baby, too, and another
one coming: it's like the emigrants!"

"Reddon is a clever chap: he's been over before, a couple of years at
the Beaux Arts. I suppose he wants more work and didn't like to leave
her behind."

"She shouldn't have babies, then," Milly pronounced seriously, feeling
her superiority in not thus handicapping her husband in his career.

"It is tough," Bragdon admitted....

They saw a good deal of the Reddons during the voyage. They proved to be
not in the least down-hearted over their lot, and quite unaware of
Milly's commiseration. They were going to Paris for some desirable
professional work, as they might go to San Francisco or Hong Kong, had
the path pointed that way. They had babies because that was part of the
game when one married, and they brought them along because there was
nothing else to do with them. It was all very simple from the Reddon
point of view.

Milly considered Mrs. Reddon to be a "nice little thing," and they
became chummy. Marion Reddon was a college-trained woman, with much more
real culture than her husband or either of the Bragdons. She had read
her Greek and Latin and forgotten them, liked pictures and music and
books, but preferred babies when they came. Sam Reddon was a
high-spirited American boy. He had never meant to study architecture and
he hadn't intended to marry or to teach; but having done all these
things he still found the world a merry place enough. He played the
piano a little and sang Italian songs in an odd falsetto and roamed over
the ship in disreputable corduroys, which he had preserved from his
student days in Paris, making himself thoroughly at home in all three
cabins.

They talked Paris, of course, about which Reddon knew a great deal more
than any of the others.

"Where are you going to live? In the Quarter?"

Mrs. Kemp had given Milly the address of an excellent pension near the
Arc, at which Sam Reddon expressed a frank disgust.

"Americans and English--the rotten _bourgeoisie_--why don't you stay in
New York?" He figuratively spat upon the proprieties, and Milly was
bewildered. "An _apartement meublee au cinquieme_, near the _Boul'
'Mich_ for us, eh, missus?"

Milly had heard that the "Latin Quarter" was dirty, and not "nice." None
of her Chicago friends ever stayed there.

"You'll come and call on us, won't you?" the young man said with
pleasant mockery. "Nobody will know, but we won't lay it up against you
if you don't."

Milly