adame Lewandowska's studio, she found no one
within.

On ordinary days this would not have mattered, for the governess, Miss
Stone, would have been with her, and they would have gone shopping or
sightseeing until the hour was up and James returned. But to-day Miss
Stone, too, was ill, James had departed with the carriage, and Betty
Harris found herself standing, music-roll in hand, at the door of Madame
Lewandowska's studio--alone in the heart of Chicago for the first time
in the twelve years of her life.

It had been a very carefully guarded life, with nurses and servants
and instructors. No little princess was ever more sternly and
conscientiously reared than little Betty Harris, of Chicago. For her
tiny sake, herds of cattle were slaughtered every day; and all over
the land hoofs and hides and by-products and soap-factories lifted
themselves to heaven for Betty Harris. If anything were to happen to
her, the business of a dozen States would quiver to the core.

She tapped the marble floor softly with her foot and pondered. She might
sit here in the hall and wait for James--a whole hour. There was a bench
by the wall. She looked at it doubtfully.... It was not seemly that a
princess should sit waiting for a servant--not even in marble halls.
She glanced about her again. There was probably a telephone
somewhere--perhaps on the ground floor. She could telephone home and
they would send another carriage. Yes, that would be best. She rang the
elevator bell and descended in stately silence. When she stepped out of
the great door of the building she saw, straight before her, the sign
she sought--"Pay Station."

But then something happened to Betty Harris. The spirit of the spring
day caught her and lifted her out of herself. Men were hurrying by with
light step. Little children laughed as they ran. Betty skipped a few
steps and laughed softly with them.... She would walk home. It was not
far. She had often walked as far in the country, and she knew the way
quite well.... And when she looked up again, she stood in front of the
glowing fruit-stall, and Achilles Alexandrakis was regarding her with
deep, sad eyes.

Achilles had been dreaming down the street when the little figure came
in sight. His heart all day had been full of sadness--for the spring in
the air. And all day Athens had haunted his steps--the Athens of dreams.
Once when he had retired into the dark, cool shop, he brushed his sleeve
across his eyes, and the