forced to depart, defeated. It was some consolation to reflect
that this time it had been Ernestine's fault. Milly thought there might
be something in the Frenchman's criticism of Ernestine. Her good partner
lacked tact, and she was indisputably "of the people." Milly
philosophized,--"Servants always feel those things."

She walked across the city from the hotel in a depressed frame of
mind,--not so much crushed by approaching disaster as numbed. She had
something of the famous "artistic temperament," which is fervid and
buoyant in creation, but apt to lose interest and become cold when the
gauzy fabric of fancy's weaving fails to work out as it should. She
passed the Cake Shop, where through the long front windows she could see
the girls idling over the marble counter, and instead of turning in, as
she had meant to do, she kept on towards the Avenue. The place gave her
a chill these days. All the dazzling gilt was dropping from the creature
of her imagination, and it was becoming smudged, like the sign, by
reality. Ernestine had seriously suggested converting the Cake Shop into
a lunch-counter for the employees of the neighboring office buildings!
Milly saw a horrible vision of coarse sandwiches, machine-made pies, and
Bismarcks (a succulent western variety of doughnut) on the marble tables
instead of Paul's dainty confections; coffee and "soft drinks" in place
of the rainbow-hued "sirops." Her soul shuddered. No, they would take
down the pretty sign and close the doors of the Cake Shop before
admitting such desecration into the temple of her dreams....

People seemed to be hurrying towards the Avenue, their heads tilted
upwards, 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 were
staring open-mouthed into the heavens. It was the opening day of
Chicago's first "Air Meet," which Milly had forgotten in the anxiety
caused 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, on
which the eyes of the multitude were fastened in fascination. Milly
uttered a little, unconscious sigh of satisfaction. Ah, that would be to
live,--to soar above the murk and the roar of the city, free as a bird
in the vast, wind-swept spaces of the sky! It filled