"An absorbing story ... Likely to make a sensation. "--_New York EveningPost. _

"A book of the first magnitude, that handles a momentous theme boldly, wisely, sympathetically, and with insight. "--_The Forum. _

A LIFE FOR A LIFE

"A serious attempt to treat a big living question in a newway. "--_Record-Herald. _

THE GOSPEL OF FREEDOM

"A novel that may be truly called the greatest study of social life thathas ever been contributed to American fiction. "--_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

THE WEB OF LIFE

"It is strong in that it faithfully depicts many phases of Americanlife, and uses them to strengthen a web of fiction, which is mostartistically wrought out. "--_Buffalo Express. _

THE COMMON LOT

Is a strong, virile picture of modern business life, with all itstemptations to "graft" and its fight for privilege. 

"A novel which it would be difficult to overpraise. "--_PhiladelphiaLedger. _

"It is by long odds the greatest novel of the autumn. "--_The New YorkAmerican. _

THE REAL WORLD

"Unusually satisfying.... The hero steadily approaches the dividing linebetween safety and ruin and you are kept in agitated suspense until thedramatic climax. A number of powerful scenes add color and forcefulnessto a story in the main eminently satisfactory. "--_Record-Herald_, Chicago.