y was less disappointed over not
building the house because she still had her mind on that vacant lot on
the Drive. Perhaps in the depression Clarence would be able to get it at
a bargain....

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

Milly, a cloud upon her pretty face, drew her wrap close about her and
sat dumb through the first act. Her mortification was increased by
discovering Sally Norton in a box below with Ted Leffingwell and some
gay folk. Sally's roaming eyes also discovered Milly and her young man
before the act was finished; she signalled markedly and communicated the
news to her party, who all looked at the glum pair, laughed and smiled
among themselves.

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

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

"Home."

At the entrance there were no cabs in sight at this hour, and they
walked 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 it
probably was, and made the conductor let her off. Then she marched
haughtily northwards, trailed by Clarence Albert, in whose white face a
dangerous pink was rising. Fortunately it was a still clear, night, and
they covered the mile to Acacia Street without misadventure and without
words. When they had reached the small front room and Milly had thrown
off her wrap, her eyes still flashing angrily, Parker said in a
carefully controlled voice:--

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