an and ugly and depressing as I thought it.... I can see the
place now--the horror of that basement dining-room and the smells! My
dear, it was just common West Side, you know."

But how did Milly Ridge at sixteen perceive all this? What gave her the
sense of social distinctions,--of place and condition,--at her age, with
her limited, even if much-travelled experience of American cities? To
read this mystery will be to understand Milly Ridge--and something of
America 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 for
being settled, as well as his ignorance of the city. The lease was a
fact that even Milly's impetuous will could not surmount--for the
present.

Somehow during the next weeks the Ridge furniture was assembled from the
various places where it had been cached since the last impermanent
experiment in housekeeping. It was a fantastic assortment, as Milly
realized afresh when it was unpacked. As a basis there were a few pieces
of old southern mahogany, much battered, but with a fine air about them
still. These were the contributions of Milly's mother, who had been of a
Kentucky family. To these had been added here and there pieces of many
different styles and shades of modern inelegance. One layer of the
conglomerate was specially distasteful to Milly. That was the
black-walnut "parlor set," covered with a faded green velvet, the
contribution of Grandma Ridge from her Pennsylvania home. It still
seemed to the little old lady of the first water as it had been when it
adorned Judge Ridge's brick house in Euston, Pa. Milly naturally had
other views of this treasure. Somewhere she had learned that the living
room of a modern household was no longer called the "parlor," by those
who knew, but the "drawing-room," and with the same unerring instinct
she had discovered the ignominy of this early Victorian heritage. She
did not loathe the shiny "quartered oak" dining-room pieces--her
father's venture in an opulent moment--nor the dingy pine bedroom sets,
nor even the worn "ingrain" carpets, as she did these precious relics of
her grandmother's home.

Over them she fought her first successful battle with the older
generation for her woman's rights--and won. She directed the colored men
who were hired to unpack the household goods to put the green velvet
horrors in the obscure rear pa