tist drank and which she sipped at.

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

Imperceptibly their words became more personal and more tender. He
wanted to paint _her_ some day, as she had lain on the beach, with her
lovely bronze hair, her wide blue eyes, and the little waves curling up
towards her feet.... Dusk fell, and they forgot to eat.... At the moment
when Edgar Duncan was describing to Mrs. Ridge for the second time the
exact 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 tears
were in her eyes--tears of joy--as her heart beat wildly under her
lover's kisses and her ears sang with his passionate words....

For the one thing that the young artist had sworn to himself should
never happen to HIM,--at any rate not until he was old and
successful,--the very thing that Milly had laughed at as
preposterous--"me fall in love with a poor man!"--had come to pass. Both
had 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 of
you!"

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

As they neared the little house, Milly perceived the light in the front
room and with an intuition of something unpleasant to f