OLUTION 
 
 ESTHER 
 SINGLETON
 
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 Ar I iSi
 
 A DAUGHTER OF 
 THE REVOLUTION
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE 
 REVOLUTION 
 
 BY 
 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 1915
 
 Copyright, 1915, by 
 MOFFAT. YARD & COMPANY
 
 To 
 
 * 
 
 Friend of many years 
 ^Those sympathy 
 Crowns all my efforts 
 
 2138348
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I MILDRED ASHTON COMES\ DOWN THE STAIRWAY . i 
 
 II WILD ACRES 10 
 
 III MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 21 
 
 IV BREAKING THE ICE 31 
 
 V A BALTIMORE SUPPER 45 
 
 VI A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 63 
 
 VII A SUNDAY SPECIAL 76 
 
 VIII BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 87 
 
 IX HOUSE OF CARDS 96 
 
 X AN EVENING RECEPTION no 
 
 XI THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 123 
 
 XII A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 133 
 
 XIII AT THE OPERA 144 
 
 XIV SOLITUDE 161 
 
 XV NOTES AND FLOWERS 173 
 
 XVI A BALL AT THE PLAZA 182 
 
 XVII AN AFTERNOON CALL 194 
 
 XVIII IN WASHINGTON 206 
 
 XIX AN OLD WORK-BOX 225 
 
 XX A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 238 
 
 XXI Two INVITATIONS 261 
 
 XXII A SUNDAY MORNING 275 
 
 XXIII TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LlP 285 
 
 XXIV YE SUN WILL SHINE 294
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE 
 REVOLUTION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MILDRED ASHTON COMES DOWN THE 
 STAIRWAY 
 
 ON a bright day in November, 1910, Mil- 
 dred Ashton started down the wide stair- 
 way of Wild Acr'es, the old Ashton home on 
 Long Island, as the tall clock on the landing 
 was beginning to strike twelve hollow, boom- 
 ing notes. The laughing moon that peeped 
 over the clouds above the handsome dial saw 
 a charming girl of twenty; her graceful figure 
 erect, her head slightly tilted, her left hand 
 lightly touching the mahogany rail, her slen- 
 der foot arched and the tip of her red slipper 
 daintily pointed and ready to be placed upon 
 the step below in what one sensitive to line 
 would have properly described as "the minuet 
 pose." 
 
 z
 
 2 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Unconsciously she came down the stairway 
 of Wild Acres in exactly the same way that 
 Dolly Ashton, a famous belle of Revolution- 
 ary days, had often descended, although no 
 one knew this but the laughing moon. If the 
 latter noticed that the girl of the Twentieth 
 Century held her head in the same proud way, 
 had the same delicate features and slender 
 aristocratic hands and feet, that she carried 
 with her a slight perfume of roses, and that 
 she moved with the same quick grace he kept 
 this knowledge to himself. He greeted the 
 young girl of 1910 with the same cheery, 
 though vapid, smile with which he had al- 
 ways greeted her ancestress of 1776, little car- 
 ing that such a trifling thing as himself should 
 have lived through a hundred and fifty odd 
 years while beauty, mind, heart and grace had 
 crumbled into dust. Moreover, the old clock, 
 which, with its solemn tick-tock, tick-tock, 
 tick-tock, had summoned him to his duty of 
 denoting the real full moon for so many gener- 
 ations, little cared whether its own slow notes 
 that reverberated through the house marked 
 hours of joy, or hours of sadness. With equal 
 indifference it had struck its gong for many 
 births, marriages and deaths, all duly re-
 
 MILDRED COMES DOWN STAIRWAY 3 
 
 corded in the family Bible that had rested on 
 its mahogany stand in the library ever since 
 John Ashton had placed it there in 1758, 
 when the house was completed. 
 
 The twelve notes were now striking an hour 
 of sadness. At least, it;was an hour of sadness 
 to Mildred; for, although she was coming 
 down the stairs lightly, her heart was very 
 heavy. 
 
 It had been found necessary to rent Wild 
 Acres; and Mildred had just received a letter 
 from Mr. Thomas Small, the one real estate 
 man in Port Washington, notifying her that 
 he had procured a desirable tenant who wished 
 to lease the estate for two years. 
 
 Wild Acres was very dear to Mildred Ash- 
 ton; for here, she, an orphan, had spent the 
 happy years of her childhood and girlhood 
 with her grandfather and grandmother in the 
 delightful home that they made. On their 
 deaths, which occurred almost simultaneously, 
 she had passed into the guardianship of a 
 widowed and childless aunt, Mrs. Van Nor- 
 den, who, caring little for Wild Acres and 
 nothing whatever for Mildred, appeared 
 from Paris, where she had lived for years, in 
 mourning of the latest cut and style, to attend
 
 4 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 to the necessary matters of business. She, the 
 sole heir to the Ashton estate, having signed 
 all the documents, took passage as soon as pos- 
 sible on La Provence for her beloved Paris. 
 
 Mildred, invited, but not pressed very 
 much, to accompany her aunt, preferred to 
 remain in New York; and Mrs. Van Norden, 
 rejoicing to be free of a young companion, 
 who might bore her, placed her under the 
 sheltering wing of one of her own early 
 friends, Mrs. Steele, who was delighted to 
 welcome Mildred to her large and lonely 
 house on Park Avenue. Mrs. Van Norden 
 allowed her niece sufficient income to provide 
 herself with all the necessities and luxuries 
 that her social position demanded. Mrs. Van 
 Norden closed Wild Acres, sold the horses 
 and the fine herd of Jerseys, and gave away 
 the peacocks and the fancy pigeons. The 
 gardener was allowed to care for the green- 
 houses and gardens and to make what he could 
 out of them. For several years afterwards 
 Wild Acres was only opened for a few weeks 
 in the summer, when Mildred and Mrs. Steele 
 ran down for a brief visit. 
 
 Mildred awoke with a shock to the loss 
 of her dearly-loved grandparents and her
 
 MILDRED COMES DOWN STAIRWAY 5 
 
 changed conditions; but youth soon adapts it- 
 self to change ; and it was not long before she, 
 being of a cheerful disposition, was happy in 
 her studies in music and French, in her danc- 
 ing-class at Dodworth's, and in the social gai- 
 ties of the younger set. 
 
 Four years had passed. Mildred's twen- 
 tieth mile-post brought her face to face with 
 new conditions. 
 
 "One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they follow," 
 
 and so it seemed to Mildred. Mrs. Steele's 
 sudden death was followed by that of Mrs. 
 Van Norden and Wild Acres became the 
 property of Mildred Ashton, next of kin. To 
 own Wild Acres delighted her greatly; but 
 the next news received from Mr. Carpenter, 
 the family lawyer, revealed the unwelcome 
 fact that Mrs. Van Norden, having run 
 through the family fortune, had mortgaged 
 Wild Acres. There was nothing left to pay 
 off this mortgage, nor to keep up Wild Acres 
 were it paid. 
 
 Calling at the Steele house in Park Avenue, 
 where Mildred was now packing for removal 
 to Wild Acres, Mr. Carpenter told the grand-
 
 6 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 daughter of his old friend, John Ashton, that 
 there was but one thing to do; and that was to 
 rent Wild Acres, to pay off the mortgage and 
 the taxes, and to keep up the place. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't think of it," cried Mildred, 
 at the first suggestion, "it seems a desecration. 
 I can't bear to think of strangers at Wild 
 Acres. I hate to think of strangers living in 
 our dear old home and using all our things, 
 roaming about the lawns and the lovely gar- 
 dens. Oh, I couldn't think of it, Mr. Car- 
 penter." 
 
 "There is no other way out of it, my child," 
 answered Mr. Carpenter, his eyes slightly 
 moistening as he remembered past hospitality 
 and happy hours in the home of his old 
 friends, "unless," he paused, "unless you sell 
 it." 
 
 "Sell Wild Acres!" cried Mildred, indig- 
 nantly. "NEVER!" Then, after a short pause 
 and with a sad, gentle intonation, "Will it 
 really have to be rented, Mr. Carpenter?" 
 
 "Yes," the lawyer replied, "there is nothing 
 else to do." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" sighed Mildred softly. 
 
 "I am going to Port Washington to-morrow. 
 You give me the authority, and I will see Tom
 
 MILDRED COMES DOWN STAIRWAY 7 
 
 Small and get him to find us a good and reli- 
 able tenant. My dear child," added Mr. 
 Carpenter, noting the pain in her face, "there 
 is no other way. And now," he continued, 
 bringing out, with a calmness that amazed 
 him, the question he had been dreading to ask, 
 "what about your future?" 
 
 "My future?" Mildred questioned, lifting 
 her brows in surprise and opening her big 
 brown eyes very wide. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," replied Mr. Carpenter, 
 "your future. Don't you know that Mrs. Van 
 Norden left nothing? Your base of supplies 
 is cut off." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Carpenter?" 
 asked Mildred; and then a quick light of in- 
 telligence came into her eyes. "Do you mean 
 that I" here she paused "that I shall have 
 to work to earn my own living?" She 
 brought the words out very slowly, as if she 
 could hardly bear to speak them. 
 
 "I am afraid so," answered the lawyer, 
 bluntly. 
 
 At that moment Mildred felt as a young 
 bird must feel that is suddenly taken to the 
 edge of the nest and pushed by an unfeeling 
 mother into the abyss of air below, without
 
 8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 any knowledge of the use of its wings. Mil- 
 dred was frightened frightened as we all are 
 of the unknown, the untried. 
 
 She merely replied with white lips, "Thank 
 you, Mr. Carpenter, for telling me. I will 
 write you a letter authorizing you to rent 
 Wild Acres, dreadful as it is for me to do it. 
 It is strange to realize that I have nothing to 
 take care of me that I must work for myself 
 that I am alone in the world and suddenly 
 penniless. Mrs. Steele, too, who would have 
 helped me so much with good advice and lov- 
 ing sympathy, is gone. I must go and think 
 things out alone; so, good-bye, Mr. Carpenter. 
 Thank you very much." 
 
 Mr. Carpenter rose and took the icy hand 
 that the young girl held to him. "Good-bye, 
 Mildred," he replied. "Things will come 
 right in the end, I am sure." 
 
 "They only do in novels, Mr. Carpenter," 
 laughed Mildred, trying to be gay. "Thank 
 you again, and good-bye. Please come to see 
 me at Wild Acres. I am going down to-mor- 
 row. Perhaps, I may be able to tell you then 
 what I shall have decided to do." 
 
 Mildred had only been three days in her 
 home when the letter already referred to from
 
 MILDRED COMES DOWN STAIRWAY 9 
 
 Mr. Small arrived announcing the capture of 
 a tenant. In the meantime, she had been try- 
 ing to balance the possibilities of success and 
 failure, if she chose to attempt a musical, or a 
 literary, career. Mildred knew very well 
 that she was an accomplished pianist, but 
 would her music, always a delight in the 
 drawing-rooms of friends, stand the test of 
 cold and professional critics if she placed it 
 in a larger frame? She hardly thought so. 
 She had seen too many ambitious young pian- 
 ists fail before New York audiences. 
 
 Mildred was an unusually sympathetic ac- 
 companist. Many artists for whom she had 
 occasionally played had complimented her on 
 her dependable support and her musical in- 
 sight into such songs as Robert Franz's, Schu- 
 bert's and Schumann's; but she did not care 
 to specialize in this thankless branch of music. 
 As for giving lessons, that idea was intoler- 
 able. So, after much deliberation, she de- 
 cided to try her fortune with her pen. 
 
 She was now coming downstairs to see Mr. 
 Carpenter, whose name had just been an- 
 nounced.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WILD ACRES 
 
 TT TILD ACRES was one of those delight- 
 V V ful New York houses that has survived 
 to tell of the life and luxuries of past genera- 
 tions. It was built in the days just preceding 
 the passage of the Stamp Act; and, conse- 
 quently, was of a type that we now love to call 
 Colonial, though Georgian would be a much 
 more descriptive adjective. Nor is that ad- 
 jective quite enough. The style of architec- 
 ture is so distinctively American that Geor- 
 gian-American, or American-Georgian, would 
 be a still better designation. 
 
 Its white clapboards and green shutters, 
 Wild Acres shared in common with many a 
 simple Long Island farm-house; but not its 
 ample proportions; and certainly not its hand- 
 some Neo-Classic portico, whose four tall and 
 slender columns supported a pediment deco- 
 rated with corbels and pierced in the centre 
 by a half-circle window. 
 
 10
 
 WILD ACRES it 
 
 Wild Acres was distinguished by a recessed 
 balcony that only ran across part of the second 
 story; and here was a handsome door that led 
 from the hall to the balcony, with decorative 
 side-lights and fan-light, corresponding to the 
 main entrance door in the floor below. 
 
 Having never been without occupants, 
 Wild Acres had escaped that dreary atmos- 
 phere that gathers around some old houses and 
 suggests an old nest that the birds have for- 
 saken. 
 
 The sides of the portico steps had always 
 been adorned with tubs of blooming flowers 
 and the little balcony above had always been 
 filled with pots and tubs and boxes of blossom- 
 ing plants. Mildred still kept up this custom. 
 
 At the left side of the house an enormous 
 wistaria had been growing as long as the old- 
 est inhabitants of Port Washington could re- 
 member and had now twined its large and 
 thickly twisted ropes around one of the col- 
 umns and over half of the balcony. In the 
 Spring its enormous blossoms appeared from 
 a distance like a shower of purple rain. 
 
 It is almost needless to say that this fagade 
 looked towards the main entrance gate, some 
 distance away, to which the beautifully
 
 12 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 trimmed lawn rolled with a gentle undulation. 
 Upon this green velvet various fine old 
 trees were grouped: cedars, spruces, copper- 
 beeches, silver poplars and horse-chestnuts. 
 Two Lombardy poplars had guarded the en- 
 trance gate since the early days of the Nine- 
 teenth Century, when Thomas Jefferson did 
 so much to make this kind of tree fashionable 
 in America. The carriage-drive circled in 
 front of the portico around a green oval, in the 
 centre of which stood in the Summer a large 
 and valuable palm that had been in the fam- 
 ily long before Mildred's advent. At inter- 
 vals along the driveway large tubs of luxu- 
 riant, pale blue hydrangeas had always been 
 placed in the early days of June erer since 
 Mildred could remember. 
 
 The distinguishing feature of the other side 
 of Wild Acres that faced the Sound, was a 
 large and wide verandah, smothered with 
 honeysuckle and pink roses. The lawn on this 
 side, thickly set with maples, swept to the 
 bluff, which was densely wooded. On the 
 left a tennis-court had been laid out some forty 
 years ago. Beyond this were two large con- 
 servatories and the series of lovely flower-gar- 
 dens; beyond them lay the kitchen-gardens;
 
 WILD ACRES 13 
 
 and still beyond stretched fields of wheat and 
 clover. Along the bluff, for half a mile, a 
 grove of forest trees completely screened the 
 bank; and through this woods a mossy, wind- 
 ing path led down a wild tangle of under- 
 growth mingled with ferns, honeysuckle, Vir- 
 ginia creeper, eglantincx and wild flowers of 
 many kinds, to the sandy shore and its small 
 dock. 
 
 It is hard to say when Wild Acres looked 
 its best. Perhaps it was in the Spring, when 
 the crocuses were darting up through the grass 
 and the beds of tulips showed miraculous cups 
 of red, gold and purple; when the wistaria 
 was swaying its blossoms in the gentle breezes; 
 when the periwinkle was just beginning to 
 open those mysterious and illusive pale blue 
 stars beneath glossy leaves; when the peonies 
 were bending low with the weight of their 
 spicy globes of red, white and pink; when the 
 syringas were dropping their petals of per- 
 fumed snow; and when the lilac bushes were 
 nothing but mists of purplish pink. 
 
 However, Wild Acres was delightful at all 
 seasons, within as well as without. The old 
 house had been fortunate in never having 
 passed from the possession of the family.
 
 14 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Consequently, whoever entered the door felt 
 instinctively the continuous life of generations, 
 whose social position had never been ques- 
 tioned and whose fortunes had never been dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 To the original furniture of the Anglo- 
 Dutch and Chippendale periods, bought when 
 the house was finished in the middle of the 
 Eighteenth Century, later generations had 
 added various articles in the new fashions as 
 they came in, so that now the house was a veri- 
 table museum of old furniture, china, silver 
 and cut-glass. Old costumes, swords, pow- 
 der-horns and relics of many kinds were 
 stowed away in the attic. 
 
 Portraits of the Ashtons still hung in the 
 hall, drawing-room and library; but Mildred 
 had distributed the colored English prints and 
 mezzotints in the dining-room and bedrooms. 
 
 The last three days that she had been spend- 
 ing in her old home, so soon to pass into the 
 keeping of strangers, made Mildred very sad. 
 She lived over again the happy memories of 
 her childhood and began to feel the loss of 
 her grandfather and grandmother more keenly 
 than ever before. Now it seemed as if they 
 had really vanished from her forever.
 
 WILD ACRES 15 
 
 Mrs. OToole, a faithful retainer of the 
 Ashtons long before Mildred's day, and who, 
 therefore, considered herself as knowing much 
 more about the family's tastes and prejudices 
 than Mildred could ever hope to know, had 
 been helping her get the house ready for the 
 tenants. They had now finished their task. 
 Mildred was making her last round of inspec- 
 tion, accompanied by the old housekeeper. 
 
 "Mrs. OToole," said Mildred, as they 
 paused in her grandmother's room, so full of 
 loved memories, "call John and tell him to 
 carry this work-table into the attic," as her 
 eyes fell on the delicate Louis Seize mahogany 
 desk with its tambour shutter, where she had 
 learned from her grandmother to sew daintily 
 and beautifully. "I can't let strangers use 
 that" she added, "and oh, wait a minute, 
 Mrs. OToole, let him take the mahogany 
 knife-boxes in the dining-room. It isn't 
 necessary to leave those for the tenants." 
 
 "Indade, Miss Mildred, indade I'd be lav- 
 ing thim a great deal less, if I had my way. 
 They have too much intirely," replied the 
 sympathetic Mrs. OToole, wiping her eyes 
 with the corner of her green and white checked 
 gingham apron, "I wish we could lave our-
 
 16 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 selves here and have the old days back." 
 
 "Then lock the attic door," continued Mil- 
 dred, "and bring the key to me." 
 
 There was nothing now to be done. Mil- 
 dred, therefore, had a little time to take fare- 
 well of the gardens. 
 
 The gardens of Wild Acres were framed in 
 tall walls of cedar, each wall broken by a hol- 
 lowed out and deeply recessed arch, through 
 which you passed into the next garden. 
 Around these cedar arbors and in the centre 
 of each garden were box-bordered flower 
 beds. 
 
 It would have been a bad time to have taken 
 a stranger through these gardens; but Mil- 
 dred looked at them with a retrospectivt eye 
 and saw far more than the few frost-bitten 
 dahlias, chrysanthemums and late asters that 
 were withering on their brittle stalks. These 
 gardens were planted many years before the 
 fashion of making gardens of a special color. 
 Consequently, flowers of all sizes, of all kinds, 
 of all hues, and of all scents mingled here in 
 a perfect riot of delight from early Spring to 
 late Autumn. 
 
 "Here is the old calycanthus shrub," ex- 
 claimed Mildred, as she entered the first gar-
 
 WILD ACRES 17 
 
 den, "how I used to delight in crushing its stiff 
 purple-brown buds in my hand; here by the 
 white spiraea, which always blooms so early in 
 the Spring, I used to come and wonder at the 
 sprays of delicate pink Bleeding-Hearts in the 
 neighboring bed ; here, I used to look for the 
 cowslips to peep up at me from under their 
 leaves and thought perhaps one day I might 
 find Ariel asleep in one of the blossoms ; here 
 were the Johnny Jump-ups, which I was silly 
 enough to imagine were little fairy boys; here 
 grew the Snap-Dragons, that I was so afraid 
 of, with their savage blood-stained jaws; here 
 were the fox-gloves; this is where the Sweet 
 William grew I always thought it was the 
 ghost that came to Margaret in the old ballad 
 and avoided it; here, the brown velvet wall 
 flowers (I smell them now!) ; here the Can- 
 terbury Bells; here, the Bachelors' Buttons; 
 here, the Mourning Bride; here the Lady 
 Washington geranium, which I used to insist 
 on having pinned on my little low-necked lace 
 dress when I was going to a party, partly be- 
 cause I loved its decorative velvet petals and 
 partly because its name seemed to give me dis- 
 tinction ; here is where the larkspur lifts its tall 
 blue spears; here are the heliotrope beds;
 
 18 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 here, the mignonette; and here is the bed of 
 verbenas, from which I used to pull flowers 
 to make a wreath for my doll, by sticking the 
 tiny blossoms one into another; here is a clump 
 of ribbon-grass; here the Dusty Miller; here 
 are the marigolds 
 
 'And winking Mary-buds begin 
 To ope their golden eyes' ; 
 
 Here is the lily garden, with the yellow and 
 white day lilies and the tiger-lilies; here is the 
 violet bed; here is the lily-of-the-valley bed; 
 and here are the currants and gooseberries." 
 
 Thus Mildred wandered from garden to 
 garden until she reached the last of the series, 
 the garden of little fruits, which led to the 
 special pride of the Ashtons, the Rosary. 
 
 The Rosary was entered by descending ten 
 broad grass steps cut into the terrace; for it 
 was a sunken garden. There were roses, roses, 
 roses everywhere! There were arbors of 
 roses ; there were frames of roses ; there were 
 trellises over which the roses climbed and tum- 
 bled over again in masses of bloom; there were 
 huge bushes; there were little bushes; there 
 were tall single roses ; there were dwarf single 
 roses; there were roses sprawling on the
 
 WILD ACRES 19 
 
 ground; and roses wreathed and enwreathed 
 the large stone Sun-dial in the very centre of 
 the garden. 
 
 All of these were framed in by four immense 
 walls of roses growing on high trellises. The 
 old-fashioned Baltimore Belle and Queen of 
 the Prairie struggled with the pink and crim- 
 son Ramblers and Dorothy Perkins to see 
 which could climb the highest and blossom the 
 most. 
 
 People learned in roses recognized the 
 sweet Hundred-Leaved; the small Burgundy; 
 the large, delicious Cabbage from Provence; 
 various Noisettes; the little Bansias; the 
 Maiden's Blush; the Madame Plantier; the 
 York and Lancaster, red, white and mottled; 
 the magnificent Jacqueminot; the eglantine; 
 and tea-roses of many kinds. 
 
 The Rosary was, therefore, a mass of scar- 
 let, pink, crimson, orange, yellow and white 
 blossoms that lavishly showered petals and in- 
 cense upon the ground and in the air. 
 
 "I am glad," sighed Mildred, "that I do 
 not have to leave in .blossoming time. I do 
 not believe I could have stood it." 
 
 So saying, Mildred walked to the centre 
 of the garden to look once more at the Sun-
 
 20 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 dial. A long twig was lying across the plate. 
 She pulled it aside to read again the familiar 
 legend : 
 
 "I mark ye hours, 
 
 Man notes ye time; 
 Spite storme and showers 
 
 Ye sun will shine." 
 
 "Dear old Sun-dial!" exclaimed Mildred, 
 encircling it with her arms and laying her 
 head upon them, "you want to cheer me up, 
 don't you? You have a new message for me 
 to-day. It's storming very hard just now, dear 
 old Sun-dial; but I will try to see your sun. 
 I will carry your message with me to New 
 York: I will try to see the sunshine."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 
 
 \ 
 "TTOW glad I am that I know New 
 
 JTl York," Mildred thought through her 
 tears, as she watched the familiar landscapes 
 flit by the car window. "So many young 
 girls, like me, starting out on a new career, 
 arrive in the great city, which is totally un- 
 known to them. Fortunately I know New 
 York so well, that I go with half the battle 
 conquered." 
 
 Then, after a long interval, she began to 
 wonder how she was going to manage with so 
 small a capital as the fifty dollars Mr. Carpen- 
 ter had just put into her hands, she exclaimed 
 inwardly: "Good heavens! Haven't I got a 
 task to make this money go a long way?" 
 Then she laughingly admitted to herself 
 that "It's too much! It's altogether too much 
 for my good. People who make their for- 
 tunes always arrive in New York with fifty 
 cents in their pockets. I am afraid that such 
 
 21
 
 22 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 wealth as mine will ruin my prospects!" 
 
 Mildred also considered herself fortunate 
 in having a place to go. She had taken the 
 precaution to write to a Mrs. Carroll, who 
 kept a boarding-house on Lexington Avenue 
 near Fortieth Street, where Mildred's French 
 teacher, Madame Pinard, had lived for sev- 
 eral years. 
 
 Naturally, Mrs. Carroll was only too 
 pleased to reserve a room for Miss Ashton of 
 Wild Acres, Long Island. 
 
 Not yet used to the ways and means of a 
 restricted purse, Mildred, although encum- 
 bered only with her tightly-rolled and silver- 
 handled umbrella, took a taxi-cab on her ar- 
 rival at the Pennsylvania Station, giving the 
 address, Lexington Avenue and Fortieth 
 Street, to the driver. 
 
 "I suppose some people would consider this 
 an extravagance," said Mildred; "but I shall 
 feel less depressed if I arrive in this way." 
 
 Mrs. Carroll's was not a typical New York 
 boarding-house; and the reason of this was 
 that Mrs. Carroll, a "reduced" Southern lady, 
 could never bring herself to acknowledge that 
 she kept boarders. Mrs. Carroll always told 
 old friends and new acquaintances that she
 
 MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 23 
 
 had "a few people nice people live with 
 her, during the season, to help meet her ex- 
 penses. Living in New York was so dearl" 
 And these nice people she always referred to 
 as "my guests." 
 
 The "guests" also deceived themselves with 
 the pleasant fiction of living in a "home." 
 
 "Oh, come now, this isn't going to be so 
 bad," Mildred tried to persuade herself as 
 she sat in the dreary parlor waiting for Mrs. 
 Carroll to come and receive her. But if any 
 one had entered just then, he would have no- 
 ticed that the lids of Mildred's big, brown 
 eyes were slightly red. 
 
 Mrs. Carroll was evidently dressing for the 
 occasion; and to Mrs. Carroll it was some- 
 thing of an occasion to welcome Miss Ashton 
 into her "family." She only hoped that 
 Miss Ashton would become a permanent 
 "guest" for the season. As to the possibility 
 of having Miss Ashton for an indefinite period 
 Mrs. Carroll never dreamed; for of course, 
 Mildred had not informed Mrs. Carroll of 
 the renting of Wild Acres. 
 
 The room which during her occasional calls 
 upon Madame Pinard, Mildred had regarded 
 with such unconcern, now assumed a new as-
 
 24 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 pect. It was to become a part of her back- 
 ground, and for how long? 
 
 Mildred put the question to herself, and had 
 to swallow heavily. 
 
 As she sat there waiting for Mrs. Carroll, 
 the atmosphere of the room began to assert it- 
 self and the room seemed to say: "I am a 
 boarding-house parlor. Every boarding- 
 house parlor has something in common with 
 every other boarding-house parlor; and we 
 all have a nameless something that we make 
 you feel if you sit in us long enough. We are 
 all depressing! We glory in itl" 
 
 "Well, one thing," said Mildred to herself, 
 "the room is fairly comfortable, even if it 
 doesn't obey the strictest canons of art. Let's 
 look around! First, the mantel-piece is un- 
 objectionable, with that square black marble 
 clock. Of course, / wouldn't have those col- 
 ored grasses in those tall vases. They're aw- 
 ful 1 Nor would I ever, for one moment, have 
 a gas log. Oh, my beautiful, big, blazing 
 logs at Wild Acres! Hush ! No memories just 
 now! I abominate gas logs. This is a fairly 
 good no, it is a very good Bokhara rug. 
 You wouldn't expect to find a rug like this in 
 a boarding-house. Very much worn at the
 
 MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 25 
 
 corner farthest away, over which that big chair 
 is so carefully placed. Ah! that explains the 
 rug, probably bought at auction, cheap! 
 Now for the chairs! What a jumble! Two 
 big, high-backed, easy chairs covered with red 
 plush ! Three wicker, no, five wicker chairs 
 with cretonne cushions! A large rocking- 
 chair! Why will they always have rocking- 
 chairs in the boarding-house parlor? A big 
 square sofa also in red plush in that dark 
 corner! It looks suspiciously as if somebody 
 slept on it at night! This sofa that I am sit- 
 ting on is very comfortable; it is too small for 
 a bed; and, besides, it is of such a shape that 
 nobody could recline on it. Onyx table be- 
 tween the windows with two gilt chairs beside 
 it! Sole concession to elegance! Vase of 
 withered flowers! Why do people leave stale 
 flowers about? 
 
 " 'Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.' " 
 
 Then an ornate cabinet in the other dark 
 corner caught Mildred's eye. An elaborate 
 series of shelves decorated its wide front, a 
 mass of machine-made carving. Every one of 
 these shelves contained a china, or a glass, or- 
 nament of some kind. Did it think in its as-
 
 26 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 sertive dishonesty that it could deceive Mil- 
 dred, or any one else as to its real mission in 
 life? Never. 
 
 "I fear," said Mildred, "that is a folding- 
 bed! But why do they consider it necessary 
 to over-decorate it? What a nuisance it must 
 be to take down all those ornaments every 
 night, and where do they put them? A 
 cloud of cabinet by day, a pillow of bed by 
 night!" 
 
 Next Mildred began to examine the pic- 
 tures. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, 
 "look at those three water-colors, in broad 
 gold frames, each one half a yard square! 
 Poppies! I never saw poppies of that shade! 
 Hollyhocks! Red, pink and yellow amid a 
 blurr of unnatural, green leaves! I wonder 
 why they made the poppies so large and the 
 hollyhocks so small? Last, a bunch of lilacs 
 with a white kitten peeping through the blos- 
 soms ! I wonder what's behind my back," and 
 Mildred screwed herself around to see what 
 was hanging over the sofa. "Oh, a very 
 brown 'etching,' I suppose they call it, repre- 
 senting a wet meadow with tall grasses in the 
 foreground, a large and very brown house in 
 the background and behind it the setting sun.
 
 MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 27 
 
 The unknown artist has not only signed the 
 picture, but has contributed a 'remarque' on 
 the margin! Valuable thing! Isn't that ter- 
 rific? I have often wondered where such pic- 
 tures that I have seen in department stores 
 and cheap picture-shops go. Now I know, 
 boarding-houses! I suppose that is the de- 
 ceased wife's husband; no, I mean the de- 
 ceased husband of the wife over the mantel- 
 piece ! No, it couldn't be Mr. Carroll : it's too 
 old. He is wearing a stock. Oh, he looks 
 something like Henry Clay and something like 
 John C. Calhoun! Possibly it is Mrs. Car- 
 roll's father. I believe she came from South 
 Carolina and married a Virginian, or a Mary- 
 lander, or something of that kind." 
 
 Mildred got up to look at the portrait. 
 "Why!" she exclaimed aloud, "it is signed 
 Thomas Sully! No wonder it's good!" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Carroll appeared. 
 
 "I was just looking at this portrait, Mrs. 
 Carroll," said Mildred, turning around as she 
 heard Mrs. Carroll's step. "I've come, you 
 see!" 
 
 "That is my father," said Mrs. Carroll, 
 warmly shaking Mildred's outstretched hand, 
 "Thomas Pickens Fairfield. I'm a Fairfield,
 
 28 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 you know," she added proudly, "a Fairfield of 
 Tulip Hill, Goose Creek." 
 
 Mildred did not know; but she politely 
 feigned long acquaintance with the House of 
 Fairfield. 
 
 "I'm mighty glad, Miss Ashton, that you are 
 going to be with us this Winter. I think you 
 will like my little family. We are very so- 
 ciable here and I hope you will feel at home 
 right away. I will have to give you a very 
 small room; but you shall have a little gas 
 stove, if you wish. Would you like to see 
 your room now?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Carroll," replied 
 Mildred, following Mrs. Carroll up the car- 
 peted stairs. 
 
 The backbone of Mrs. Carroll's income was 
 derived from the second floor, which was oc- 
 cupied by two wealthy and exclusive Balti- 
 more ladies. Their meals were served in 
 their apartments and they made it a special 
 principle of their lives not to see, nor to be 
 seen by, any of the other inmates, if possible. 
 The two floors above were cut up into a num- 
 ber of small rooms in which were lodged as 
 varied an assortment of types as were gathered
 
 MRS. CARROLL'S BOARDING-HOUSE 29 
 
 on the top of the Quangle-Wangle's famous 
 hat. 
 
 To one of these little rooms Mrs. Carroll 
 conducted Mildred. 
 
 It was clean and neat, and that was all you 
 could say for it. A water-color of the same 
 school as those in the parlor and which Mil- 
 dred promptly decided to remove was the 
 sole decoration of the walls, which were 
 hung with a very hideous paper representing 
 sprawling green and brown roses. The little 
 white iron bedstead, with a clean white spread 
 and small pillow, made Mildred think, with 
 a shudder, of hospitals. A narrow oak chif- 
 fonier with a small, square looking-glass, and 
 a cheap, cane rocking-chair took up nearly all 
 the space that the bed had left. There was 
 just a passage-way between. A clean dotted 
 muslin curtain draped the very small win- 
 dow, longer than it was high, for this top 
 floor was but a half-story. The carpet was 
 brown. 
 
 "If there is anything that you would like 
 to have, Miss Ashton, don't hesitate to ring 
 for Saidee. She is not very efficient, but she 
 is docile." And with that Mrs. Carroll left,
 
 30 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 coming back to add : "We dine here at six." 
 Mildred closed the door. She looked 
 around. It was a little too much for Mildred. 
 She fell on the bed and burst into tears.
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 
 
 \ 
 
 MILDRED was spared the pain of hear- 
 ing a dinner-bell. Mrs. Carroll had 
 never condescended to having a bell rung in 
 her house, even if she was forced to keep 
 boarders. The few "guests," who were in the 
 habit of assembling in the parlor at a quarter 
 to six, always heard Oscar, Mrs. Carroll's 
 "colored boy" from Charleston, "pronounce 
 dinner," as he designated the ceremony. The 
 other "guests" had to consult their own 
 watches and clocks. Hunger made some of 
 them punctual; others straggled in from six 
 to seven. 
 
 At first, Mildred was tempted to say that 
 she had dined, for she shrank from initiation 
 into the "family"; not because of timidity 
 she was used to people but because she was 
 exclusive and tenacious of her privacy. Her 
 good sense, however, soon got the better of her 
 inclination; and, realizing that if it were not 
 
 31
 
 32 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 to-day it must be to-morrow, she decided to 
 make the plunge. 
 
 As she was arranging her hair her wealth 
 of soft, brown hair streaked with golden 
 threads her little glass told her that her eyes 
 would be improved by bathing them, unless 
 she wished the other boarders to gossip about 
 the tell-tale evidences of tears. 
 
 "They might think I am having some dread- 
 ful love-affair," she said; "that will never 
 do"; and Mildred, therefore, bathed her eyes 
 violently. Then she put on one of her sim- 
 plest afternoon dresses, a silvery gray wa- 
 tered silk, with gray silk stockings and suede 
 slippers to match, and clasped a string of little 
 coral beads around her neck. 
 
 Looking once again in the mirror, she was 
 glad to see that the effect of the tears had van- 
 ished ; but she did not note that the exertion of 
 dressing had given her a lovely color, which 
 the gray dress set off most charmingly. 
 
 The other boarders did, however, for when 
 she appeared it seemed to all that a light came 
 into the dingy dining-room. 
 
 Mildred's heart sank as she looked at the 
 table. It was long and narrow, and the coarse 
 table-cloth had seen cleaner days. Each plate
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 33 
 
 was accompanied by two knives, two forks, 
 two spoons (one large and one small), a nap- 
 kin in a ring and a little glass lighthouse of 
 salt with a perforated top, silver-plated. 
 
 Mrs. Carroll, who was waiting at the door 
 for Mildred, refrained from introducing her 
 to the whole table as she\had at first intended ; 
 for a quick look at her face made the land- 
 lady appreciate that this was a new and trying 
 experience for Mildred. The boarders were 
 all gathered together. They were particu- 
 larly punctual this evening; for the report had 
 circulated that there was to be a new and at- 
 tractive arrival. Mrs. Carroll only introduced 
 Mildred's right and left neighbors, Mr. Ber- 
 nard Fogg and Mr. Charles J. Williams, and 
 a lady opposite, Miss Cornelia Van Tassel. 
 
 Mr. Bernard Fogg was an Englishman of 
 about thirty-five, whose energies were divided 
 between professional ballad-singing and click- 
 ing at a typewriter; Mr. Charles J. Williams, 
 was about twenty-five and a law-student at 
 Columbia University; and Miss Van Tassel 
 was one of the last remnants of an ancient 
 Knickerbocker family. 
 
 Mrs. Carroll always served the soup. It 
 was stewed oysters this evening. Oscar took
 
 34 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 each plate as it was filled by Mrs. Carroll, 
 carried it away and placed it in front of a 
 "guest." Two oysters swam in the thin milky 
 liquid of each plate. 
 
 "New arrival must be a favorite with the 
 Missus," said Charlie Williams to himself, as 
 he counted in Mildred's plate seven of the 
 little knots of crustaceans. 
 
 Having removed the soup-plates, Oscar next 
 came from the pantry bearing in each hand a 
 thick white plate, on which was a small strip 
 of beefsteak with a little gravy beside it. 
 After he deposited these, he went back for 
 more; and so on, until the whole table of 
 twelve had been served. Saidee (Mildred in- 
 ferred it was Saidee) followed in Oscar's wake 
 with two large, round, vegetable dishes; one 
 containing mashed potatoes, the other stewed 
 tomatoes, very watery and unseasoned. Next, 
 Oscar brought to each a plateful of fairly fresh 
 lettuce with the French dressing already 
 made, which Mildred thought excruciatingly 
 acid. Saidee followed close behind with a 
 long-shaped dish of sliced ham, which she 
 offered to each in turn. Next, Oscar went 
 from each to each with the burning question 
 of "cabinet pudding, or stewed prunes?"
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 35 
 
 These delicacies were duly administered by 
 himself and Saidee after the preferences had 
 been collected. Coffee in small cups followed 
 this course, and the meal was ended ! 
 
 "So this is dinner! Shall I ever adjust my- 
 self to this?" Mildred asked herself, as the 
 guests scattered, some into the parlor to gossip 
 and play cards; others, upstairs to get ready 
 for the theatre; and others, to undress and 
 spend the rest of the evening en deshabille in 
 their little cells. 
 
 The next few weeks Mildred spent in try- 
 ing to get used to her new life. She decided 
 not to notify her friends of her arrival in New 
 York. She did not want to be "looked up." 
 She had the name of her country-place erased 
 from her card-plate and simply wrote her 
 address in pencil when she pleased to give 
 it. 
 
 Mildred veiled her feelings so entirely that 
 she was established in her first week at Mrs. 
 Carroll's as a universal favorite. Mrs. Car- 
 roll, who had taken Mildred to her heart upon 
 her arrival, clasped her the more tightly when 
 she learned that Miss Ashton's grandmother 
 was a Southerner. Everybody in the house 
 followed Mrs. Carroll's lead. It was a pleas-
 
 36 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ure to every one to see Mildred's fresh, young 
 face, with its cheery smile, come into the din- 
 ing-room in the early morning, when so many 
 were sitting around the breakfast table in 
 varying moods. Even Miss Van Tassel, who, 
 during her residence here of five years had 
 never been known to praise any one, paid Mil- 
 dred a great compliment. She said "Miss 
 Ashton reminds me so much of myself when I 
 was her age." When this reached Mildred, 
 she did not mind in the least. She made a 
 point of calling sometimes after dinner in 
 Miss Van Tassel's lonely little room to listen 
 to memories of her long faded youth. 
 
 Oscar and Saidee would do anything on 
 earth for Miss Ashton before she asked it, 
 when they could anticipate her wants. Even 
 the exclusive Baltimore ladies on the first 
 floor, having encountered her one afternoon 
 on the stairs, took a fancy to Mildred, and 
 actually bowed. On the next chance meeting 
 they gave her an invitation to call upon them. 
 This unusual circumstance, circulated through 
 the medium of Miss Van Tassel, supplied the 
 whole house with a topic of conversation for 
 a month. 
 
 Everybody was drawn to Mildred Ashton;
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 37 
 
 and the strange part of it was that she made 
 no effort to bring it about. 
 
 She was sweet-tempered and vivacious ; she 
 was quick to observe and quick to feel; and, 
 although she was excessively fastidious, she 
 kept her criticisms to herself. What was the 
 reason that everybody Ipved her? 
 
 Was it because she was honest with herself 
 and with all the world? Was it because she 
 was kind-hearted and never gave pain to any 
 one, nor to anything? Was it because she was 
 young and pretty? Or, was it because she un- 
 consciously possessed something like "the Nel- 
 son touch" that characterized England's mag- 
 netic admiral, who charmed every one that 
 came into his presence. 
 
 Yes; Mildred Ashton was a luminous per- 
 son, shining by her own inward light; and she 
 cast radiance around her wherever she ap- 
 peared. 
 
 During the entire period of her stay at 
 Mrs. Carroll's Mildred Ashton never men- 
 tioned her home, her possessions, her family, 
 or her friends. Regarding her own changed 
 conditions, she was naturally reticent. 
 
 Though intensely unhappy, she never ap- 
 peared without a smile; and she never failed
 
 38 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 to respond with a cordial manner to any one 
 who addressed her in the same spirit. She 
 had evidently taken the advice of the Sun-dial 
 at Wild Acres to heart. 
 
 There was only one person in the house that 
 Mildred cordially disliked; and that person 
 was her right hand neighbor at the table, 
 Bernard Fogg. If Mildred had been older 
 and wiser, she would have simply ignored him. 
 Mildred, however, could not tolerate Fogg's 
 aggressive attitude towards America and 
 Americans, and his sneering remarks. Exas- 
 perated to the breaking-point one evening after 
 he had been slurring at New York throughout 
 the entire dinner, Mildred told him, in a very 
 contemptuous and haughty tone, that "as he 
 was a guest in this country, it would be better 
 taste if he would reserve his criticisms until 
 he returned to his own superior land." 
 
 To this Fogg replied, talking on the edge of 
 his lips, "It's not a metter of teeste; it's a met- 
 ter of fict," and acted for the rest of the meal 
 as if he were the Lord Chancellor of England 
 sitting on the Woolsack. 
 
 Those who overheard this reproof were 
 perfectly delighted with Mildred. The 
 others, who were informed by Miss Van Tas-
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 39 
 
 sel immediately after dinner, kept their ears 
 and eyes thereafter upon Mildred, so that they 
 might not miss an opportunity of hearing and 
 seeing a reduction of the much-disliked Fogg. 
 
 Fogg had been holding forth at his end of 
 the table every evening ever since his advent 
 there a year ago ; and, as\no one had questioned 
 his ex cathedra remarks, he was in full com* 
 mand. 
 
 Mildred could not stand him; and, conse- 
 quently, she defended her country and her 
 countrymen to the best of her ability from the 
 almost continuous attacks and criticisms of 
 this pitiful product of the Anglo-Saxon race, 
 who had come here for the very purpose of 
 bettering his condition. 
 
 Fogg had arrived in New York with the in- 
 tention (he was too cocksure to hope) of set- 
 ting the Hudson on fire with his bass voice and 
 singing of songs. So far, Fogg's talents had 
 been wasted on unappreciative New York. 
 He had a good voice ; but he had no style and 
 no musical culture. When he first talked to 
 Mildred, she, disposed to take him at his own 
 valuation, gathered from his colossal opinion 
 of himself that he was a second Plunkett 
 Greene, and said, encouragingly: "Why, yes,
 
 40 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Mr. Fogg, you ought to make a success with 
 your English and Irish ballads; I want to hear 
 you sing." As he continued the conversation, 
 she was not surprised that he had failed to 
 impress the managers upon whom he had 
 called ; for his portfolio of selections consisted 
 chiefly of songs by Sterndale Bennett and 
 Maude Valerie White, while Sullivan's Lost 
 Chord was the one he always selected to sing 
 in hopes of securing an engagement. Fogg, 
 blaming New York for lack of appreciation, 
 turned to his other gift, that of working a 
 typewriter; and, being fortunate enough to 
 drop into the Cunard office one day when 
 they were short of a typist, he persuaded the 
 friend upon whom he was calling to put him 
 in the vacant place. When the absent clerk 
 returned, he found his position filled ; for Fogg 
 had no idea of giving up anything when he 
 once got hold of it. Consequently, it was 
 from a weekly envelope marked "Cunard" 
 that Fogg drew the few dollars out of whicH 
 he paid Mrs. Carroll her share every Saturday 
 evening at half-past five on the stroke of the 
 clock. 
 
 Meanwhile, the voice did not suffer. The 
 boarders did. Through the influence of an
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 41 
 
 English organist, whom he had known at 
 home, Fogg had rented a cheap upright piano 
 (he called it a "cottage piano"), which had ef- 
 fected its entrance into the window of Mrs. 
 Carroll's third floor hall-bedroom by means 
 of an intricate arrangment of pullies, block 
 and tackle and several layers of india rubber 
 and woollen coverings for protection against 
 many bumpings upon Mrs. Carroll's brown 
 stone front. Its upward progress had been 
 witnessed by all the neighbors and a pavement 
 concourse of tenement children and loafers, 
 who utterly ignored the big white word "Dan- 
 ger" conspicuously displayed during the as- 
 cent on a red block near the house. For half 
 an hour, at least, the fascinated crowd had 
 gazed upward to watch the bandaged instru- 
 ment defiantly twirling in the air and obsti- 
 nately dodging the window at the very mo- 
 ment the coaxing piano-movers thought they 
 had it. 
 
 For Fogg, who had obtained permission to 
 leave the office early so that he might super- 
 intend the moving, it was a new and thrilling 
 spectacle. Was it not his piano? 
 
 The piano had been a great pleasure to 
 Fogg. Seated before it, he warbled if a bass
 
 42 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 voice can be said to warble every evening to 
 his own accompaniments, which, at times he 
 suddenly checked, in order to listen the better 
 to the beauty of his vocalizations and his 
 "great Ah-men !" 
 
 The admiration that Mr. Charles J. Will- 
 iams felt for Mildred when he first saw her, 
 passed all bounds on the day he heard her 
 give her first slash at the conceited Britisher. 
 Bernard F. was something so new to Will- 
 iams that the latter hardly knew how to take 
 him; and so, Williams had, like the other 
 boarders, permitted the aggressive Fogg "to 
 take the place." Therefore, when Mildred 
 began to reduce the swelling batrachian to 
 something like normal proportions, Williams 
 sat by speechless with awe, wonder and de- 
 light. 
 
 Fogg was as dense as his name. He could 
 not see a joke ; his mind knew no such thing as 
 play. Never did a ripple of expression pass 
 across his stolid features; never did a gleam 
 issue from his round eyes that looked blankly 
 out of heavily framed English eyeglasses held 
 together by a great cross bar, which reminded 
 Mildred of the handle bar of a bicycle. 
 
 On one occasion when he had been deliver-
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 43 
 
 ing a highly sententious lecture in regard to 
 the position of the American Woman, viz. 
 "that she had far too much liberty; that she 
 dressed too well; that she had too much to 
 say; and that she was too pampered in early 
 youth by her parents," Jie turned to Mildred, 
 saying impertinently, "Now you, Miss Ash- 
 ton, for example. You ought to have had 
 more discipleen." At this moment the great 
 moralist was about to lift his salt-cellar. Mil- 
 dred quickly handed him hers, saying: "You 
 had better take my Attic salt! You need it!" 
 
 The puzzled Fogg, looking at both salt- 
 cellars, observed, "Really now I don't see any 
 difference between them. What is it?" 
 
 Charlie Williams snickered. Mildred said 
 nothing more; nor did she even smile. 
 
 Three weeks had now gone; and Mildred 
 had accomplished nothing but the adjustment 
 of herself to the conditions at Mrs. Carroll's. 
 She had, however, read the weekly papers and 
 the magazines to gain an idea of the subjects 
 in which people were interested ; attended sev- 
 eral concerts; and visited a few picture-galler- 
 ies and studios. She had kept a diary, jotting 
 down suggestions for topics that might be of 
 practical use. Moreover, she had tried to
 
 44 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 write a little every day, hoping by this means 
 to get into practice. 
 
 Three weeks had now gone. The ice had 
 been broken. The next thing to do was to 
 plunge into professional life.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 
 
 y 
 
 ONE day, a few weeks after Mildred had 
 called upon the two Miss Swanns (they 
 preferred this form of address rather than 
 that of the Misses Swann), she was sitting in 
 her little room repairing a velveteen skirt and 
 thinking what a good thing it was for a woman 
 to be efficient with her needle, when there was 
 a knock at the door. When Mildred went to 
 open it, she found the two Miss Swanns's col- 
 ored maid, Cora, who said with a smile, show- 
 ing all her large and even white teeth, "Miss 
 Swann sent you this, and said I was to wait 
 for an answer, pleasum." 
 
 The little note proved to be an invitation 
 for Mildred to take supper with the two Miss 
 Swanns on the following evening, if she had 
 no other engagement. Mildred wrote a grate- 
 ful acceptance and Cora, still smiling, went 
 downstairs with it. 
 
 It was remarkable to see how much old 
 
 45
 
 46 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Maryland atmosphere these two Baltimore 
 ladies had managed to bring into the sec- 
 ond floor of Mrs. Carroll's boarding-house. 
 Their suite, spreading over the entire floor, 
 consisted of a drawing-room, two bedrooms, a 
 bath-room and a small hall-room for Cora, 
 whom they had brought from Baltimore. 
 Cora attended to the rooms and waited on the 
 two ladies, being so well-trained that she an- 
 ticipated all their wants and needs. She prac- 
 tically received no orders, except for an oc- 
 casional errand. 
 
 The two Miss Swanns had brought their 
 furniture from Baltimore and the three fairly- 
 sized rooms looked rather crowded with the 
 handsome mahogany pieces. A big sofa, with 
 a high square back, stood at right angles to the 
 open fire that blazed upon heavy, brass and- 
 irons with large balls. These, with the per- 
 forated fender, Cora was required to keep in 
 a state of brilliant polish. A large and hand- 
 some rug nearly covered the dark blue felt 
 carpet. Old-fashioned blue damask curtains, 
 of a large floral pattern, hung at the two win- 
 dows from heavy gilt cornices; and these cur- 
 tains were looped back with thick ropes of 
 blue silk ending in heavy blue tassels, showing
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 47 
 
 the thin, white embroidered curtains beneath. 
 A long, narrow Sheraton mirror, in three sec- 
 tions, the gilt frame having delicate pilasters 
 at the sides, ornamented the mantel-piece, on 
 which stood a French clock of gilt bronze, 
 representing Minerva, gracefully seated, her 
 right arm resting on her shield in which the 
 dial was placed. On either side were two 
 handsome Chinese vases. Between the win- 
 dows stood a gilded console table and from its 
 white marble slab a long, narrow mirror, in 
 a wide gilt frame, reached to the ceiling. On 
 this slab was a tall, brass lamp with a bell- 
 shaped ground glass globe, decorated with a 
 floral pattern, below which dangled a fringe 
 of crystal girandoles. Near it was a large 
 and rare Chinese-Lowestoft bowl full of visit- 
 ing-cards and invitations. A low, squat brass- 
 lamp with its shade of blue silk, stood on the 
 large round table in the centre of the room. 
 The sofa and chairs were covered with blue 
 damask, like the curtains, and two chairs, with 
 open and carved backs, great spreading legs 
 and ball-and-claw feet, had seats of Turkey- 
 work. A low, round table at the side of the 
 sofa supported an immense silver salver, with 
 its massive silver tea-service. This, another
 
 48 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 of Cora's cares, shone as brilliantly as it was 
 possible to make silver shine; and, conse- 
 quently, it vied with the andirons in catching 
 and reflecting the light from the fire. There 
 was a bookcase full of books; and there were 
 two cabinets containing china, glass and sil- 
 ver. Several family portraits looked down 
 upon these familiar objects in an unfamiliar 
 place. 
 
 The whole room not only breathed a de- 
 lightful air of refinement, but it was "old- 
 fashioned" and charmingly home-like. It 
 gave a faint suggestion of the home in which 
 these typical Baltimore ladies had passed 
 their lives. To Miss Hatty and Miss Jessie, 
 as they were familiarly called by their Balti- 
 more friends, it was a very feeble reminder of 
 their beloved Belvedere, upon which Balti- 
 more had gradually encroached until the old 
 white mansion, with its columned portico and 
 colonnades, had to be pulled down to make 
 room for Swann Street, which had determined 
 to go right through the old Swann property. 
 This, happening about the time that Mrs. 
 Carroll lost her husband and decided to open 
 a boarding-house in New York, the two Miss 
 Swanns Cwho were relatives of the late Mr.
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 49 
 
 Carroll) decided to leave "Balt'mer," with its 
 sad memories and to take a floor with her. 
 The thought of helping Mrs. Carroll also ac- 
 tuated their kind hearts, as well as the thought 
 of personal convenience; and Mrs. Carroll 
 felt deeply grateful for their support and 
 their presence. So, altogether, it was a mu- 
 tually pleasant and profitable arrangement. 
 
 Every summer, after wrapping, with the 
 aid of Cora, the furniture, pictures, brass and 
 china in linen and brown paper and sending 
 their silver to the safe deposit, these ladies 
 left the darkened room, with its heavy odor 
 of camphor, and departed, with Cora, for a 
 series of visits in Maryland. The late sum- 
 mer they spent travelling, and the first of Oc- 
 tober saw them back in the spot they now 
 called home. They lived, however, in com- 
 plete isolation from the other boarders. 
 
 When Mildred entered on the eventful 
 evening the table was set for supper; and very 
 pretty it looked, with the shining mahogany 
 board, which had been waxed and oiled and 
 rubbed by Cora until it shone like a mirror. 
 It now exhibited a handsome lace centre- 
 piece, lace mats, little embroidered tea-nap- 
 kins, a pot of blooming cyclamen in the centre
 
 50 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 and two silver candelabra with yellow shades. 
 The large silver tea-service denoted Miss 
 Hatty's place. 
 
 Mildred gave an admiring glance at the 
 rich cut-glass tumblers, the heavy silver forks 
 and spoons, the sharp and shining ivory- 
 handled steel knives, and the Spode china 
 with the wide gilt bands and decorative pink 
 roses. She thought of Wild Acres. 
 
 She could not resist the temptation to speak 
 of her own home in this sympathetic atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 "This looks so much like my own home!" 
 she exclaimed as she took her seat. 
 
 Miss Jessie, astonished, raised her eye- 
 brows, "Where is your home, Miss Ash- 
 ton?" 
 
 "On Long Island," replied Mildred, "not 
 very far away Port Washington." 
 
 "I don't know where that is," said Miss 
 Hatty; "is it anywhere near Oyster Bay, or 
 Roslyn? We have cousins in both those 
 places." 
 
 Mildred now had to give all the informa- 
 tion she pleased about Port Washington and 
 Wild Acres. The two Miss Swanns, amazed 
 to learn that their guest belonged to the
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 51 
 
 "landed gentry," were aching to know more. 
 Who was this Miss Ash ton, anyway? 
 
 At this moment Cora entered, bringing a 
 large tray with covered dishes. 
 
 "We are going to give you a real Mary- 
 land supper," said Miss Hatty, as Cora placed 
 a large silver platter of x fried chicken in front 
 of Miss Jessie. "We talked over several 
 things and we finally decided upon fried 
 chicken." 
 
 "It looks delicious," said Mildred, eyeing 
 the golden-brown chicken surrounded with a 
 rim of squares of fried mush, also of a golden- 
 brown color, and sprigs of parsley at intervals. 
 
 Mildred had never tasted such chicken, and 
 said so. 
 
 "No," answered Miss Hatty, "I suppose 
 not. I have eaten fried chicken in many 
 places in New York; but not even in private 
 homes do you get what we Maryland people 
 consider fried chicken. We insist on having 
 very young chickens and freshly killed chick- 
 ens and we put them in cold water for a little 
 while to draw the blood out and make them 
 white. Oh, I should say that the chickens are 
 properly carved and not hacked with an 
 hatchet. Then we wipe the pieces very dry
 
 52 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 on a clean cloth and have the frying lard very 
 hot. That is all! Then the mush oh, do 
 give Miss Ashton another piece of mush, 
 Jessie; these squares are so small to-night. 
 The mush is another feature. That is also 
 specially prepared, Miss Ashton. I'm so glad 
 you like it. Then the cream sauce with 
 plenty of parsley, the sauce not too thick, is 
 still another secret that they haven't learned 
 in this part of the world. Yes," continued 
 Miss Hatty, cutting a piece off the wing on 
 her plate and tasting it, "this is just right to- 
 night. Don't you think so, Jessie?" 
 
 Miss Jessie agreed. It now became her 
 turn to say as Cora handed to Mildred a cut- 
 glass dish containing half a stuffed mango. 
 "Miss Ashton, do try some of that mango ; it's 
 made from an old family recipe that we gave 
 to one of our cousins, who makes it for us now 
 an old recipe of the Calverts, or the Talbots 
 I don't remember which. Which was it, 
 Hatty, the Calverts, or the Talbots?" 
 
 "The Talbots, I believe," corrected Miss 
 Hatty. 
 
 "Well, I never know which it is," said Miss 
 Jessie, "I know we have both Calvert and Tal- 
 bot recipes and I always get them confused.
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 53 
 
 We are related to both families, Miss Ash- 
 ton." 
 
 Mildred also found the mango perfection, 
 and said so. 
 
 "Will you have your tea now, or later?" 
 asked Miss Hatty, who had, meanwhile, made 
 the tea. 
 
 Mildred preferred it now; and Miss Hatty, 
 having ascertained whether Mildred wanted 
 cream, or lemon, or nothing, and the number 
 of lumps of sugar, next directed her attention 
 to the beaten biscuit. 
 
 "Those are real Maryland biscuit, Miss 
 Ashton. Those were made especially for you. 
 We don't often have them now: they are 
 so difficult to make. You rarely see the 
 real Maryland biscuit now, even in the old 
 homes." 
 
 Mildred thought these delicious. The but- 
 ter caused her to ask, "Where did this wonder- 
 ful butter come from?" 
 
 "We have that sent to us regularly from 
 Philadelphia," replied Miss Jessie. "We get 
 it from the grandson of a Delaware man, who 
 supplied my grandfather's table with butter 
 for years and years." 
 
 "Cora, you haven't handed Miss Ashton the
 
 54 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 tomatoes," said Miss Hatty, reprovingly to the 
 bronze statue, who had become so interested 
 in watching the effect the Maryland delica- 
 cies had upon the Northern guest, evidently 
 fearing that the reputation of her native state 
 was at stake, that she was perfectly oblivious 
 to her duties. Thoroughly ashamed of her 
 negligence, when called back to life, Cora 
 quickly caught up the cut-glass dish contain- 
 ing large cart-wheels of coral-pink tomatoes, 
 each decorated in the centre with a spoonful 
 of thick, golden mayonnaise and handed it to 
 Mildred, who, taking a slice, pronounced it 
 delicious. 
 
 Cora, removing the remains of this course, 
 brought in a dish of Spanish cream and a 
 large perforated silver cake basket containing 
 small sponge cakes, iced with white. 
 
 "I never could have imagined such food 
 coming out of Mrs. Carroll's kitchen," 
 thought Mildred. "It isn't much like our 
 table d'hote downstairs! It seems incred- 
 ible." And then there came over her an aw- 
 ful feeling: she suspected who had cooked 
 that delicious supper. The dainty and fin- 
 ished cooking and the delicious flavor that 
 everything had could only be obtained through
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 55 
 
 the work of either a lady, or a cordon bleu; 
 and the greatest stretch of Mildred's imagina- 
 tion could never bestow the title of chef upon 
 Saidee. 
 
 This thought spoiled Mildred's enjoyment 
 of her supper. She could not bear to think of 
 Mrs. Carroll standing aver the hot stove pre- 
 paring these dainties. It was characteristic 
 of Mildred Ashton that she never liked to en- 
 joy anything at any one else's expense. 
 
 Still, as a guest, she had to be outwardly 
 oblivious to the methods by which such cu- 
 linary perfection had been obtained. 
 
 "This sponge cake is just like the kind we 
 always have at my home," said Mildred, who 
 noting a half incredulous look on Miss Hatty's 
 face, added, "I've made it very often. You 
 take the weight of the eggs in sugar and half 
 the weight in flour; you beat the yolks up very 
 lightly with the sugar and you beat the whites 
 separately to a stiff froth; you add the whites 
 to the yolks ; then you add your flavoring; and 
 then, after having sifted your flour two or 
 three times, you stir that in ; and then you bake 
 it in a quick oven. Isn't that right, Miss 
 Swann?" 
 
 "It certainly is," replied Miss Hatty, "but
 
 56 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 that is an old Southern recipe. How did you 
 get it?" 
 
 "Why, my grandmother was a Virginian," 
 said Mildred. 
 
 Imagine the effect of this unexpected an- 
 nouncement upon the two Miss Swanns! 
 They had indeed been entertaining an angel 
 unawares! Their surprise, delight and exal- 
 tation knew no bounds. 
 
 "Who was your grandmother?" asked Miss 
 Hatty, most interestedly. 
 
 "My grandmother," replied Mildred very 
 quietly, "was a Lee." 
 
 "Really!" exclaimed the excited Miss 
 Hatty. 
 
 "Why, of course," Miss Jessie spoke up 
 quickly, as if she had known it all the time, 
 "Of course, that's where she gets her name 
 of Mildred. Mildred Lee! Don't you see?" 
 
 "Why, then if you are a Lee, you are related 
 to all the Colonial families in Virginia and 
 some in Maryland. Isn't this interesting, Jes- 
 sie? Isn't this most interesting?" 
 
 "It certainly is," answered Miss Jessie. 
 "Now we know where to place you." 
 
 "Oh," replied Mildred, "I'm very proud of 
 my Northern blood. The Ashtons are just as
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 57 
 
 old a family as the Lees; and we are related to 
 many of the old New York families. More- 
 over, the Ashtons took a very active part in 
 the Revolution and in the Civil War. You 
 must remember that I am a Yankee girl, too. 
 I am both a Blue and a Gray." 
 
 "Are you a Daughter of the American Rev- 
 olution?" asked Miss Hatty. 
 
 "No," replied Mildred, "nor a Colonial 
 Dame either, though I have been asked to join 
 both societies." 
 
 "Well, you ought to join both," said Miss 
 Jessie. "I think we, Americans, ought to do 
 everything we can to preserve our true old 
 American spirit, the spirit of '76. There are 
 so many races here now and so many commu- 
 nities and societies and religions, so many be- 
 liefs, traditions and ambitions, and so many 
 different codes of ethics, that I think every 
 true American man and woman should unite 
 in the endeavor to preserve our race and our 
 ideals. These patriotic societies do much in 
 this way. My sister and I usually attend the 
 annual meetings of the Daughters of the 
 American Revolution in Washington. I wish 
 you would go with us sometime, Miss Ash- 
 ton."
 
 58 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Perhaps I will," answered Mildred. 
 "Perhaps, I can write it up." 
 
 "We want you to go as our guest," Miss 
 Hatty exclaimed, "from the moment you leave 
 this house till you get back again; but there 
 is no reason why you shouldn't write it up, 
 if you want to when the time comes." 
 
 By this time Cora had removed all traces of 
 supper and placed the lamp with the blue 
 shade on the table with the books and maga- 
 zines. No one would now have imagined that 
 a meal had been served here. 
 
 Mildred tried to think which of the two 
 Baltimore ladies she liked the better. First, 
 she looked at Miss Hatty, a woman of about 
 sixty-five, tall and slender, with fine figure 
 and erect carriage, sitting so well in her arm- 
 chair, her hands loosely clasped on her lap 
 and her small foot in its gray satin and beaded 
 slipper resting on the footstool. Mildred ad- 
 mired her finely-shaped head, with its wealth 
 of dark auburn hair, slightly gray, parted in 
 the middle, waving at the sides and gathered 
 into a low coil at the neck, an arrangement 
 which brought out her calm and noble pro- 
 file. Her dress was a soft gray crepe de chine 
 brightened with a corsage bouquet of scarlet
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 59 
 
 carnations. Her face, though not exactly 
 handsome, was distinguished and proud; and 
 Mildred thought her expression very sweet. 
 Then she looked at Miss Jessie, who was sev- 
 eral years younger than her sister. Miss Jes- 
 sie was more animated than Miss Hatty. She 
 was very small, very slight, very light of step 
 bird-like, in fact, quick in her actions and 
 very twittery in her talk. Her abundant 
 light hair was worn high and rolled from her 
 forehead, making her look taller than she 
 was; and she had that fine high-bred line of 
 neck that gives a peculiarly erect carriage to 
 the head. Miss Jessie bore the traces of hav- 
 ing been an unusually pretty woman and the 
 coquettish little ways that still clung to her 
 gave evidence that Miss Jessie Swann had 
 been a belle a real Baltimore belle! She 
 wore her clothes beautifully; and, if there was 
 any quality that was most conspicuous about 
 her, it was her excessive daintiness. 
 
 Mildred observed her sitting in a low chair, 
 her jeweled fingers occupied with some light 
 needlework, and the firelight playing upon 
 her fluffy heliotrope dress, with a bunch of 
 violets at the waist; and she began to wonder 
 what had been her history. Miss Jessie grew
 
 60 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 upon Mildred as she studied her. She was so 
 gentle, so responsive and so sweetly feminine 
 that Mildred thought Mrs. Carroll's a poor 
 setting for one who could have presided so 
 gracefully and so well over a home of her 
 own. 
 
 "I have heard that there is a young English- 
 man in the house, a Mr. Bernard Fogg," said 
 Miss Hatty. "Do you know him, Miss Ash- 
 ton?" 
 
 "Do I know him!" said Mildred contemp- 
 tuously. "I should think I did! He sits next 
 to me at the table." 
 
 "I like Englishmen," observed Miss Jessie, 
 who owned a few scalps of this race, and 
 thought of these trophies for the moment, a 
 little sentimentally, "I like Englishmen." 
 
 "Well, you wouldn't like this one," 
 Mildred exclaimed quickly. "You wouldn't 
 know him." 
 
 "Why, what's the matter with him?" quer- 
 ied Miss Hatty, amused at Mildred's vehe- 
 mence. 
 
 "Everything's the matter with him," re- 
 plied Mildred; "he's perfectly horrid! He's 
 so conceited, that I think he will burst, and 
 he's so common! I don't see how anybody
 
 A BALTIMORE SUPPER 61 
 
 can dare be so common as he is. I tell you 
 what he is he's a combination of Malvolio 
 and Mr. Guppy. He is Shakespeare's Mal- 
 volio for conceit and he's Dickens' Guppy for 
 ignorance and commonness ; and I don't know 
 how many other of Dickens' disagreeable peo- 
 ple he is besides. Dickens would certainly 
 have written him up, if he had seen him." 
 
 "Why don't you write him up?" asked Miss 
 Jessie. 
 
 "/r laughed Mildred. "Oh, I wouldn't 
 spend that much time on him. What irritates 
 me most about him," continued Mildred, "is 
 that he is always slurring America and Ameri- 
 cans. Nobody wants his opinion. He says 
 we are very crude, and he says we are not at 
 all musical. He's so qualified to speak! I 
 can see very plainly by his manners that he is 
 of the middle-middle class, if not the lower- 
 middle class; and he has never seen any de- 
 cent life in England. Then, with regard to 
 music, he has heard absolutely nothing but 
 concerts at the Crystal Palace! He thinks the 
 Crystal Palace represents everything on earth. 
 He can't get beyond the Crystal Palace. 
 Now, for example, the other day I asked him 
 if he had been to the Flower Show and what
 
 62 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 do you think he replied? ( Nee-o,' " said Mil- 
 dred, mimicking the voice, " 'nee-o, certinly 
 not. I have seen the Flower Shows at the 
 Crystal Pillis. Why should I trouble to go 
 to innything in New York?' But to return to 
 the question of music, the only Wagner opera 
 he ever heard, or heard of, is Lohengrin and 
 the favorite songs in his own repertoire are 
 The Last Chord and In the Gloaming! We 
 aren't cultivated in America! Ugh! But it's 
 long past the gloaming now," added Mildred ; 
 "I must go. I've had a most delightful even- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, wait a minute," said Miss Jessie, ris- 
 ing and laying her needlework on the table, 
 "you must have a glass of cherry brandy that 
 our Baltimore cousins have just sent us" ; and 
 going to the little cellaret, Miss Jessie brought 
 out a small decanter and three liqueur glasses, 
 which she rilled. 
 
 "Now," said Miss Hatty, "I think I will 
 propose a toast. To a long friendship with 
 Miss Mildred Ashton."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 
 
 MILDRED realized that she should not 
 go empty-handed on her expedition 
 into the newspaper world. The question was 
 what should she write about? 
 
 Opening her Diary, she looked at her rc:ord 
 for the past week. 
 
 u Oh," she exclaimed, as she noticed an en- 
 try: "Saw Mr. La Farge's lovely South Sea 
 Pictures." 
 
 "There," she said, "that might do. Those 
 charming pictures are still fresh in my mind. 
 I'll write them up. It's an unusual subject." 
 
 The task was not quite so easy as she had 
 imagined. 
 
 Mildred sat before her desk for a long time 
 without achieving any results. Presently she 
 said to herself, "I believe I will pretend I am 
 writing a letter to some one and trying to de- 
 scribe these pictures so that my friend can see 
 them as I saw them." 
 
 63
 
 64 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 This gave her a start. Mildred soon be- 
 came so absorbed in her subject that she 
 worked away entirely forgetting the dinner- 
 hour, until Saidee appeared, sent by Mrs. Car- 
 roll to inquire if Miss Ashton were ill and 
 wanted anything served in her room. 
 
 First, Mildred paid a short tribute to the 
 genius of Mr. La Farge. Then she passed on 
 to his studies of groves of breadfruit and co- 
 coanut trees; studies of tall, waving palms 
 with their slender and fantastically twisted 
 trunks ; studies of the grass huts thatched with 
 pandanus leaves, around which natives were 
 sitting draped in their bright tapa cloths and 
 wearing garlands of bright flowers upon their 
 heads and bare breasts; studies of dense forests 
 and jungles; glimpses of green and distant 
 coral reefs over a tossing sea of sapphire; 
 great black basalt tors rising out of perpendic- 
 ular purple islands touched with the rich light 
 of a tropical dawn; studies of active volcanoes 
 down whose flanks rushed streams of glowing 
 lava; studies of gentle islets dreaming in the 
 moonlight; notes of pools and dim grottoes 
 seen through gnarled branches and trailing 
 vines; and studies of the beach and sea at all 
 hours of the day and night and under all at-
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 65 
 
 mospheric conditions. She also dwelt upon 
 the representation of the natives the Mar- 
 quesas strolling through the groves of mi- 
 mosa, coco-palm and acacia, with their pecul- 
 iar graceful and languid glide, or bathing, or 
 carrying canoes, or taking the waves in their 
 native boats, or sitting 'motionless and impas- 
 sive as sphinxes before their huts. Then she 
 mentioned particularly a himene, where a 
 group of natives were sitting in a circle on 
 the greensward, singing their native hymns, 
 while the moon, slipping through dark, gro- 
 tesque clouds, touched the deep, blue waves 
 here and there with silvery light as they broke 
 upon the distant beach. 
 
 The next day, Mildred copied her little es- 
 say as legibly and as neatly as she could, know- 
 ing by instinct that a manuscript has a better 
 chance if it is attractively presented. Then 
 she dressed herself in a simple tailor suit of 
 black broadcloth, placed her little black vel- 
 vet toque at the correct angle, and pinned a 
 black dotted veil around it, threw her black 
 fur boa around her neck, drew on her thick, 
 white gloves with heavy black stitching and 
 picked up her black muff. Her only touch of 
 color was a stiff scarlet wing in her hat.
 
 The small silver net coin-purse that she 
 carried in her muff held her last fifty 
 cents. 
 
 "I feel like a knight-errant starting forth 
 on adventures with an unblazoned shield," 
 she thought as she closed Mrs. Carroll's door 
 behind her. 
 
 Reaching the busy newspaper district, Mil- 
 dred walked down Nassau Street and Park 
 Row, wondering which of the offices she 
 would select for her first call. 
 
 She looked at the list of papers that she had 
 made with the names of their respective edi- 
 tors. Although she scanned it again and 
 again, it told her nothing of the personality of 
 these men, nor what kind of a reception she 
 was likely to meet with. 
 
 "I'll try the New York Comet/' she finally 
 decided, "and Mr. Crowfoot Crane, princi- 
 pally because it publishes one of the larg- 
 est Sunday supplements. They must need a 
 great deal of material to keep it going." 
 
 On entering the office of the New York 
 Comet, her way was blocked by a balustrade 
 with a swinging gate in the centre, guarded 
 by a one-headed Cerberus, who held out a 
 pad of little slips, printed with
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 67 
 
 "Whom do you want to see? State busi- 
 ness." 
 
 A convenient pencil dangled from the pad, 
 by a string. 
 
 To the first question Mildred wrote: "Mr. 
 Crowfoot Crane," and to the second "Contri- 
 butions." 
 
 "I wonder how I thought of that word," she 
 said to herself, quite pleased with its business- 
 like sound. 
 
 The boy tore off the slip and disappeared. 
 In a few moments he returned with "This 
 way." He conducted her to an elevator al- 
 ready jammed with people. It was just about 
 to ascend, but waited to take on the proverbial 
 one more; and the one more this time hap- 
 pened to be Mildred. Cerberus called back 
 to her, "Sixteenth floor, Room one six four 
 four." 
 
 Walking along the corridor, Mildred soon 
 found the door with the square ground glass 
 pane, bearing the legend : 
 
 "Room 1644. Sunday Editor. 
 MR. CROWFOOT CRANE." 
 
 After first knocking gently on the pane and 
 receiving no response, Mildred decided to
 
 68 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 open it. She entered a small, square room, in 
 which four young women were tapping away 
 industriously upon their type-writers. 
 
 "I want to see Mr. Crowfoot Crane," said 
 Mildred, politely handing her visiting-card 
 to the girl with the pleasantest face. 
 
 The girl, to Mildred's astonishment, scorned 
 the card, but condescended to say, "Take a 
 seat!" 
 
 Presently she returned to announce: "Mr. 
 Crane will see you in half an hour. He is 
 very busy!" 
 
 Mildred entertained herself by walking to 
 the window and looking at the wonderful pic- 
 ture below her of lower New York, the 
 threads of streets between the "sky-scrapers," 
 through which miniature people and vehicles 
 were moving rapidly; the tiny snake-like 
 trains running along the elevated railways; 
 and the shining river with its busy craft. She 
 became so interested in watching an ocean 
 steamer making its rapid way towards the 
 Narrows and leaving a long trail of smoke be- 
 hind that the half-hour, therefore, seemed 
 short; and she was even surprised when the 
 girl came to her side, saying, "Mr. Crane will 
 see you now."
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 69 
 
 When Mildred's glance fell on Mr. Crow- 
 foot Crane, who, seated at his desk, made no 
 motion save to turn his steel-blue searchlight 
 eyes upon her, she longed for a benignant, 
 warm iceberg to sail suddenly into the room 
 and raise the temperature. 
 
 Mr. Crane waited foKher to speak, to ex- 
 plain her intrusion. 
 
 "Mr. Crane?" questioned Mildred, pleas- 
 antly, with a rising inflexion, as an opening 
 conversational wedge. 
 
 Mr. Crane's long, thin lips were tightly 
 clamped ; but Mr. Crane's steel-blue eyes said 
 very plainly: "You know well enough who I 
 am. That's an idiotic question." 
 
 Pause, an awkward pause! 
 
 "I called to see I have brought you," Mil- 
 dred began again timidly, "er er." 
 
 Mr. Crane lifted his scanty eyebrows; but 
 his long, thin lips never moved. 
 
 "A manuscript," faltered Mildred, begin- 
 ning to feel like Edward Lear's 
 
 "Old man of Cape Horn, 
 
 Who wished he had never been born." 
 
 Mr. Crowfoot Crane's long, thin lips never 
 moved.
 
 70 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Mildred began to wonder if she were trying 
 to talk to a marble image. 
 
 "I should like," she continued, "to write 
 er er errurr to write for the errurr 
 the er New York Comet" 
 
 Mr. Crane's steel-blue eyes seemed to say: 
 "That sentiment is shared by countless thou- 
 sands. Everybody wants to write for the 
 Comet. Another idiotic remark!" 
 
 "I have just been to see Mr. John La 
 Farge's 'South Sea Pictures.' " 
 
 A faint wave of interest passed over 
 Crane's marble features; Crane's long, thin 
 nose sniffed a possible story; and Crane's long, 
 thin lips asked: "Is that a manuscript that you 
 have there?" 
 
 It was Mildred's turn to have an opinion 
 regarding idiotic remarks, but she would 
 rather have impaled herself on Mr. Crane's 
 mighty editorial pen than to have revealed 
 any criticism; and so, she very apologetically 
 confessed that it was. 
 
 He took the manuscript coldly from Mil- 
 dred; looked quickly at the number of pages 
 to gauge the number of words; and then 
 glanced rapidly through it to taste its quality. 
 
 Mildred, her heart beating very fast, for
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 71 
 
 his unsympathetic manner had called forth 
 everything that was sensitive in her nature, 
 watched him tensely; and, although quiver- 
 ing, struggled with herself to maintain a calm 
 exterior. 
 
 "We can't use this," he said presently, hand- 
 ing the sheets back to her with a contemptuous 
 gesture that revealed his disgust, even more 
 than the tone of his voice and the sneer on his 
 face. He made it very evident that he wanted 
 to get rid of the worthless manuscript as 
 quickly as possible. 
 
 Mildred did not know what to make of such 
 discourtesy. She hardly knew how to take 
 her departure. Moreover, she was trem- 
 bling. 
 
 At that moment the Great Man in the Edi- 
 torial Chair seemed to have become an imper- 
 sonation of Osiris and the despised offering 
 she had made to the implacable god seemed 
 to turn from a manuscript into her own shiv- 
 ering, quivering soul, which he had weighed 
 in the balance and found wanting. 
 
 "I'll have to buy a microscope to hand to 
 the next editor I call upon so that he can see 
 me," Mildred admitted to herself, smiling in- 
 wardly; for she felt the humor of the situa-
 
 72 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 tion, although she was terribly annoyed that 
 she could allow any one to humiliate her so 
 intensely. 
 
 "I'll never come here again," her proud 
 spirit resolved, "if I starve to death." 
 
 As she rose, Osiris opened his thin lips to 
 say: "La Farge is a good name. Now if you 
 could bring me a little story say, a couple of 
 sticks on a day with John La Farge at Coney 
 Island" 
 
 Mildred gasped. 
 
 "Or," he continued, not noting her look of 
 surprise and horror, "what he used to eat for 
 breakfast, why, I might I don't say I would, 
 for I don't know yet if you can write I 
 might" 
 
 Mildred interrupted, with 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Crane." 
 
 The Great Man, amazed at her tone and 
 manner, looked up, but said nothing. Still 
 keeping his seat, he began to write violently, 
 while Mildred pushed open the heavy door. 
 
 As she walked through the ante-room she 
 was perfectly certain that the four typists, 
 who looked at her critically as she passed 
 them, knew that her call had been unsuccess- 
 ful. The rapid clicks of their machines
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 73 
 
 seemed to her ears sarcastic and gleeful com- 
 ments upon her failure. 
 
 Mildred was quite faint when she reached 
 the elevator, which took her down the six- 
 teen floors with a sudden and terrific drop, not 
 calculated to restore her heart-beats and her 
 breath. 
 
 "I shall have to go home, now," she thought. 
 "I can't go through such another ordeal." 
 Then, as she walked along Nassau Street to 
 take the Fourth Avenue car, the fresh air re- 
 vived her a little; and, with new courage, she 
 said to herself: "It will be just the same to- 
 morrow. I've got to go through with this. I 
 must try to get a start somewhere. No inter- 
 view can last forever; and, at least, I have ac- 
 quired some experience. I can never find 
 anything more forbidding than Crowfoot 
 Crane." 
 
 Some newsboys calling out "Evening Ar- 
 gus! Last Edition! Last Sporting Edition! 
 Evening Argus! Argus! Argus! Argus! Ar- 
 gus!" decided her. As she happened to be in 
 front of this office, she concluded to try her 
 luck here. 
 
 The Argus dwelt in an unpretentious build- 
 ing. The Argus thought so highly of itself
 
 74 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 that it took pride in its somewhat shabby 
 home. 
 
 Here, Mildred encountered no form. She 
 soon found herself at the top of the two flights 
 of stairs without any guidance. She stopped 
 a boy, who was hurrying by with a bundle of 
 proofs, to ask: "Where can I find the Sunday 
 Editor?" 
 
 "Mr. Bancroft?" he replied. "There," 
 pointing with his right thumb backwards to a 
 neighboring room. 
 
 The Sunday Editor, a gray-eyed, tall man 
 of about fifty, rose from his desk as Mildred 
 entered; and, taking the visiting-card from 
 her hand, glanced at it and asked kindly: 
 
 "What can I do for you, Miss Ashton?" 
 
 Mildred's heart gave a sudden leap, as she 
 rejoiced to herself "All newspaper editors are 
 not Crowfoot Cranes!" 
 
 Mr. Bancroft, for that was the name of this 
 editor, looked quickly through the manuscript 
 and said: "I may be able to use this in next 
 Sunday's Supplement." 
 
 "Oh, how very kind of you!" exclaimed 
 Mildred, and, after a pause, added laugh- 
 ingly: "Now, Mr. Bancroft, I am going to 
 work the willing horse to death."
 
 A JOURNALISTIC NOVICE 75 
 
 Mr. Bancroft smiled. 
 
 "One good turn," she continued airily, "de- 
 serves another. Could I bring you anything 
 more?" 
 
 "Why, yes," replied Mr. Bancroft, encour- 
 agingly. "Come in next Tuesday with a 
 suggestion for a special Sunday article; or, if 
 you have anything written, bring it down 
 Wednesday. We make up on Thursday. 
 After Wednesday will be too late." 
 
 "Thank you," said the grateful Mildred. 
 "I've one or two articles that I will bring you 
 next Wednesday. Shall I call about this 
 time?" 
 
 "Any time between one and midnight," said 
 Bancroft, rising; "those are my hours." 
 
 This was the beginning of quite a little jour- 
 nalistic experience for Mildred. During the 
 rest of the winter and through the spring and 
 summer she appeared every Tuesday, or Wed- 
 nesday, at the Argus with a special article, or 
 a topic to discuss with Mr. Bancroft for treat- 
 ment, if he accepted it. Occasionally, too, 
 Mr. Bancroft gave her an assignment of a 
 more journalistic character than her own sug- 
 gestions, though he seemed hard pressed often 
 times to find a suitable subject to give her.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 
 
 ONE Wednesday afternoon in August, 
 when the city was enveloped in a moist 
 haze of heat and a steaming air rose from the 
 hot pavements, Mildred started on her weekly 
 call upon Mr. Bancroft. 
 
 Refreshed by the breeze created by the 
 open car on its passage down town, Mildred 
 jumped out lightly; and tripping into Park 
 Row, slipped through the surging sea of peo- 
 ple and quietly into the side door of the Daily 
 Argus. She walked up the two long flights 
 of stairs, not overly clean, and on the first 
 landing passed the long room in which a 
 dozen or more reporters, young and old, were 
 writing furiously at their desks. Although it 
 was but three o'clock in the afternoon, the 
 lights were lit and their green shades, bent low 
 over these desks, gave a half solemn quality to 
 the dark room, in which nothing was heard 
 
 but the scratching of pens and the whirr of 
 
 76
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 77 
 
 the electric fan that was doing its best to cool 
 the stifling atmosphere. At the one window 
 in the distance the City Editor, his desk piled 
 with proofs, manuscripts, letters and various 
 editions of the Daily Argus, which were 
 served to him every few minutes, sat talking 
 to a visitor and a "printers devil" at the same 
 time. The whole room had that peculiar 
 smell of damp paper and ink, which every one 
 who calls in a newspaper office for the first 
 time notices, even if he does not possess "a 
 nose for news." 
 
 As Mildred went by the open door, several 
 reporters stopped writing to look up; and no 
 wonder, for she was a most refreshing appari- 
 tion. The young man who was editing a 
 bunch of paragraphs on "Feminine Fashions" 
 for the Sunday paper added promptly that 
 "the most correct costume for the days ruled 
 by Sirius is a suit of light blue linen, topped 
 with a small blue straw hat garnished with 
 pale yellow roses, and rendered very smart by 
 the addition of long yellow gloves and black 
 patent leather Oxford ties"; and he "tipped a 
 wink" to the lightning sketch artist. 
 
 Mildred was fanning as she walked along 
 and her eyes took in the scene mechanically.
 
 78 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 She did not notice, however, that the men no- 
 ticed her, her one idea being her business 
 errand. One man she had to heed, a young 
 reporter who, with his hat hastily jammed on 
 his head sideways, compelled her to stand 
 aside to allow him to dash down the stairway, 
 three steps at a time. He was evidently off on 
 a sudden rush assignment; and at such a rate 
 of speed he would certainly overtake it, what- 
 ever it was. 
 
 Arriving at the top, Mildred walked to the 
 room of the Sunday Editor. The door was 
 open, although no one was sitting at either of 
 the two desks in this dismal den, whose win- 
 dows, overshadowed by sky-scrapers, were 
 further darkened with cobwebs. 
 
 Mildred, knowing from experience that the 
 man she sought would soon appear as his 
 hours were from one o'clock to midnight sat 
 down in the bent-wood chair at the side of the 
 larger desk to await the Sunday Editor's ar- 
 rival. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Bancroft?" said Mil- 
 dred, slightly rising as the latter entered, and 
 holding out her hand. "Isn't it dreadfully 
 warm?" 
 
 "Warm? Are you warm?" he asked
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 79 
 
 "You don't look it. You look delightfully 
 cool." Then, after a short pause, "Well, 
 what have you got to suggest for next Sun- 
 day?" 
 
 "Oh," replied Mildred, "nothing. I can't 
 think of a single thing. I have been racking 
 my brains all day. It's your turn to suggest 
 something to me." 
 
 The gray-haired man smiled. "I wish you 
 had brought me something," he said, regret- 
 fully, "I'd publish it." Then, in quite an- 
 other tone of voice, "Have a banana?" and he 
 opened a paper bag that was lying on his desk 
 and held out a bunch containing six bananas 
 to Mildred. 
 
 Mildred laughed good-naturedly at this 
 simple offering. "Thank you," she said, as 
 she broke one off the bunch. 
 
 Mr. Bancroft also took one, stripped the 
 peel off quickly and began to eat it before 
 Mildred had broken the skin of hers. 
 
 Mr. Bancroft did not notice her amuse- 
 ment. He was turning over something in his 
 mind. The bananas had helped him gain 
 time and had created a more social atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 "I am sorry," he repeated, "that you haven't
 
 8o A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 brought me something. I haven't any ideas 
 either." Then Mr. Bancroft paused, cleared 
 his throat, lit a cigarette, took two puffs at it 
 contemplating the smoke, and slung his left 
 leg over the arm of his editorial chair. Then 
 looking at her straight in the face, "Miss Ash- 
 ton," he said, "I can't give you an assign- 
 ment. Moreover, I don't intend to give you 
 any more assignments." 
 
 Mildred looked astonished: "Why, Mr. 
 Bancroft, I thought you liked my articles. 
 Haven't I given you good work? I'm aw- 
 fully sorry if " 
 
 "Oh, no," he interrupted, "that's not it at 
 all. It's quite another matter. You see," he 
 continued, "in a newspaper we want, well, 
 we want snappy things. We want all kinds 
 of things that you can't do " 
 
 "I can learn, can't I?" interrupted Mildred. 
 
 "That's not it," replied the discomforted 
 Bancroft. "That's not it. You can't get for 
 us what we want. We " 
 
 Mildred broke into his sentence again: 
 "Why don't you tell me then make it clear 
 to me? I've got sufficient intelligence to do 
 what others can do, haven't I?" 
 
 "There is no trouble about your intelli-
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 81 
 
 gence," replied the Sunday Editor, getting 
 more and more puzzled how to explain the 
 matter. "Have another banana?" 
 
 "No, thank you," said Mildred. 
 
 "Oh, hang it," cried Bancroft, throwing 
 away his cigarette, "Miss Ashton, you 
 shouldn't be knocking about in newspaper 
 offices. The fact is, pardon me, Miss Ashton, 
 but you are a kind of girl that has no business 
 doing newspaper work. I can't give you as- 
 signments for the kind of material we want 
 for the Daily Argus. There are lots of us 
 who can go to all sorts of places and see all 
 sorts of people; but you are not the kind for 
 that work. I have made up my mind that I 
 am not going to give you assignments for news- 
 paper work. I am not going to give you any 
 more. There!" 
 
 "But what can I do?" asked Mildred, quite 
 petrified with astonishment and full of grati- 
 tude for his unexpected chivalry, though awk- 
 wardly expressed and punctuated with ba- 
 nanas. 
 
 "Write books," he said, calmly lighting a 
 fresh cigarette; "get in with the publishers 
 and keep away from the newspaper business. 
 It's not your line."
 
 82 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "That's very kind of you, Mr. Bancroft," 
 replied Mildred, "and I appreciate it very 
 much, very much indeed; but, in the mean- 
 time, I must have some money. I must have 
 something in next Sunday's paper. I really 
 must. It's imperative. If you could see 
 what is in or, rather, what isn't in my 
 purse," holding her little coin purse before 
 him, "you'd think so, too." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Bancroft, weakening, 
 "then let's see what we can do ; but remember 
 this is positively the last assignment you get 
 from me" 
 
 With that, Mr. Bancroft picked up the 
 morning paper which was lying on his desk, 
 and looked through it hastily in search of a 
 suggestion that might fit the occasion. "I 
 can't see a d (he checked himself) blessed 
 (with emphasis) thing to give you. There is 
 not a soul in town for you to interview. We 
 might get a good 'special' that way, if there 
 were any first-class singers, or actresses, in 
 town. It's no use, I won't send you to inter- 
 view any men. Oh," he said suddenly, his 
 rapid eye catching something in the amuse- 
 ment column, "how would you like to inter- 
 view the Human Fly?"
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 83 
 
 "Anything you please," Mildred replied, 
 unconcernedly. "I don't care." Then with 
 a bright smile: "What is the Human Fly, Mr. 
 Bancroft?" 
 
 "The Human Fly, Miss Ashton," said the 
 Sunday Editor, dryly, "is a certain lady who 
 walks on the ceiling at Blake's Pleasure Pal- 
 ace every afternoon and evening. I should 
 like say about a column of chatty talk with 
 her. How she does it? If she is frightened? 
 How she learned to do it? How she ever 
 thought of walking upside down? You know 
 the kind of thing I want. Give me a little 
 pen-portrait of her; and if she has an assistant, 
 mention that. Chatty stuff easy nice read- 
 ing you know what I mean." 
 
 "Yes; I think I understand," said Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 "By the way, Miss Ashton," asked Mr. Ban- 
 croft, stung by a sudden thought, "were you 
 ever in a music-hall?" 
 
 "No, never in my life, Mr. Bancroft," re- 
 plied Mildred. 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" groaned Bancroft. "Then I 
 will have to give you a a " he laughed, "a 
 chaperon! I say, Clapp," he called to the 
 next room, "come here a minute."
 
 84 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Enter Clapp. 
 
 Mildred looked up to see a medium-sized 
 slender man of about thirty-five, with light 
 moustache, blue eyes and the marks of several 
 sabre cuts on his left cheek. He was dressed 
 in a light summer suit of gray with dark red 
 necktie and tan shoes. Owing to the heat, he 
 wore no waistcoat. On his finger was a gold 
 seal ring with a coat-of-arms. 
 
 "Clapp," said the Sunday Editor, "I want 
 to introduce you to Miss Ashton. Now, 
 Clapp, I want you to take Miss Ashton up to 
 Blake's Pleasure Palace. She's going to in- 
 terview the Human Fly for the Sunday paper, 
 and I want you to take care of her. Miss 
 Ashton has never been inside of a music-hall." 
 
 Clapp's bow to Mildred told her at once 
 that he was something better than the ordinary 
 reporter. 
 
 "I shall be delighted," Clapp said, both to 
 his chief and to Miss Ashton; and, then, turn- 
 ing to the latter, "Shall we start at once? I 
 will be ready in a moment." 
 
 "Yes," said Mildred, "I am ready." 
 
 As Clapp returned with his Panama hat 
 bent in the latest style, Bancroft said: "By the
 
 A SUNDAY SPECIAL 85 
 
 way, Clapp, have you carfare and money for 
 the tickets?" 
 
 "Oh, plenty," replied Clapp, his face beam- 
 ing with delight at such a pleasant interrup- 
 tion from the afternoon's routine. 
 
 "Now, Miss Ashton," said Bancroft, turn- 
 ing to Mildred and smiling, "you see how im- 
 possible you are. I give you an assignment 
 and I have to send some one to take care of 
 you. Don't you think it would be more eco- 
 nomical for the paper to give it to Mr. Clapp 
 in the first place?" 
 
 "Yes; I think it would," agreed Mildred, 
 laughingly. "Good-bye, Mr. Bancroft. We 
 are off to catch the Human Fly! I am ter- 
 ribly excited. I am crazy now to see what she 
 is like." 
 
 "Remember this is your last assignment," 
 called out Bancroft to the retreating figure. 
 
 Mildred returned to the door: "You 
 shouldn't tell me that, Mr. Bancroft. I might 
 send you a poor article." 
 
 "There's no fear of that, Miss Ashton," re- 
 plied Bancroft, picking up a large batch of 
 proofs. 
 
 Bancroft continued to read his proofs until
 
 86 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 late in the evening. It took him longer than 
 usual ; for on the wide margins he saw a series 
 of pictures of a slender girl dressed in light 
 blue, with artless face and unconscious man- 
 ner.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 
 
 44 TT 7E had best take the subway, unless 
 
 VV you object," said Clapp, as they 
 reached the street and he passed quickly be- 
 hind Mildred to the outside. 
 
 Fortunately, they caught the express and 
 were soon at Times Square. From there half 
 a minute brought them to Blake's Pleasure 
 Palace, where a huge poster representing 
 Mademoiselle Aimee, the Human Fly, walk- 
 ing on the ceiling, was so conspicuously placed 
 that it overshadowed all the other attractions. 
 
 "I think, Miss Ashton," observed Clapp, 
 after he had bought the tickets, "from what 
 information I was able to gather, that the Hu- 
 man Fly does her stunt in about half an 
 hour. We shall have to take a table and or- 
 der some beer. Will you mind?" 
 
 "Not at all," replied Mildred, who be- 
 trayed her lack of sympathy with the scene 
 
 87
 
 88 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 the moment they entered the door and her 
 musical ears were greeted with the high- 
 pitched nasal notes of a typical English music- 
 hall singer, with his horrible, flattened vowels. 
 
 The stage was set with a tropical scene. 
 Palm-trees, waving their long leaves in an ar- 
 tificial breeze, stood out boldly against a 
 moonlight background, where green waves 
 were occasionally breaking in white foam 
 upon a yellow beach. More boldly than the 
 palm-trees stood out a group of ballet-girls, in 
 short, frilly, diaphanous skirts of pink and 
 green gauze, who were dancing with some 
 very black Polynesians, in scarlet loin cloths 
 and wearing wide silver bracelets and anklets. 
 These incongruous dancers had just been in- 
 troduced by a kindly disposed, though greatly 
 emaciated, missionary, who sat on a camp- 
 stool in the foreground watching the ballet 
 until rapture compelled him to burst into 
 song. 
 
 It was while he was imparting his enthu- 
 siasm to the delighted audience that Clapp and 
 Mildred entered. 
 
 Mildred gave one glance at the stage and 
 took her seat at the little round table indicated 
 by Clapp, carefully turning her back upon
 
 BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 89 
 
 Polynesia, and not so much as deigning to look 
 around at the neighboring tables, where men 
 and women were drinking and smoking as 
 they looked at the stage and listened to the 
 music. 
 
 As soon as the beer arrived, Clapp drank 
 his, and rising, said: "Miss Ashton, if you will 
 excuse me, I will go behind the scenes and in- 
 vite the Human Fly and her sister to join us in 
 a glass of beer. That will be the best way for 
 you to get your 'story.' ' 
 
 In about ten minutes after he had left, Poly- 
 nesia, which had been flooded with every col- 
 ored light imaginable, perished in a consid- 
 erate conflagration, which cleared the stage 
 for the stars of the afternoon, the Sinclair 
 Sisters. 
 
 The noisy orchestra now changed its wild 
 rhythms for some sentimental strains and then 
 burst into a march as the Sinclair Sisters ap- 
 peared to make their bows to welcoming ap- 
 plause. 
 
 Mildred was now compelled to look at the 
 stage. She saw two well-featured women of 
 graceful figure in rose-colored tights and 
 white bodices trimmed with bunches of rose- 
 colored ribbons here and there and their hair
 
 90 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 very beautifully arranged by a competent 
 hair-dresser. 
 
 Mildred had noticed soon after she had 
 seated herself that there was a little decorated 
 pavilion not far from her seat quite high up 
 in the air, and at some distance from it, 
 also high in the air, there was a sort of 
 perch. Into the pavilion climbed Made- 
 moiselle Aimee and into the perch climbed 
 Mademoiselle Rose. After each had prac- 
 tised a few fancy tricks, such as turning upside 
 down and swinging by the heels, Made- 
 moiselle Rose suddenly called out "All 
 right" and away darted Mademoiselle Aimee 
 through the air to clasp the outstretched 
 hands of Mademoiselle Rose, who was wait- 
 ing to receive her projectile sister, hanging 
 by her heels with her head and arms dangling 
 downwards. Hand in hand they swung for a 
 few minutes until Mademoiselle Aimee gave 
 a dexterous wiggle and freed herself without 
 disturbing the composure of the wonderfully 
 self-poised Mademoiselle Rose, and sprang 
 back to her pavilion. 
 
 After this double act was finished the sisters 
 retired. In a few moments Mademoiselle 
 Aimee returned, this time with the addition
 
 BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 91 
 
 to her costume of suction shoes, shaped like 
 the pad of a fly's foot. Mounting a ladder, 
 she soon reached the ceiling, upon which she 
 slowly walked the whole length of the room, 
 her head hanging downwards. 
 
 Applause! 
 
 The Human Fly Had finished her after- 
 noon's performance. 
 
 Mr. Clapp encouraged Mildred by: "They 
 will soon be here now. Just as soon as they 
 have changed their clothes." 
 
 In an incredibly short time the two sis- 
 ters appeared. Mr. Clapp, rising, introduced 
 them to Miss Ashton; and beckoning to a 
 waiter, ordered "Four beers." 
 
 Mildred was surprised at the quiet man- 
 ners and dress of these "circus girls," who nat- 
 urally attracted much attention from the occu- 
 pants of the neighboring tables. It was a new 
 experience for Mildred to come into contact 
 with people of a world so widely separated 
 from hers. 
 
 It also astonished her to see how different the 
 Sinclair Sisters now were, for on the trapeze 
 they had looked almost like twins. Mademoi- 
 selle Rose was very dark, with black hair and 
 black eyes Spanish eyes, full of fire and light
 
 92 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 and her pale complexion gave a melancholy 
 quality to her features. In short, Mademoi- 
 selle Rose was quite a romantic type. She 
 was dressed in a gown of black and white 
 checked silk, trimmed with black lace and a 
 white leghorn hat was dented becomingly 
 about her face and trimmed with large purple 
 flowers. She wore gray gloves and carried a 
 lace parasol. 
 
 The Human Fly was fair. She had light 
 hair and a merry face. Her gown was of blue 
 gray cloth and a profusion of scarlet plumes 
 waved upon her large red hat. 
 
 The "circus girls" were greatly surprised at 
 Mildred. Evidently "the lidy" (they were 
 English girls and spoke with an East End ac- 
 cent) , who was going to write them up for one 
 of the big New York "pypers," was different 
 from what they had expected to see. So they 
 were shy and quiet. 
 
 As the four sat drinking their beer, Mildred 
 asked a few questions, and Mr. Clapp, follow- 
 ing her lead, asked others that brought out 
 some details from the reticent girls. For in- 
 stance, that they thought this trapeze too low; 
 for the higher they were in the air, the better 
 they could work. "Besides," added Made-
 
 BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 93 
 
 moiselle Rose, "we are afraid we might fall 
 on some of the people and hurt them." 
 
 Mildred noted with surprise that this was 
 said with a delightful nonchalance, as if there 
 was not the slightest possible chance of injury 
 to themselves in such a catastrophe. 
 
 "We made two mistakes to-day," added 
 the Human Fly; "the lights were not properly 
 arranged and they blinded us. Oh, no! We 
 never change our positions. We couldn't do 
 that. Each is trained to do her especial part. 
 My sister does the catching and I do the 
 flight." 
 
 "We have to practice every day for several 
 hours," explained Mademoiselle Rose, "and 
 we try new things then. We go to see all the 
 acrobats and then we come home and try to 
 copy them. We can't do all that the men do; 
 but we try everything, and we get a great deal 
 through perseverance." 
 
 "It isn't as easy to walk on the ceiling as it 
 used to be," said the Human Fly. "I am get- 
 ting so much stouter and my weight is against 
 me. I have been walking on the ceiling ever 
 since I was eight years old. First, I tried 
 walking on tables. Then I went gradually 
 higher and higher. It made me frightfully
 
 94 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 dizzy at first. I sometimes strain a muscle. 
 I did yesterday, and that is why I couldn't 
 walk well to-day." 
 
 Soon the beer was gone and the conversa- 
 tion likewise. The Human Fly and her sis- 
 ter, delighted that the interview had ter- 
 minated, rose and said good-bye, thanking Mr. 
 Clapp for the beer and shaking hands with 
 Mildred. 
 
 "Have you got any copy?" Mr. Clapp 
 asked Mildred, as the girls departed. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Mildred emphatically. 
 
 "Do you want to stay any longer?" 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you," more emphatically. 
 
 "Then, let us go." 
 
 Mildred was glad to feel the fresh air again 
 after the hot music-hall with its stale smoke. 
 It was still stifling outside; the humidity was 
 high. Mildred, tired and bored, was anx- 
 ious to go home and rest. 
 
 ".Where do you live, Miss Ashton?" asked 
 Clapp. 
 
 "Lexington Avenue and Fortieth Street." 
 
 "May I accompany you?" 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish." 
 
 "Suppose we take the Broadway car and get 
 the air,"
 
 BLAKE'S PLEASURE PALACE 95 
 
 "That's a good idea," Mildred acquiesced. 
 
 Joe Clapp thought Mildred very delight- 
 ful. She was a good listener and he soon 
 found himself telling her something of his life 
 of adventure; the many places he had trav- 
 elled; and how he had received his education 
 first at Columbia and then at Bonn. This led 
 to a long description of the duel with a Ger- 
 man student, which had left its record on his 
 cheek. This was new to Mildred; she had 
 never seen a slashed student before, and was 
 consequently interested with a detailed ac- 
 count of the farcical performance. 
 
 "Thank you very much, Mr. Clapp," said 
 Mildred, as they reached Mrs. Carroll's, "for 
 going with me. .We've had quite a lark, 
 haven't we?" 
 
 "I enjoyed it," said Clapp. "Miss Ashton, 
 may I call and take you to the theatre some 
 evening? I always have tickets from the 
 Argus." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mildred. "I am very 
 fond of the theatre."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 
 
 MILDRED was terribly worried that 
 Mr. Bancroft had cut her off from the 
 weekly story in the Sunday Argus. It is true 
 that the remuneration was small. She aver- 
 aged only fifteen dollars, but this, at least, paid 
 her weekly expenses at Mrs. Carroll's. She 
 was worried to think of that source of income 
 being suddenly cut off. 
 
 What should she try for in its place? Life 
 looked hard at this moment. Obligations 
 must be met. Worse still, obligations must 
 be incurred. 
 
 It was depressing to have a sudden check 
 like this, when she had hoped for so much 
 from the Argus. Mildred had had vague 
 visions of working into an editorial position. 
 She also had hopes of becoming musical critic 
 of the Argus. Perhaps, indeed, the Argus 
 might be so pleased with her work (she in- 
 
 96
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 97 
 
 tended to do so much and such varied work) , 
 that eventually it might send her to Europe. 
 In what capacity Mildred did not quite know. 
 Her mind had not worked out matters as far as 
 that. She vaguely dreamed of being sent to 
 Europe to represent the paper. In that case, 
 she would be free from x all worry about money 
 and she would have delightful experiences. 
 She could take social introductions; and, in 
 her youthful pride, she thought these would, 
 in some way, benefit the Argus. Yes ; it had all 
 looked so easy. Her future was assured. In- 
 dustry and determination would bring it all 
 about. And now, Mr. Bancroft had, with one 
 breath, blown away her house of cards. 
 
 Mildred was puzzled. Long she sat in her 
 chair in front of the little desk that Mrs. Car- 
 roll had found in the hidden depths of the 
 house and placed in Mildred's room for her 
 convenience. People liked to do things for 
 Mildred. She was always so pleased and 
 grateful. 
 
 Mildred had thanked her most apprecia- 
 tively, although the contrast was great between 
 this little wobbly desk with tooth-pick legs 
 and her own beautiful mahogany escritoire 
 at Wild Acres, lined with satin-wood and or-
 
 98 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 namented with splendid wing-shaped brass 
 handles and key-plates. 
 
 Mildred could not think of Wild "Acres. 
 She had to put all thoughts of her dear old 
 home aside. 
 
 It was clear growing clearer every day as 
 the blank future stared at her in the face that 
 she must make a new connection. "I'll try the 
 magazines," she said. "Yes; I'll try the mag- 
 azines. Now, I wonder what I can send 
 out." 
 
 She drew from her pigeon-holes a few 
 poems that she had written from time to time. 
 Some of them were sentimental effusions of 
 her youth, at which her lip curled scornfully 
 as she read them over; she smiled a little at 
 several parodies and other humorous verses; 
 but decided that none of these would impress 
 an editor. Then she looked at her more re- 
 cent work. 
 
 "One of these might do," she said cheer- 
 fully, opening a package labelled "Transla- 
 tions of French Poems." "I'll try one of these 
 on Murray's Magazine." 
 
 Having placed them in a large envelope, 
 she addressed another envelope to herself,
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 99 
 
 stamped it and folded it to fit into the larger 
 envelope. Then she wrote: 
 
 AUG. 12, 1911. 
 To the Editor Murray's Magazine. 
 
 Messrs. Murray, Hodge and Company, 
 
 New York City. 
 
 DEAR SIR: I am sending you a translation that I 
 have just made of a chanson by Victor Hugo, hoping that 
 it may be worthy of a place in your magazine. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 MILDRED ASHTON. 
 
 P. S. I enclose the original, so that you may see that 
 I have followed the words and the sentiment as closely 
 as possible. 
 
 M. A. 
 
 "That is not strictly true," said Mildred, 
 as she read the letter once more. "That was 
 a slip of the pen. It isn't 'just made' : I made 
 it a month ago. I think I will leave it now. 
 The Murrays will be sure to believe that they 
 have the first chance at it." 
 
 Mildred was young at the profession of let- 
 ters! 
 
 When she put on her hat to go out and drop 
 the valuable contribution into the letter-box 
 at the corner, she was confident that in a day
 
 ioo A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 or two she would receive an enthusiastic re- 
 ply, accompanied with a cheque for about ten 
 dollars and a request for as many more con- 
 tributions as she was able to produce. Most 
 probably, the editor would ask her to call 
 and suggest articles that she would like to 
 write. This was a splendid way to break the 
 ice. 
 
 "I'm glad I thought of this," said Mil- 
 dred, talking to herself. "I must write 
 more verses. I must get a lot of things 
 ready. I'll just bombard the magazines. I 
 don't believe I'll have any trouble whatever 
 in getting the Murrays to take my poems. 
 Then, when I publish enough, they will bring 
 them out in book- form. Hooray! Besides, 
 I can elaborate several sketches that I have 
 made for stories. Well, Mr. Bancroft, per- 
 haps after all, you are a blessing in disguise! 
 I can't go to such places as Blake's Pleasure 
 Palace, if that is what newspaper work means. 
 It was awfully funny, and I'm glad I saw it 
 all; but I'll never go again to such a place, if 
 I can help it." 
 
 And Mildred, with her sanguine tempera- 
 ment, laid her head upon her pillow in her lit- 
 tle shabby room and quickly fell asleep, per-
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 101 
 
 fectly certain that the road of the immediate 
 future would soon be blossoming with thorn- 
 less roses. 
 
 Oh, Life! we abuse you sometimes; but how 
 merciful you are to veil Youth's eyes with the 
 golden dust of Hope! 
 
 For several weeks Mildred watched every 
 mail for a reply. She became quite worn out 
 with the strain of expecting the letter that was 
 to bring the glad tidings of acceptance. It 
 meant so much to her. It meant not merely 
 the publication of one of her writings, but the 
 opening of a door to Success. 
 
 The expected ten dollars had been appro- 
 priated (though not spent) for so many things 
 that Mildred had a charge account against 
 herself of seventy, or eighty, dollars! 
 
 At last, after she had waited two months, 
 the envelope addressed in her own handwrit- 
 ing appeared one morning upon her plate at 
 the breakfast table. Mildred saw it the mo- 
 ment she entered the room. She could hardly 
 wait to open it. A more experienced littera- 
 teur would have noticed that it was suspi- 
 ciously thick. 
 
 To the intense disappointment of Bernard 
 Fogg and Miss Van Tassel, Mildred picked
 
 102 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 up the envelope and retired to her own room 
 to read it in private. 
 This is what she read : 
 
 OCTOBER 24, 1913. 
 Miss Mildred Ashton, 
 
 Lexington Avenue and Fortieth Street, 
 
 New York City. 
 
 DEAR MADAM: We cannot use translations. More- 
 over, there is no demand for Victor Hugo and authors 
 of his type, entirely belonging to a past age. We are, 
 therefore, returning the manuscript, which you were kind 
 enough to submit to us. 
 
 With our grateful thanks for the opportunity of read- 
 ing it, we are, 
 
 Yours very respectfully, 
 
 MURRAY, HODGE & COMPANY. 
 Dictated to 
 J. H. K. 
 
 "I'm glad I gave them so much pleasure," 
 Mildred said. "If publishers feel like that, 
 it's no use to rattle Victor Hugo's bones before 
 their modern vision. So into the pigeon- 
 hole you go! I'll have to try something 
 else." 
 
 Mildred spent the whole day going through 
 her papers. But the Crowfoot Crane episode 
 and the letter from the Murrays gave her a 
 new attitude towards the marketable possibil-
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 103 
 
 ity of her literary wares; and when she came 
 to look over the half dozen or so stories and 
 essays she had selected as eligible, she rejected 
 them all. 
 
 It was Wednesday the day that Mildred 
 always paid Mrs. Carroll her twelve dollars. 
 This week she could nqt meet her obligation. 
 It was a horrible situation for Mildred. 
 Nothing like it had ever happened to her. 
 What should she do? Clearly she must ex- 
 plain matters to Mrs. Carroll and ask for an 
 extension of time. The very idea was abhor- 
 rent. In the first place, Mildred shrank from 
 asking such a favor from Mrs. Carroll; and in 
 the second, she did not wish to expose her pe- 
 cuniary condition. Mildred not only had a 
 full share of individual pride; but the matter 
 touched her family pride. It hurt her to ad- 
 mit to an outside person that things had got 
 into such a tangle. In her youthful reason- 
 ing she felt that there was a disgrace in the 
 collapse of an old family fortune: funds and 
 homes always melted away through incompe- 
 tence, or riotous living, and Mildred hated 
 both. She was too young to realize that stern 
 Fortune sometimes takes a hand in matters and 
 wrests away her gifts from those who have
 
 104 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 enjoyed them too long, quite independently of 
 what they may do, or not do. 
 
 Cruel necessity now forced Mildred to rise 
 to the occasion. 
 
 "What's the use of putting off the evil 
 hour?" said Mildred, "I'll go and get it over. 
 I'll not have this disagreeable Sword of 
 Damocles hanging over my head. Yes; I'll 
 go and get it over." 
 
 On her way down stairs in search of Mrs. 
 Carroll, Mildred, concluding that she would 
 make a clean breast of the whole matter, 
 framed her story in the most concise words so 
 that she could get the interview over quickly. 
 She wanted no condolences. It is needless to 
 say that Mrs. Carroll's surprise was great; but 
 she was very sympathetic, and her Southern 
 heart expanded to Mildred's trouble. She also 
 appreciated her sensitiveness and her pride. 
 The daughter of Thomas Pickens Fairfield, 
 of Goose Creek, had seen Tulip Hill go under 
 the hammer, and she knew. Of course, she 
 would extend the time of payment; and, more- 
 over, indefinitely. Mrs. Carroll and Mildred 
 Ashton were about on the same level with re- 
 gard to business transactions. 
 
 "I do hope," she added, "Miss Ashton, that
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 105 
 
 you will be successful in your literary work. 
 / always wanted to write, in fact, I am some- 
 thing of a scribbler myself. The Fairfields 
 are all writers. I don't think it can be very 
 hard, Miss Ashton," she continued, "to get 
 started, because I had a friend, Lucy Wheeler 
 nobody ever thought; she had any gift for 
 writing who got the first piece she ever wrote 
 accepted by the Saturday Evening Post. Yes ; 
 she did; and they paid her two hundred dol- 
 lars for it!" 
 
 Mildred's eyes opened wide. "What on 
 earth was it?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, it was an interview with the Pope on 
 the divorce question. Lucy was in Rome, and 
 she had a special kind of introduction from 
 Cardinal Gibbons (I believe Cardinal Gib- 
 bons is some kind of a relative of hers) and the 
 Pope gave her an audience and she wrote it 
 all up. You'll be sure to get on." 
 
 "Oh!" said Mildred to herself as she went 
 back to her little room, "that's the way peo- 
 ple talk about writing who haven't had any 
 experience behind the scenes. It was the in- 
 terview with the Pope that made the Saturday 
 Evening Post take it and pay her a special 
 price. Unfortunately, there is no St. Peter's
 
 io6 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 for me to go to. I wish I had some of Peter's 
 Pence, though, just at this moment!" 
 
 Mildred paced up and down her small 
 room like a tigress in a cage, without any ap- 
 parent motive. She was busy thinking, how- 
 ever, and soon exclaimed aloud: "I know 
 what I'll do. I'll write an article on Old New 
 York! That's what I'll do; and I'll send 
 it to Mr. Bancroft. I'll do it! I'm stuffed 
 full of Miss Van Tassel's stories: I know all 
 her grandmother's social triumphs in lower 
 Fifth Avenue, Second Avenue, Hudson 
 Square and Murray Hill; how she shopped in 
 Pearl Street; and how she strolled in Battery 
 Park. I'll go to the Library and get a 
 lot of notes; I'll buy some tracing-paper and 
 I'll trace some pictures out of old books; I'll 
 hunt around in the old print-shops for pic- 
 tures of old New York and celebrities of 1850; 
 and I'll go to the Historical Society and look 
 through the newspapers of the day. There 
 you are! Then I'll write it all up, just as if 
 I were really looking backward. Good idea! 
 It will take me just a week to do it. I'll do 
 it," and bang went her white hand on her little 
 desk to emphasize her determination. 
 
 In the climax of Mildred's exhilaration, one
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 107 
 
 of her manuscripts, entitled The Dream of 
 the River, caught her eye. "In the mean- 
 time," she said, "I believe I will send this along 
 to the Penninck Company." 
 
 Mildred had made a good calculation: it 
 took her just a week to gather the material 
 and write her essay. She began by describing 
 Jenny Lind's concert at Castle Garden; and 
 how an epidemic of Jenny Lind fashions broke 
 out "Jenny Lind handkerchiefs," "Jenny 
 Lind plaids" and even "Jenny Lind riding- 
 hats." Then she gave a picture of the Broad- 
 way dandy in his fine patent leather boots, 
 his large, striped trousers tightly fitting ex- 
 cept around the boots, his gay, short waist- 
 coat, his watch chain with its seal and 
 bunch of "charms," his standing collar and 
 broad, fancy tie, his sack coat with large 
 sleeves and his frizzled hair and tall hat 
 slightly tipped to one side. In contrast, she 
 gave a detailed account of the "Bowery 
 swell," who walked with a swagger and swing. 
 
 This was followed by descriptions of balls 
 and other entertainments, which were man- 
 aged by Brown, who was the fashionable ca- 
 terer of the day, and sexton of Grace Church 
 as well.
 
 io8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Next came pen-pictures of social celebrities 
 and famous literary persons, such as Thack- 
 eray, William Cullen Bryant, Washington Ir- 
 ving, James K. Paulding, Rufus W. Griswold, 
 Gulian C. Verplanck, Dr. John W. Francis, 
 George P. Morris, Charles Fenno Hoffman, 
 Fitz-Greene Halleck, Anna Cora Mowatt, 
 Catherine M. Sedgwick, N. P. Willis and his 
 sister, "Fanny Fern." 
 
 Then she closed with a reference to the last 
 survivor of this literary set, Mrs. Vincenzo 
 Botta, in whose drawing-room in West 
 Thirty-seventh Street for nearly forty years 
 every name celebrated in American literature 
 and art had been announced and in which 
 nearly every foreigner of distinction visiting 
 New York had been entertained, not forget- 
 ting to describe the famous evening when Poe 
 read The Raven for the first time in public 
 to Miss Lynch's guests. 
 
 When this article was completed, Mildred 
 decided not to send it to the Argus. ."Mr. 
 Bancroft will be sure to cut it down," she said, 
 "and not use half the pictures, and he would 
 only send me about eight, or ten, dollars for 
 it. The next thing is what shall I do with it? 
 The Murrays? No; no more Murrays just
 
 A HOUSE OF CARDS 109 
 
 at present. Oh, I know what I will do; I 
 will send it to Allman's Magazine." 
 
 Mildred was learning! 
 
 She had travelled a long distance since the 
 day she called on Crowfoot Crane! Yes; 
 Mildred was learning! 
 
 Two weeks later, The Dream of the River 
 came back from the Penninck Company with 
 a printed slip reading: "Returned with 
 thanks." The envelope with "Allman's Mag- 
 azine" in the upper left hand corner which ar- 
 rived on the same day, contained a cheque for 
 one hundred dollars (for "text and pictures") 
 and the hope that the writer would feel suf- 
 ficiently encouraged to contribute one or two 
 more papers. The editor also added "We 
 like particularly your anecdotes of N. P. 
 Willis, "Fanny Fern" and Thackeray. Can 
 you not give us more of the same kind? We 
 are bringing this out in an early number and 
 should like another article to follow it." 
 
 "I call this good luck!" exclaimed Mildred. 
 "I can go on indefinitely with this kind of 
 thing. Life again looks easy!"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 
 
 "TSN'T that Mildred Ashton?" said Mrs. 
 
 JL Jack Conway to her husband. 
 
 "Yes; I think it is," he replied, "but I am 
 not quite sure. I can't see her face." 
 
 "Neither can I," said Mrs. Conway, "but 
 I think it is. I wish she'd turn 'round." 
 
 At that moment, the enthusiastic, though 
 gentle, clapping of the gloved hands of several 
 hundred guests diverted the attention of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Conway to the arrival of Signer 
 Marconi, whose slight figure, in evening dress 
 of a decidedly Italian cut, was now walking 
 down the passage-way through the chairs to 
 the raised platform from which he, as guest of 
 honor, was going to deliver an informal ad- 
 dress on wireless telegraphy to a most distin- 
 guished gathering. 
 
 For more than a quarter of a century, Mrs. 
 Henry's receptions had held a unique place 
 
 among New .York's social entertainments. 
 
 no
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION in 
 
 There were several reasons for this. It is 
 hard to say which was the chief one. 
 
 Perhaps the first reason was that Mrs. 
 Henry herself was possessed of unusual per- 
 sonality, culture and charm; perhaps, the sec- 
 ond one was that, as the widow of a distin- 
 guished astronomer, she attracted to her Mad- 
 ison Avenue home scientists, men of letters, 
 and artists, who delighted in her own respon- 
 sive intellect. Nor were they averse to en- 
 joying her graceful, charming hospitality, her 
 delightful dinners and her notable receptions. 
 Another reason was that, coming from an old 
 Knickerbocker family possessed of wealth 
 and social position for many generations, Mrs. 
 Henry naturally continued her family tradi- 
 tions. 
 
 Moreover, Mrs. Henry had made a gift to 
 science herself. She had equipped two ob- 
 servatories one in North America and one in 
 South America which she now maintained 
 to continue her husband's work of photo- 
 graphing the heavens. Through this highly 
 intelligent disposition of a great part of her 
 fortune, the pursuit and development of one 
 branch of Science had been made possible. 
 Therefore, though most unostentatious in this
 
 112 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 matter which had been the chief occupation 
 of her thought for years Mrs. Henry had 
 won the admiration and great respect of the 
 scientific world in both continents. Her 
 name was known throughout the world. 
 
 Those who did not appreciate the value of 
 this gift and who could not understand its full 
 significance, were, at least, able to see in it a 
 touching and exquisite memorial from a de- 
 voted wife to a devoted husband, who hap- 
 pened to be a pioneer in a certain branch of 
 astronomical work. 
 
 It was natural, therefore, that Mrs. Henry 
 should attract all that was best and brightest 
 in America. 
 
 Mildred had known Mrs. Henry through 
 Mrs. Steele and had accompanied Mrs. Steele 
 to several of Mrs. Henry's entertainments. 
 Mildred was particularly attracted to Mrs. 
 Henry; and she admired her greatly. Con- 
 sequently, Mrs. Henry's was one of the few 
 houses at which Mildred called on her return 
 to New York under such altered conditions. 
 
 She told Mrs. Henry about Wild Acres and 
 found her most sympathetic. Her altered 
 conditions and boarding-house address made 
 no difference in Mrs. Henry's attitude to-
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 113 
 
 wards Mildred. In a week after Mildred's 
 first call, she received an invitation to a din- 
 ner-party in the famous home. 
 
 So, of course, it was Mildred Ashton that 
 Mrs. Conway's quick eye had caught through 
 a vista of white and pink necks and shoulders 
 and backs of neatly barbered heads of gray, 
 black, brown, light, much, little and no hair, 
 rising out of tall and stiffly starched collars 
 with white ties. 
 
 Signer Marconi now took his stand on the 
 platform and Mrs. Henry, after receiving the 
 last late arrival, slipped into her seat at the 
 end of the last row of chairs in the ball-room, 
 a distinguished figure in her low-necked white 
 silk dress trimmed with point lace and wear- 
 ing her famous pearls. 
 
 Those guests who had noticed on the way 
 up the wide stairway leading to the library, 
 where Mrs. Henry received them before they 
 passed quickly into the ball-room, J. W. Alex- 
 ander's portrait of Mrs. Henry in a dark 
 green velvet dress with her two Italian grey- 
 hounds by her side, marked that Mr. Alex- 
 ander had not exaggerated the rich red of her 
 abundant hair, which she wore in a simple 
 knot, nor the steady gaze of her gray eyes.
 
 ii4 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Guests who knew her well noticed a little 
 brighter gleam in those eyes for them than for 
 her more formal acquaintances beneath the 
 well-bred manner that gave the same gracious 
 greeting to all and each. 
 
 Marconi finished his delightful talk. The 
 audience rose. Some of the guests went for- 
 ward to speak to him; others sought their 
 friends; while others remained where they 
 were to greet friends who were making their 
 difficult way to them through the chairs and 
 through other animated groups. The buzz 
 of voices arose from the room like a mumur- 
 ous hum of bees. 
 
 Almost immediately there was a general 
 movement towards and down the wide stair- 
 way. Down they passed men whose names 
 were as well known in foreign countries as in 
 their own country and who wore their well- 
 earned decorations and orders; men, whose 
 tiny colored buttons in the lapels of their coats 
 proclaimed a right to especial attentions; men, 
 whose faces had become familiar by means of 
 the illustrated magazines and papers; men 
 conspicuous in science, letters, law, politics, 
 medicine and art; retired army and navy offi- 
 cers; and noted foreigners visiting New York.
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 115 
 
 In addition to these, there were many social 
 celebrities, young and old. These notable 
 personages were escorting ladies, of all ages, 
 attired in silks, satins and velvets of every hue 
 and many styles; but, perhaps, owing to the 
 great number of middle-aged guests, black 
 velvet and point lace was the most universal 
 costume. Rich laces and splendid family 
 jewels were worn on this occasion; for many 
 of the guests were descendants of New York's 
 most aristocratic families, both Dutch and 
 English. Here and there in the rustling 
 stream of silks one might note a famous wom- 
 an who had attained distinction in science, lit- 
 erature, or art. 
 
 Down they all came into the drawing-room, 
 where the four superb Gobelin tapestries, fill- 
 ing the entire walls, showed to particular ad- 
 vantage in the light of the immense gilt 
 torcheres that stood in each corner, each can- 
 delabra bearing aloft a pyramid of lighted 
 candles. Some of the guests seated them- 
 selves upon the handsome Empire chairs and 
 sofas; others paused before the cabinets and 
 vitrines to examine the rare collection of Cy- 
 priote glass and choice miniatures; while 
 others walked directly into the dining-room.
 
 Ii6 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Here the light from large silver lamps, 
 softened by shades of pale rose-colored silk 
 fell only upon the table, so tastefully deco- 
 rated with flowers and confections of various 
 kinds and massive bowls of silver containing 
 salads and punch. The rest of the room was 
 in shadow and formed a fine contrast to the 
 brilliant drawing-room. 
 
 Mildred was listening enthralled, to an eld- 
 erly gentleman with smooth-shaven face and 
 of quiet and unassuming manners. She could 
 hardly believe that she stood face to face with 
 the "Wizard of America," Mr. Edison, who, 
 perhaps, of all the many distinguished persons 
 present, appealed most to her imagination. 
 
 A distinguished surgeon of New York, noted 
 for his discoveries in the use of radium, now 
 came up to speak to Mildred and Mr. Edison. 
 
 While they were talking Mildred took a 
 plate of chicken salad and creamed oysters 
 from the hands of one waiter and a glass of 
 champagne from another. As she was trying 
 to balance the glass on her plate and bow 
 meanwhile to an acquaintance across the din- 
 ing-room, she heard a voice behind her, say- 
 ing "How do you do, Mildred?" 
 
 "Why, Louise," Mildred replied, turning
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 117 
 
 around, "how glad I am to see you!" Then, 
 "How do you do, Jack?" as the latter held out 
 his hand. 
 
 A lion-hunter, having been watching for 
 an opportunity to pounce upon Mr. Edison, 
 seized this moment to engage the latter's at- 
 tention; and another watchful observer car- 
 ried off the distinguished surgeon. Mildred 
 was, therefore, left free to explain to the Con- 
 ways what she was doing in New York and to 
 make her polite excuses for having neglected 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Conway had changed very little since 
 Mildred first met her six years ago as Louise 
 Steele at the house of Mrs. Steele, her aunt 
 by marriage. Louise was then, according 
 to Mildred's opinion, a veteran of twenty-five, 
 who had seen seven actually seven sea- 
 sons. Mildred, who had not then "come out," 
 looked upon Louise with awe and respect. 
 This opinion, however, wore away soon after 
 Mildred made her bow to society at a debu- 
 tante tea given for her by Mrs. Steele. 
 
 Louise had married soon after this event. 
 Mildred had been one of the bridesmaids; 
 but, not being particularly sympathetic with 
 Louise, they had drifted apart.
 
 ii8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Louise had always impressed Mildred as 
 cold and selfish; and as she now looked upon 
 her well-chiselled features, her fine profile 
 artfully accented by the hair-dresser's arrange- 
 ment of her black hair, her conventional smile, 
 showing her small and very even teeth, and her 
 black eyes untouched by emotion of any kind, 
 Mildred did not alter her opinion. She 
 thought her, however, exceedingly handsome 
 but exceedingly unsympathetic. 
 
 Louise was very cordial she seldom al- 
 lowed herself to be as cordial to any one 
 and Mildred was responsive. Moreover, 
 Louise's presence brought back happy mem- 
 ories of Mrs. Steele. Mildred's sincere smile 
 of pleased recognition, therefore, warmed 
 Louise's cold nature so much that she imme- 
 diately began to entertain as deep a friendship 
 for Mildred as it was possible for a tempera- 
 ment like hers to cherish. 
 
 Mildred noticed that her dress was of white 
 satin, that its cut was extremely stylish, that it 
 fit her like the proverbial glove, and that 
 no matter which way she turned her silhou- 
 ette was correct. "Yes," Mildred thought, 
 "Louise is correct in every detail from her 
 coiffure to her slippers. She is wearing just
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 119 
 
 the right jewels, she has just the right dash of 
 the right perfume, she carries the right 
 fan, she gives you the latest bow, she holds 
 her beautiful figure in the latest pose. Yes, 
 Louise is a very handsome woman and a very 
 stylish one; but Jack has grown ten years 
 older! His moustache is really quite gray, 
 and so is his hair, particularly above the ears. 
 I wonder if the Conways are happy!" 
 
 All this Mildred gradually noted while the 
 three were engaged in the difficult matter of 
 eating from plates that were occasionally jos- 
 tled by the crush of people moving towards 
 the table, and by waiters who were com- 
 ing from the table with delicacies of all 
 kinds. 
 
 "Let us go over there," said Jack Conway, 
 "we are standing in the very worst place, just 
 here between the doors. Let's make for that 
 corner! There are two chairs over there; and 
 you can both be seated. Do let me get you 
 something more, Mildred. Will you have an 
 ice, or a biscuit tortoni? Which will you 
 have, Louise? Oh, here's Greene! Hello, 
 Gilbert!" 
 
 "How are you, Jack? Good evening, Mrs. 
 Conway. Delighted to see you!"
 
 120 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Miss Ashton," said Jack, "let me present 
 Mr. Greene." 
 
 "Oh, I know Mr. Greene," said Mildred 
 cordially, extending her hand in greeting. 
 
 "Who could forget Miss Ashton? 'Lives 
 there on earth a soul so dead?' " replied Mr. 
 Greene, thinking meanwhile that she had one 
 of the most radiant and captivating smiles he 
 had ever beheld. Mildred had developed a 
 great deal since Greene had seen her at the 
 Conways' wedding four years ago. She had 
 gained in poise. He now admired her man- 
 ner. His artistic eye immediately scrutinized 
 the rare jeweled ornament with which Mil- 
 dred had clasped the front of her low- 
 necked dress. This jewel, or cluster of 
 jewels, consisted of twenty-five large topazes, 
 each one set in a mass of delicate golden 
 filagree work. It was fashioned something 
 after the form of a cross, with pendants, 
 each pendant consisting of a group of three 
 gems and each gem imbedded by a golden cob- 
 web. Each group of gems was set in a larger 
 golden cobweb. Moreover, each group was 
 flexible enough to sway with the slightest mo- 
 tion of the wearer. At the top was a particu- 
 larly large and brilliant topaz. The jewels
 
 AN EVENING RECEPTION 121 
 
 were perfectly matched in color and gleamed 
 like big drops of frozen sherry and with a 
 liquid light. The beautiful ornament, being 
 six inches long, reached to Mildred's waist. 
 It was an heirloom in the Ashton family and 
 Mildred only wore it on special occasions. 
 
 Gilbert Greene also admired Mildred's 
 taste in dress. She was wearing this evening 
 a canary-colored corded silk. It was per- 
 fectly plain, without the slightest trimming, 
 not even the addition of a little lace. Her one 
 ornament was the splendid jewel that held her 
 low-necked bodice in place. 
 
 This little group of four remained together 
 during the rest of the evening. Mildred 
 liked Gilbert Greene very much. In the 
 course of conversation she learned that he was 
 an architect and that he had spent a great part 
 of his life in Paris, where his father had been 
 consul. 
 
 After graduation at Yale, he had returned 
 to Paris to study at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. 
 He had been in New York for about two years 
 and was rapidly attaining eminence in his pro- 
 fession. He had built several charming villas 
 in Newport, Southampton and Lenox, and his 
 taste was such that already people were be-
 
 122 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ginning to talk about him and to tell each 
 other that "Mr. Greene never makes a mis- 
 take." Through his old college friend, Jack 
 Conway, a Wall Street broker, Gilbert Greene 
 had been quite fortunate in the investment of 
 a little money that he had inherited from his 
 father. 
 
 Artistic, speaking French like a Parisian, 
 and gifted with a charm of manner, Gilbert 
 Greene had "arrived" at the early age of 
 thirty. Although he spent much of his time 
 at the Century Club and the Player's, he was 
 a frequent guest at the Conways. When the 
 friends parted that evening and Mildred, hav- 
 ing declined Jack Conway's invitation to let 
 them drop her at her residence, was about to 
 enter her taxi-cab, Gilbert Greene, who hap- 
 pened to come down the carpeted steps under- 
 neath the awning at the same time, put her 
 into the cab, adding, as he lifted his top hat, 
 "I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
 soon at the Conways, Miss Ashton. I go there 
 very often. Good-night!"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 MOST of his friends envied Jack Con- 
 way. He had always known money 
 and a charming home. Fortune had smiled 
 upon him in every way. After graduation 
 at Yale, where he had met and formed a 
 friendship with Gilbert Greene, he slipped 
 into his father's business in Wall Street. He 
 soon gave evidence of a real gift for financial 
 operations. Jack Conway had shown no par- 
 ticular talent at college, where he had proved 
 himself a good all round average student and 
 acquired a fair reputation in athletics. It 
 was not until he became a Wall Street broker 
 that he exhibited any marked ability. 
 
 Mr. John Conway, senior, delighted with 
 his son's rapid success, was, in a few years, able 
 to realize the dream of his life and retire with 
 his wife and unmarried daughter to his coun- 
 try home at Ardsley-on-the-Hudson, leaving 
 Jack in command of the business.
 
 124 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Jack Conway was lucky in his marriage, so 
 his friends said four years ago, when Miss 
 Louise Steele, a noted heiress, became his 
 bride at St. Thomas's. The wedding was fine 
 and very fashionable Louise always man- 
 aged things well and everybody was there. 
 
 Everybody was satisfied that the two were 
 wonderfully well-suited and everybody pre- 
 dicted the most alarming happiness. 
 
 Was it only four years ago? It seemed an 
 age to Jack. Moreover, the memory of that 
 eventful day never came back to him wreathed 
 with happy thoughts. He knew it now: he 
 had drifted into this marriage with Louise. 
 They had been out together much; they had 
 dined together; they had danced together; 
 they had been to theatre parties and to supper 
 parties together; and then, all of a sudden, 
 they became the chief figures in a much-talked 
 of wedding! 
 
 Jack could not have described in detail how 
 it had all come about, if anyone had asked 
 him. He remembered, however, very dis- 
 tinctly that only a week later he had realized 
 that he had made a mistake. He then, and 
 very suddenly, found out that he was in for 
 that most horrible of all things a loveless
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 125 
 
 marriage. Yes ; he told himself he had mar- 
 ried Louise because she was handsome and 
 stylish and because he would be proud to have 
 her preside over his establishment. In other 
 words, he had married her for ambitious rea- 
 sons; and now he was discovering that mar- 
 riage must mean something more than that. 
 But in justice to Jack Conway, it ought to be 
 said that he had not as yet the slightest idea of 
 the emotion of love. He had passed on from 
 one thing to another in a life of ease and pleas- 
 ure and no woman had ever raised the slight- 
 est ripple upon his very quiet pool of a heart. 
 The old proverb "Still waters run deep" 
 sometimes occurred to Gilbert Greene, when 
 he looked at Jack in wonderment, adding to 
 himself: "If love ever does strike poor old 
 Jack, it will go pretty hard with him." 
 
 So Jack, who had rather expected Louise 
 to set the pace for the love-making, soon dis- 
 covered that his presence bored, rather than 
 delighted, her; and he settled down to make 
 the best of it. Fortunately, his emotional na- 
 ture was not disturbed; but he was conscious 
 that he had missed something. For instance, 
 he had vaguely expected when he returned 
 home after a long day in Wall Street to be
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 greeted, certainly, with a welcoming smile 
 and, perhaps, outstretched arms. He found 
 neither. 'At that hour Louise was usually 
 calling, except on Fridays, when she, herself, 
 received. 
 
 Louise, on the other hand, was not in the 
 least disappointed. This marriage was just 
 what she had intended it to be. Louise had 
 been out seven seasons and did not care to 
 face another onslaught of debutantes. It was 
 about time she married. She had refused 
 several brilliant offers in her first two seasons, 
 and she felt that each year made her less de- 
 sirable. Looking over the list of butterflies, 
 who were basking in the sunlight of her 
 charms, she dismissed the fortune-hunters and 
 felt that Jack Conway was the best one to se- 
 lect. He had a handsome income of his own 
 and was a good-looking fellow besides, being 
 tall and light and forming a good contrast to 
 her own brunette type, all these were ad- 
 vantages that Louise balanced up carefully. 
 Yes ; Jack Conway could have her hand. She 
 was too wise to give any one her fortune. 
 This was secure. It had been well tied up by 
 a very worldly and calculating mother, who 
 had outlived an exceedingly unhappy hus-
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 127 
 
 band. This mother had trained her daughter 
 to think of no one but herself. Therefore, 
 Louise's marriage was a piece of perfectly 
 cold calculation. She made up her mind one 
 evening after a dance at Sherry's that Jack 
 should marry her; and Jack did. 
 
 Louise gave a great deal of thought to the 
 wedding a great deal more than she be- 
 stowed upon Jack before, or after and the 
 wedding went off beautifully. People still 
 talked of it! Gilbert Greene, Jack's best man, 
 looked at the cold, impassive face of the bride 
 and trembled for his friend. "This is not 
 self-control," he said to himself, "this is in- 
 difference. Such indifference would kill me! 
 I'm glad I am not the one to place the ring I 
 have in my pocket on her finger." 
 
 On their return to New York after the wed- 
 ding-trip Louise entered her new Madison 
 Avenue home as if she had lived there always. 
 She put romance into nothing. She had no 
 sense of romance: she was incapable of it. 
 Immediately she organized her household and 
 by the end of the first week, everything was 
 running perfectly. 
 
 Jack Conway had certainly gratified his 
 ambitions. Louise was a perfect figure head
 
 128 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 and a perfect fashion-plate. Her costumes 
 were striking; her dinners delightful; her 
 service perfect. What more could he wish? 
 
 Louise had all she wanted out of life. Jack 
 did not; and the first one to observe this was 
 Gilbert Greene, who spent much of his leisure 
 at the Conways'. 
 
 The Conways were the envy of many peo- 
 ple. They seemed to have everything the 
 world could give. The world did not notice 
 that they were on formal terms, though pleas- 
 ant ones; for they appeared much in society, 
 gave charming dinners, and had their pew at 
 St. Thomas's and their box at the opera. 
 
 Jack swirled down town every morning in 
 his limousine and Louise went shopping in 
 hers, wkh Pompon, her little Pekinese, after 
 her late breakfast in bed and long Seances with 
 her hair-dresser, manicure and French maid, 
 Annette. Shopping, tailors and milliners oc- 
 cupied what was left of the morning, and 
 luncheons, card-parties and calls used up the 
 afternoons. There was a short interval spent 
 with Annette in dressing for dinner. There 
 were usually guests to dinner, unless Louise 
 and Jack were dining out, so how could she
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 129 
 
 see anything of Jack? Now how could she? 
 Perfectly impossible! 
 
 Jack soon learned not to care. His break- 
 fast was ceremoniously served every morning 
 at half-past eight. Afterwards, he stepped 
 into his limousine and reached his office about 
 ten o'clock. He lunched down town, and fre- 
 quently ordered his car to stop on the way up 
 town at one of his clubs and dashed home just 
 in time to slip into his dress suit for dinner. 
 He then fell into any engagements that Louise 
 had made for the evening, unless he had made 
 some engagement for himself, which hap- 
 pened rarely. 
 
 Such had life been for four years until 
 Mildred Ashton passed into the orbit of the 
 Conways. 
 
 On the whole, the Conway house was a 
 pleasant one to visit. Life was well-ordered 
 and made comfortable for everyone; and, as 
 Jack and Louise were both adepts in the diffi- 
 cult art of entertaining, delightful guests were 
 attracted to their home. 
 
 Mildred soon became a frequent visitor. 
 It was a great relief to her to escape from the 
 dullness of Mrs. Carroll's and to be in an
 
 130 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 atmosphere of a well-appointed home once 
 more. 
 
 Besides being fond of Mildred, Louise 
 found her useful. She was always willing 
 to accompany her when Louise desired a 
 companion. Mildred was always sweet and 
 sunny, and she often filled in a dinner very 
 conveniently. She played cards well, and 
 that suited Louise, who was devoted to auc- 
 tion-bridge. Moreover, Mildred was unusu- 
 ally obliging about her music. She not only 
 could play beautifully, but she was willing to 
 play for people as long as they cared to listen; 
 and, still more wonderful to relate, she was 
 willing to play dance music. As she loved to 
 dance herself, she did this well. 
 
 Louise was very fond of Mildred's playing; 
 and soon after she met her at Mrs. Henry's, it 
 was arranged that Mildred should come and 
 practice whenever she pleased. It also soon 
 became expected that Mildred would dine on 
 opera nights; and she had her regular seat in 
 the Conway box. 
 
 Louise and Mildred presented a wonderful 
 contrast: the one so artificial and cold; the 
 other, so natural, spontaneous and warm- 
 hearted.
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 131 
 
 Jack Conway began to appreciate this very 
 early. 
 
 Nothing gave him so much pleasure as to 
 hear Mildred play. Suddenly Jack Conway 
 opened another facet of his mind (as he had 
 done in business) and awoke to the pleasure 
 of art. Jack had never cared for music; and 
 he had always abominated the piano. Mil- 
 dred's touch changed his attitude towards it. 
 She brought to it something so bright, so 
 soothing, so beautiful, so glowing and so deli- 
 cate that it seemed to Jack as if the instrument 
 were a medium for the expression of the poetry 
 within her. To say that Mildred played the 
 piano would be altogether misleading. To 
 say the piano enabled Mildred to play her- 
 self, would be more like it. She had a 
 marvellous natural touch and much tech- 
 nique. She played in the modern Polish 
 school and the notes seemed to drip from her 
 slender fingers like showers of opalescent 
 pearls. Jack soon learned to love her Chopin 
 and Debussy and the way she played some of 
 the songs of Schubert, Schumann and Robert 
 Franz, which she had transcribed herself ; but, 
 most of all, he loved to hear her take a Wag- 
 ner score and play long excerpts from the
 
 132 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Meistersinger, Tristan, Parsifal, or the Ring. 
 She often gave the hearer a suggestion of the 
 instrumentation. 
 
 Jack Conway soon found that by familiar- 
 ity with these works his enjoyment of the great 
 music-dramas was greatly increased; and he 
 seriously asked Mildred if she wouldn't con- 
 sider him as a pupil just to play to him and 
 analyze the scores. Louise thought it a splen- 
 did idea. The fact was Louise languidly ad- 
 mitted to herself that Jack bored her and it 
 was a convenient way to get rid of Jack for an 
 hour or two. Moreover, this arrangement 
 left her free to entertain guests and revel in 
 their flatteries, which meant so much to her.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 
 
 FRANCOIS, the Conways' butler, hated 
 Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. 
 These three "opera nights" usually spoiled 
 dinner. There was apt to be more or less of 
 a rush; and the result was that some of the 
 choice dishes were carried away unappreci- 
 ated. Sometimes, indeed, whole courses were 
 omitted. 
 
 As he handed a beautifully decorated fruit- 
 salad to Mr. De Witt, who was seated at Mrs. 
 Conway's right, Frangois, chancing to glance 
 across the round table, read with alarm the 
 dawning symptoms of restlessness in the host's 
 face. 
 
 Frangois had a rose-colored dinner this 
 evening. The large, low silver basket in the 
 centre of the table was filled with pink roses, 
 loosely arranged; the shades on the two can- 
 delabra, on either side of the basket, falling 
 in cascades of crystal girandoles, were pink; 
 
 133
 
 134 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 and the bon-bons in the four little silver bas- 
 kets, symmetrically arranged around the three 
 larger pieces, were also pink. The ices were 
 to be pink roses; the petits fours were orna- 
 mented with pink icing; and Francois had se- 
 lected the pink Limoges china decorated 
 with pink and purple orchids for the lighter 
 courses. 
 
 Mrs. Conway, accommodating herself to 
 the scheme of color, appeared in her rose-col- 
 ored satin, very becoming to her dark eyes and 
 black hair, dressed, as usual, in the latest 
 style. 
 
 Mildred Ashton, the one other woman at 
 the table, had brought her white lace dress 
 into harmony with the decorations by pinning 
 on her left shoulder a large and perfect pink 
 rose that she had taken from a vase in the 
 drawing-room while waiting for the arrival of 
 the other guests, responding to her hostess's 
 "You haven't got it in the right place," by "I 
 don't care. I don't intend to spoil the rose. 
 It won't get crushed where it is." The grate- 
 ful rose soon fell into a most graceful posi- 
 tion and accented the whiteness of Mildred's 
 neck. It attracted the attention of both Mr. 
 Philip De Witt and Mr. Gilbert Greene, who
 
 A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 135 
 
 arrived simultaneously. Frangois approved 
 of these guests. He had never known them 
 to be late. 
 
 After bowing formally to the tall, slim and 
 dark man with a Van Dyke beard, who was 
 introduced to her, Mildred turned to greet 
 more cordially Mr. Gilbert Greene, whom 
 she had seen so often at the Conways since 
 their meeting at Mrs. Henry's, two months 
 ago. 
 
 Dinner, ordered earlier than usual on ac- 
 count of the opera, had been in progress some 
 time when Gilbert Greene asked suddenly: 
 "By the way, what's the opera to-night?" 
 
 "Tristan," answered Jack, quickly, "won- 
 derful Tristan!" 
 
 "Yes," exclaimed Louise, "Tristan, that 
 long-winded Tristan. I am only going be- 
 cause it is Selma's premiere and because it's a 
 gala night" 
 
 "I'll take you anywhere you please, Mrs. 
 Conway," broke in Philip De Witt, "if you 
 don't want to go to the opera." 
 
 "I do want to go to the opera, but I don't 
 want to go to Tristan, Mr. De Witt," Louise 
 replied. 
 
 "I don't see how you can get one without
 
 I3'6 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 the other to-night, Mrs. Conway," said Gil- 
 bert Greene. "But I tell you what we'll do. 
 We'll all go, to-morrow, to the liveliest show 
 we can find, to offset it, if you like my enter- 
 tainment. You're all invited!" 
 
 "I'll head the list," said Mildred. 
 
 "What sticks me," Greene went on, "is the 
 German prima- donna. I confess my illusions 
 are all gone when a perfect mountain of 
 woman, all draped in white, and wearing 
 shiny metal armor, hand cuffs and a helmet 
 for all the world like a brand new parlor stove 
 stands up in a scene to inspire love and ro- 
 mance! Those stiff artificial attitudes! It is 
 all so mechanical, so uninspired! Every thing 
 measured off. A certain musical phrase gets 
 her on the other side of the stage, to sit on a 
 rock, to stand under a tree, to pick up her 
 shield, or to clutch a horse's mane, or tail. 
 Then, when the stage is thick with ishes and 
 hochs and eins and deins and meins and 
 seins " 
 
 "And whines?" suggested Mildred. 
 
 "Yes; and whines, she violently grabs her 
 draperies and holds them out in such a way 
 that the wind will catch them and then she 
 strides across the stage, or races up a rock,
 
 A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 13? 
 
 with an air-filled mantle. No ; I cannot stand 
 the German prima- donna. I suppose you 
 think that is rank heresy, Miss Ashton, and 
 that I am a musical pariah." 
 
 "Not at all," replied Mildred, sipping her 
 sauterne, "I agree with you. There are some 
 things that are a little too Teu 
 
 "Go on," interrupted Greene, laughing, 
 "too, too, too, too " 
 
 "Teutonic," said Mildred, in a reproachful 
 tone, "for my taste. You have to shut your 
 eyes sometimes and just listen to the music." 
 
 "Fancy that! Oh, what an argument I" 
 laughed Greene, pleasantly. "Oh, Miss Ash- 
 ton, can't you do better than that?" 
 
 "Yes ; I will make a great concession." 
 
 "Thank you! What is it?" 
 
 "I consider Don Giovanni the most won- 
 derful of all operas. Old von Biilow said it 
 was the opera of the future. I agree with 
 him. There, will that satisfy you?" 
 
 "Partly. There's hope for you. I am be- 
 ginning to feel encouraged with regard to 
 your musical future. Now, if you will only 
 say that you like A'ida 
 
 "I adore A'ida," broke in Mildred, quickly 
 and emphatically.
 
 i 3 8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Hooray!" cried Greene. "You are not 
 half as bad as I thought you were!" 
 
 "I suppose you will offer me your hand 
 in marriage, Mr. Greene, if I tell you that I 
 had one of the most delightful of my 
 many operatic experiences last week at Ma- 
 non." 
 
 "Massenet's, or Puccini's?" 
 
 "Oh, Massenet's, of course." 
 
 "You shall have both my hands, Miss Ash- 
 ton, and everything they can grab for you in 
 the round world. Go on." 
 
 "Well," continued Mildred, "I think 
 Manon is a gem. The score is ideal: so full 
 of lovely melodies, deliciously harmonized; 
 melodies that seem to sing out spontaneously 
 from 'cello and violin; melodies that do not 
 puzzle the brain, but tempt the senses to de- 
 lightful dreams." 
 
 "Hear that from a 'Perfect WagneriteM" 
 exclaimed Greene. "Didn't you like the 
 scenes?" 
 
 "Rather!" replied Mildred. "They re- 
 minded me of fan-mounts by Watteau, Leloir, 
 Pater and Boucher. Weren't they lovely? 
 That of the inn, for example, surrounded by 
 bright hollyhocks, with glimpses of a pretty
 
 A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 139 
 
 landscape in the distance, dotted with figures, 
 and the merry party seen dining at the win- 
 dow." 
 
 "Yes," replied Greene, "and that old stage- 
 coach dashing up to the inn, laden with lug- 
 gage and boxes; Manon jumping out; and the 
 old coach dashing off again. Awfully good 
 picture!" 
 
 "Yes," continued Mildred, "and the vil- 
 lage-green with its holiday-makers in the 
 third act, with the rustic clowns ; the vendors 
 under the trees; the large-hatted and gar- 
 landed youths and maidens dancing gavottes 
 and minuets; Manon, all patched and pow- 
 dered, arriving in a sedan chair 
 
 "Lovely French pictures," cried Greene, 
 "Salut a la France! Oh, France comme je 
 t'adore!" 
 
 "And didn't Alouetta sing that gavotte 
 beautifully?" Jack observed. 
 
 "Beeyoutifully!" Greene sung out. 
 
 "Oh, I loved that, too," cried Louise, "I 
 always love Alouetta. I agree with you, 
 Mr. Greene. I hate those fat German fraus. 
 Mildred said something good the other 
 day" 
 
 "Thank you I" Mildred interrupted quickly.
 
 140 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "She said," continued Louise, "that Ma- 
 'dame Pumpernickel-Holstein, the new Briinn- 
 hilde you know, has an organ and she pulls out 
 all the stops at once." 
 
 "How beautifully Serinsky sang 'En fer- 
 mant les yeux je vois la-bast'" Greene went 
 on. "It was just luscious! Heavenly!" 
 
 "And don't forget Moreau," pleaded Mil- 
 dred, "the dashing soldier. Didn't he show 
 how great a small part may become in the 
 hands of a rare artist?" 
 
 "I am always dead stuck on Moreau's cos- 
 tumes," said Greene. "I wish to heaven he'd 
 dress me! I'm going to get a suit like 
 his last one in Manon. Do you remember it? 
 White cloth with orange velvet collar and 
 cuffs. Stunning!" 
 
 "Where are you going to wear it?" asked 
 Mildred. "At the Century Club?" 
 
 At this moment Jack drew his fob from his 
 pocket and looked at his watch. 
 
 "There!" said Louise. "Jack's restless, and 
 there are several courses to come. Don't let 
 him spoil your dinner, Mr. Greene. Mr. De 
 Witt is charmingly unconcerned." 
 
 Mr. De Witt smiled appreciatively. 
 
 ".Yes," said Jack, "I am getting restless. It
 
 A LITTLE DINNER PARTY 141 
 
 is half-past seven and Tristan begins promptly 
 at eight, promptly. It's a long opera. I 
 wouldn't miss the Prelude for anything." 
 Then, turning to Mildred, "Mildred, let us 
 excuse ourselves and go. The limousine can 
 come back for these gourmets. They don't 
 care what they miss, or what they see. All 
 they want is a knife, a fork and a wine- 
 glass." 
 
 "And a plate, please," added Greene. 
 
 "Yes, I'll be delighted to go," Mildred 
 responded. "I have been worrying about 
 missing that Prelude for the last ten minutes. 
 Excuse me, Louise, will you?" 
 
 Jack rose. "Greene, will you join us? I 
 see that De Witt is a fixture." 
 
 "No, thank you," said Greene. "Go and 
 enjoy yourselves." 
 
 Broadway, bright as day, was so congested 
 with people and carriages that when the Con- 
 way limousine came within sight of the Opera 
 House the chauffeur was compelled to fall 
 into line two blocks above the entrance. The 
 street was a surging sea of people that blocked 
 the automobiles and cars. 
 
 "I'm glad we came away; we haven't any 
 time to spare," said Jack, "I hope we sha'n't
 
 14* A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 have to stay here much longer. There! we 
 move at last!" 
 
 Passing into the Opera House, they found 
 the foyer packed. It was difficult to get 
 through the gate. 
 
 "I am always thrilled when I come into this 
 house," said Mildred, as they walked up the 
 red velvet stairway. "Just listen to that'' she 
 added, as a boy went by with an armful of 
 libretti, calling "Ahpra Book, Ahpra Book, 
 Ahpra Book! Book for the Ahpra! Ahpra 
 Book!" 
 
 "Don't you love that?" she asked. "He 
 seems to promise such delight." 
 
 "I do," replied Jack. 
 
 "Don't you love our dear, old New York, 
 anyway? Don't you love all this?" and Mil- 
 dred laid her hand on his arm in her enthu- 
 siasm, as she seemed to take the whole scene 
 into her all embracing glance. 
 
 "Yes; especially that gentleman over there." 
 
 "Don't be silly," said Mildred, as she fol- 
 lowed Jack's glance, which directed hers to a 
 short, stout, hook-nosed man with a fat paunch 
 and a huge diamond blazing in the centre of 
 his expansive shirt front, evidently a theatri- 
 cal manager, who was standing at the top of
 
 143 
 
 the stairway, to stare at the women ascending 
 in their handsome opera cloaks. 
 
 On entering the Conway box Jack lifted 
 Mildred's cloak from her shoulders and hung 
 it up, hung up his own fur-lined overcoat, 
 took a quick glance in the small mirror to see 
 if his hair and tie were" all right and then drew 
 the red curtains for Mildred to pass through. 
 "Let us leave the front seats for the others," 
 she said, seating herself in one of the chairs 
 at the back, "we want to follow the score." 
 
 Jack took the chair next to hers and placed 
 the piano score on her lap. 
 
 "Now we are comfortably settled," he said, 
 "and ready for the fray. Look! the boxes are 
 nearly all filled!"
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT THE OPERA 
 
 THOSE who say that New Yorkers are not 
 cultivated in music should see the Met- 
 ropolitan Opera House on a Wagner night. 
 For most other operas the occupants of the 
 boxes and the parquet straggle in as they 
 please ; but a Wagner night creates an amazing 
 unanimity of promptness. The seats are 
 nearly all filled before the conductor makes 
 his appearance; and the unfortunate late com- 
 ers, who enter after the house is darkened and 
 who push past those who are already seated 
 and lost in the performance, are not welcomed 
 with the kindest of glances, nor the sweetest 
 of feelings. Silence is enforced; and any one 
 who speaks above a whisper, or who whispers 
 frequently, is in danger of sharp rebuke. 
 
 The boxes were filling rapidly. Faces fa- 
 miliar for years behind the large, red velvet 
 horseshoe were already to be seen; beautiful 
 costumes were grouping themselves here and 
 
 144
 
 AT THE OPERA 145 
 
 there, forming charming studies in color; 
 jewels were sparkling; fans were waving; per- 
 fumes rilled the tropical air; black-coated but- 
 terflies flitted about; ushers conducted peo- 
 ple to their seats in the parquet, dress-circle 
 and balcony; in the upper galleries women 
 and girls took off their hats and coats, 
 revealing brighter hues than they exhibited 
 on their arrival ; and, all the while, the liveried 
 boys moved about the aisles and corridors 
 calling "Ahpra Book! Book for the Ahpra! 
 Ahpra Book! Ahpra Book! Ahpra Book! 
 Ahpra Book!" 
 
 Then the glimmering lights beneath the 
 green shades of the orchestra glow brighter 
 and the musicians begin to enter, one by one, 
 up through the little steps below the centre 
 of the stage. They take their places. 
 
 Now appears a striking figure: quiet, dig- 
 nified, impressive, as if he were going to con- 
 duct a church service rather than an orchestra. 
 It is the magnetic Tosky! He is greeted with 
 a tornado of applause. 
 
 "I never see Tosky come in without ex- 
 periencing a sort of thrill," said Mildred. 
 "He enters with such a quiet solemnity and 
 brings with him a curious quality of enchant-
 
 146 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ment that seems to envelop the entire orches- 
 tra. He makes it, indeed, a 'mystic abyss' of 
 tone." 
 
 "Yes, he has a wonderful personality," Jack 
 acquiesced. "I hear that they don't have 
 many rehearsals. All he has to do is to wave 
 that wand of his and the men play as if they 
 were on fire." 
 
 "See how calm he looks," said Mildred. 
 "Notwithstanding his unconventional hair, I 
 think he is exceptionally handsome." 
 
 "Women seem to think so," said Jack, "but 
 then they always go into raptures over musi- 
 
 cians." 
 
 "Men admire Tosky, too," Mildred replied. 
 "I know lots of men 
 
 "Tosky won't begin," Jack interrupted, "un- 
 til there is absolute silence throughout the 
 house, from that sea of people in the top gal- 
 lery to the people in the front rows just be- 
 hind him. Look at him now!" 
 
 Tosky, standing like a statue on his raised 
 platform, was looking up and down and round 
 and round. Gradually the hum of voices 
 ceased: the attention of the multitude had 
 become magnetized by the little black figure 
 at the conductor's desk. Once again he
 
 AT THE OPERA 147 
 
 looked up and down and round and round; 
 for Tosky approached a Wagnerian perform- 
 ance in something like a religious mood. Si- 
 lence must be absolute. 
 
 Jack turned the leaf of the score. It crack- 
 led. Tosky looked up : his quick ear had in- 
 stantly located the sound in the Conway box. 
 
 Now the silence was absolute. You could 
 have heard a feather drop. The house was 
 not only still, but reverent. 
 
 Now then: "tap, tap, tap," goes Tosky's 
 baton on the desk. The lights are turned very 
 low; the house becomes mysterious in the 
 darkness and quietness; and an electric cur- 
 rent seems to run through the entire orchestra. 
 Each man is held as if by magic under the 
 spell of Tosky's long, white stick. 
 
 He looks at the violoncellos. Deep, deep, 
 deep they begin the sad wail of the Confession 
 of Love, very softly, then increasing in tone 
 and as if the phrase were being dug out of a 
 bottomless pit. It is followed by the melan- 
 choly Desire, sung by the oboes, clarinets, cor 
 anglais and bassoons, with an affecting ac- 
 cent and completing the harmonic idea of the 
 Confession of Love. This musical phrase 
 dies away in a painful longing that seems to
 
 I 4 8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 be also interrogating fate. Then comes an 
 impressive rest. These phrases are repeated; 
 and Tosky emphasizes them more each time. 
 He seems to dig deeper and deeper into the 
 orchestral abyss and requires accents that are 
 still more poignant. Again the impressive 
 pause. Twice more four times in all the 
 Confession of Love and Desire are repeated, 
 with the long, solemn pauses between, each 
 time deeper, more passionate and more sor- 
 rowful, climax upon climax! 
 
 Then the 'cello announces The Glance. 
 This is followed by the Love Philtre and the 
 Death Potion; the violas and oboes tell of the 
 Magic Casket; and then, following a superb, 
 sweeping crescendo, the violins announce the 
 Deliverance by Death. 
 
 Tosky's magic baton seems to elucidate all 
 the woven web of music for the listener; to 
 unravel its tangled mystery; and to lift mo- 
 tive after motive into prominence. The poign- 
 ant accents of love and longing and the dark 
 notes of death and fate cross one another like 
 the light and shadow of a summer's day. At 
 last the Confession of Love becomes espe- 
 cially prominent, only to die away distress- 
 fully upon the woodwind,
 
 AT THE OPERA 149 
 
 r As the curtain opens upon the scene of the 
 deck of the ship that is bearing Isolde to 
 Cornwall to be the unwilling bride of King 
 Mark, Mildred takes a quick look at the re- 
 clining and unhappy Isolde who hears the 
 song of the sailor on the mast. Then she glues 
 her eyes to the score for a time. She looks 
 up again at Isolde in her magnificent out- 
 burst of anger, calling for storms to rise from 
 the calm sea to engulf the ship; she looks up 
 again when Isolde bids Brangane bring the 
 Magic Casket and selects a Death Potion, 
 which she intends to make Tristan drink with 
 her; and she looks up again when the wood- 
 wind and strings announce Tristan the Hero. 
 Now she ignores the score for a while, watch- 
 ing with interest the great scene of the drink- 
 ing of the Love Potion, which Brangane has 
 substituted for the poison. Then she looks at 
 the pages again, noting how beautifully the 
 Confession of Love and Desire are scored for 
 the violoncellos and woodwind and how The 
 Glance, on viola and 'cello, grows more and 
 more expressive and intense as the eyes of the 
 lovers meet and tell one another their mutual 
 fascination. 
 
 Jack Conway has not yet arrived at such
 
 150 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 experienced and systematic division of inter- 
 est between the stage and the score. He 
 looks now at the stage, now at the score and 
 more than either at Mildred's bright eyes that 
 are absorbing the stage pictures, or at her 
 heavy lids that veil these eyes when intent 
 upon the pages. 
 
 Long as this act is, it seems short to these 
 enthusiastic amateurs. It is drawing to a 
 close. The ship has arrived at Cornwall; the 
 sailors are busy with the ropes; King Mark 
 comes on board to welcome his bride; and 
 Isolde, dazed with rapture, faints in Tristan's 
 arms. The curtain closes to a last sad wail 
 of Desire from the orchestra. 
 
 "Tosky doesn't play notes," Mildred ob- 
 served. "He plays streams of melody. The 
 notes simply melt into one another." 
 
 The gigantic audience equal to the entire 
 population of a small town which has over- 
 flowed into the aisles and corridors and which 
 has been silent and motionless throughout the 
 entire act, burst into wild applause. The 
 house rang with cries of "Bravo!" and 
 "Brava!" and Selma and Serinsky were re- 
 called and recalled. 
 
 As the lights came up Mildred sighed heav-
 
 AT THE OPERA 151 
 
 ily and Jack looked into her face with a long 
 steady gaze. Then suddenly Mildred started, 
 realizing for the first time that they were 
 alone. 
 
 "I wonder why the others haven't come?" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "Shall I telephone t6the house and see what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 ''Suppose you do." 
 
 "All right! I'll be back in a few minutes." 
 
 As Jack was stepping out of the box, a man 
 unknown to him, said: "May I call on Miss 
 Ashton?" 
 
 "Certainly," Jack responded, holding the 
 door open while the stranger passed through. 
 
 Mildred, hearing a step, turned her head. 
 "Why, how do you do, Mr. Clapp." 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Ashton," said 
 Clapp, taking the hand she so cordially of- 
 fered. "How are you enjoying the opera?" 
 
 "Immensely," replied Mildred. 
 
 "I saw you when you first came in," said 
 Clapp. "I am sitting in the parquet, six rows 
 from the front, over there on the other side 
 of the house. I came with Mr. Huneker. 
 He is a crank over this opera. He says Selma 
 is the best Isolde since Lilli Lehmann."
 
 152 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "What does Mr. Huneker think of Serin- 
 sky?" Mildred asked, eagerly. 
 
 "He likes him very much. He has been 
 comparing him with Niemann and Alvary; 
 but what he says is beyond me. I never saw 
 Tristan and Isolde before. Did you?" 
 
 "Oh, many, many times," answered Mil- 
 dred. "I couldn't count the times. And 
 each time it strikes me as more wonderful and 
 more beautiful than the last." 
 
 "It's altogether beyond me, Miss Ashton," 
 replied Clapp. "I'm not a musical sharp like 
 Huneker and you, you know. I hope you 
 haven't forgotten that you promised to go to 
 the theatre one night with me." 
 
 At this moment, Jack entered. 
 
 "Mr. Conway," said Mildred, "let me in- 
 troduce Mr. Clapp." 
 
 Clapp bowed. "I must be off," he said, 
 noting the general movement of the men all 
 over the house to return to their seats. 
 
 "Won't you stay with us?" said Jack, de- 
 voutly hoping that he wouldn't. 
 
 "No, thank you," said Clapp. "I'm with 
 a friend. Good night, Miss Ashton. Good 
 night, Mr. Conway." 
 
 Jack, taking his seat beside Mildred, said:
 
 AT THE OPERA 153 
 
 "I got Frangois and he says they have 
 gone. I suppose they will all come piling in 
 here and disturbing us in the middle of the 
 act. Think of missing all this!" 
 
 "Well," laughed Mildred, "we've enjoyed 
 it enough for all three of them, as well as for 
 ourselves." 
 
 "I know 7 have," said Jack, emphatically, 
 thrilled with her use of the word ourselves. 
 
 "Hush," whispered Mildred as the lights 
 dropped. 
 
 The hum and chatter cease. Tosky looks up 
 and down and round and round through the 
 silent darkness. Then he faces his orchestra. 
 Attention! "Tap, tap, tap" goes his long, 
 white baton against the stand. Tosky looks at 
 the woodwind; and the woodwind announce 
 Day, that motive which recurs during this 
 act in so many forms. It is now accom- 
 panied with a tremolo on the string-quar- 
 tet; then the 'cello speaks of Impatience, 
 accompanied by broken triplets on the violin, 
 which impart a feeling of restlessness; the old 
 wail of Desire also returns, and again and 
 again. Finally, all these melodies die away; 
 sounds of distant hunting-horns are heard; and 
 the curtain opens on a moonlit garden. The
 
 154 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 horns grow fainter and fainter, and at last die 
 away. 
 
 Brangane, standing on the steps of the 
 watch-tower, is listening to these dying echoes 
 of King Mark's hunting-party. Isolde en- 
 ters in great excitement. 
 
 How beautifully the clarinets and muted 
 violins describe the weaving of the leaves, the 
 murmur of the stream and all the sweet voices 
 of this deliriously lovely summer night! 
 
 To a rushing chromatic scale, Isolde extin- 
 guishes the burning torch at the side of the 
 broad steps. It is Tristan's signal! Now 
 Isolde waves her scarf to eager rhythms from 
 the woodwind. Passionate Transport and 
 Ardor, excitedly given out from the orches- 
 tra, describe the feelings of the lovers, who 
 rush into one another's arms, rapturously sing- 
 ing: 
 
 "B'ist du mein? 
 Hab' ich dich wteder?" 
 
 And the orchestra, partaking of their rap- 
 ture, gives a symphonic web of former mo- 
 tives. 
 
 "O cruel Day that has separated us! O benignant 
 Night that brings us together!"
 
 AT THE OPERA 155 
 
 Night, intoxicating Night, weaves her spell 
 around the lovers! Tristan leads Isolde to 
 a flowery bank caressed by the moonlight. 
 She reclines gracefully upon it; and Tristan 
 falls on his knees beside her, softly singing: 
 
 "O sink' hernieder 
 Nacht der Liebe." 
 
 Isolde joins in 
 
 "O Night of Rapture, 
 Rest upon us." 
 
 Gentle sighs from the woodwind; synco- 
 pated chords from the muted strings; and 
 mysterious sweeps from the harp create a 
 poetic atmosphere. The orchestra seems 
 flooded with moonlight and with Love! 
 
 "I think this is so beautiful," whispered 
 Mildred, half-closing her eyes to listen to the 
 exquisite melody of Felicity, which the vio- 
 lins and violas begin to weave in softest tones 
 to the delicious bass furnished by the violon- 
 cello. 
 
 What wonder that the lovers should call 
 upon death to unite them in this supreme mo- 
 ment! 
 
 Mildred, pointing with her gloved finger
 
 156 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 here and there to some exquisite harmony, or 
 graceful phrase, that she wanted Jack to no- 
 tice, intensified his enjoyment already so keen. 
 He was beginning to read the score with un- 
 derstanding and had all the enthusiasm of a 
 neophyte. 
 
 The Death-Song now grows more passion- 
 ate. The two voices mingle and blend into one. 
 
 "Yes; from this perfect night there should be no awak- 
 
 ening 
 
 "Yes ; let us die, while heart to heart and lip to lip !" 
 
 Now Brangane rushes upon the scene to 
 'warn Isolde. Kurwenal also comes, sword in 
 hand, to save Tristan. The hunting-horns of 
 King Mark are heard approaching through 
 the woven web of Felicity, Death, the Death 
 Potion and Day; and then Isolde's tender 
 voice is supported by the Passionate Trans- 
 port. 
 
 "Oh, what instrumentation," Mildred mur- 
 murs. 
 
 "Wonderful!" whispers Jack, in response, 
 his eyes glued to the score. 
 
 "Hear the horns!" says Mildred. 
 
 Sir Melot and King Mark enter. 
 
 "Hear the Death Song in the orchestra,"
 
 AT THE OPERA 157 
 
 whispers Mildred; and, as rosy dawn begins 
 to suffuse the scene and the bass-clarinet wails 
 King Mark's Grief and Consternation, Mil- 
 dred writes in pencil at the side of her score 
 "bass clarinet." 
 
 "What did you do that for?" Jack whispers. 
 
 "I want to try to imitate the clarinet tone 
 the next time I play it," Mildred explains. 
 
 Tristan, having listened to his uncle's re- 
 proaches, replies that he will return to his 
 lonely birthplace in Brittany. Will Isolde 
 follow? 
 
 Will she? Did she not follow him to 
 Cornwall? He has only to tell her the way. 
 Of course, Isolde will follow! 
 
 Oh, how tenderly Tristan kisses Isolde's 
 brow! Oh, what inspired music! 
 
 Mildred points to the Invocation of Night 
 and the Song of Death. 
 
 Jack leaned a little to the left over Mil- 
 dred's shoulder. As he did so his right hand 
 fell lightly on hers as it was resting on the 
 music page. Then suddenly, without the 
 least warning, prompted by a surging, uncon- 
 trollable impulse he seized her hand and hold- 
 ing it tightly, tenderly, he breathed in her ear: 
 "I wish <we might die together now, or that
 
 158 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 this night should never end. Mildred 1 Mil- 
 dred!" 
 
 Mildred, startled, looked up. 
 
 "Jack!" she gasped. "Oh, be careful!" 
 
 "Nobody sees us. Nobody is looking," he 
 exclaimed, his voice quivering with eager 
 emotion. "I love you, Mildred. Say you 
 love me! Oh, say it, say it! Say it now to 
 this glorious music!" 
 
 "Oh, don't don't!" exclaimed Mildred. 
 Her hand, held firm, remained in his. Car- 
 ried away by his passionate appeal and ex- 
 cited by the stirring, emotional orchestra with 
 its intoxicating rhythms and swing and sweep 
 of melodies, Mildred grew faint and closed 
 her eyes. 
 
 The marvelous music now seemed to be- 
 come a personal expression of their emotions. 
 Shocked as she was, Mildred sat still, silent 
 and trembling. The friend she liked and 
 cherished as a friend, had in this intense mo- 
 ment suddenly disclosed himself to her as a 
 passionate lover. Was it some strange music 
 madness; or were Love and Fate actually 
 brewing their bitter cup for both of them? 
 
 Mildred, terribly moved, could say noth- 
 ing do nothing. Even through her glove
 
 AT THE OPERA 159 
 
 she could feel the crushing pressure of Jack's 
 clasp. The rose that she was wearing quiv- 
 ered beneath her quickened breath. 
 
 A knock at the door brought Jack to his 
 feet with a quick start. He opened it. 
 
 "Sorry to disturb you," whispered Gilbert 
 Greene, "but I couldn't find an usher. Mrs. 
 Conway and De Witt have gone to Bunty 
 Pulls the Strings. They want us to join them 
 at Sherry's for supper. How's the opera, 
 Miss Ashton?" 
 
 "Wonderful," replied Mildred, calming 
 herself with an effort. 
 
 And now a rushing movement of violins, 
 violas and 'cellos describes Melot's attack on 
 Tristan; the wounded Tristan sinks into the 
 arms of his faithful squire; and Isolde, weep- 
 ing, falls upon Tristan. The quick chord of 
 D-minor ends the act; the curtain closes rap- 
 idly ; the lights are turned up ; and the whole 
 house resounds again with applause and cries 
 of "Bravo!" and "Brava!" 
 
 The singers have added to their laurels of 
 the first act. They are recalled again and 
 again. Immense wreaths and huge baskets of 
 flowers are handed over the footlights. Se- 
 rinsky now retires and returns with the real
 
 160 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 star of the evening Tosky, whose black fig- 
 ure in evening dress looks very small beside 
 the gigantic Tristan in his mediaeval costume. 
 
 "The men all behave like hired claquers" 
 said Greene; 'but I needn't say anything. 
 See! I have burst my gloves. I did this in 
 your service, Miss Ashton," and Greene held 
 out his left hand. 
 
 "I suppose that means," said Mildred, 
 "that I shall have to give you another pair."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SOLITUDE 
 
 NO stranger musical phrase was ever writ- 
 ten than the one that opens the third act 
 of Tristan and Isolde. The violins, begin- 
 ning on a low and loud note, creep up the 
 scale in thirds and augmented fourths- 
 strange intervals until they end in a very 
 high note, given very, very softly. It is a 
 phrase full of despair, of fatality and of utter 
 loneliness, which prepares the hearer for the 
 desolate walls of Kareol, Tristan's castle in 
 Brittany, on its lonely eminence overlooking 
 the sea, where Tristan is lying under a tree 
 dying of the wound received from Melot and 
 attended by his faithful squire. A Shepherd 
 is stationed on the breastworks at the top of 
 the cliff to watch for the ship that is bringing 
 Isolde. The tune that he plays on his pipe is 
 known as Sadness. It is a familiar tune to 
 Tristan, always associated with his sorrowing 
 hours. He heard this tune on the evening 
 
 161
 
 162 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 breeze when he was told of his father's death ; 
 he heard it in the morning mist when he 
 learned of how his mother died; and he knows 
 that it is connected with his own fate. 
 
 Sadness and Solitude reign over the dreary 
 landscape and grip Tristan's heart. As he 
 recalls happy hours with Isolde, the orchestra 
 revives musical memories of the last beautiful 
 night in Cornwall. 
 
 The great work with all its poetry and 
 beauty must now gradually deepen into dark- 
 ness. The night is coming from which there 
 shall, indeed, be no awakening. Therefore, 
 the terrible note of Fate sounds ever deeper 
 and deeper until the climax is reached. 
 
 Isolde arrives only in time to see Tristan 
 die. She soon follows him. 
 
 The last act of Tristan is not a cheerful one 
 for lovers to witness. 
 
 To Gilbert Greene, who had never studied 
 Tristan, this last act had always been intoler- 
 able. Not following the orchestra, it had al- 
 ways seemed to him that an hour is a long 
 time to look upon and listen to a dying man 
 on his couch in a dismal scene, raving over 
 his absent love. He took a mild interest in 
 Serinsky, whose acting was restrained and
 
 SOLITUDE 163 
 
 polished, and at times, superb ; but he thought 
 that such delicate art as the famous Polish 
 tenor possessed was wasted on this heroic 
 role; and when Tristan struggled up and tore 
 the bandage from his wound, Gilbert said to 
 himself, "This is not to my taste! So unnec- 
 essary! So inartistic! So crude!" 
 
 The Shepherd's pipings impressed Gilbert 
 as more melancholy than usual. Gilbert's 
 present mood was melancholy; and the 
 mournful English horn, which Wagner has 
 made so much of in this act, cut very deep into 
 his emotion. He found no beauty in it, but 
 much pain. He had a strange, sinking feel- 
 ing of utter and helpless despondency. The 
 Solitude, with which Wagner has saturated 
 this scene, crept into Gilbert's very soul; and 
 he felt inexpressibly dreary and alone. More- 
 over, it was a new experience: he had never 
 felt quite like this before. He began to won- 
 der if any one in this great multitude of music- 
 lovers was happy, and if any one in this great 
 house was as depressed as he. This despair 
 grew upon him until it mastered him com- 
 pletely. The dark fatality of the great music- 
 drama threw its shadow across the footlights 
 and enveloped Gilbert. Every time he heard
 
 164 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 those plaintive wails from the vibrant strings, 
 those calls of the heart from the liquid wood- 
 wind, and those sinister forebodings from the 
 velvety horns, he was stabbed afresh. 
 
 Occasionally Gilbert lifted his opera-glass 
 and swept the first two tiers of boxes; but 
 most of the time his glance was fixed upon 
 Mildred, who, unconscious that Gilbert was 
 studying her, had been watching the stage all 
 through the act. 
 
 Jack was following the score alone; or pre- 
 tending to. He was very intent upon the 
 pages. He rarely looked at the stage and 
 never at Mildred. 
 
 Mildred, sitting gracefully in her chair, 
 never moved: She watched the stage me- 
 chanically. Her face was a study. 
 
 The last sad tones of Isolde now died away. 
 She fell on Tristan's body. Passionate Trans- 
 port was again heard in the orchestra and the 
 "star-crossed lovers" found companionship in 
 death. Confession of Love and Desire again 
 wailed forth; and the curtain closed to a last 
 grieving chord. 
 
 A storm of applause greeted the artists. 
 The house began to empty; but a few en- 
 thusiasts remained, beating their gloves to
 
 SOLITUDE 165 
 
 pieces and lingering to see one more recall 
 of Selma, Serinsky and Tosky. 
 
 All three in the Conway box now rose. 
 
 Gilbert Greene bowed to some friends in 
 a neighboring box. Jack and Mildred's eyes 
 met for a brief moment. 
 
 As Jack folded Mildred's cloak around 
 her, he whispered, quoting from the Love 
 Duet, 
 
 "Mein und dein, 
 Immer ein, 
 Ewig, ewig ein!" 
 
 Mildred, with downcast eyes, murmured: 
 
 "O wonne der Seele!" 
 
 "Rapture of spirit," Gilbert translated to 
 himself, having overheard Mildred, who was 
 now passing through the door of the box. He 
 stooped to pick up the rose that she had un- 
 consciously dropped and put it in his pocket. 
 Then he slipped into his overcoat and joined 
 Jack and Mildred. 
 
 "What a terribly long opera!" he said gaily. 
 "Mrs. Conway and De Witt will have been 
 waiting an hour for us at Sherry's. How did 
 you like Isolde's swan-song, Miss Ashton?"
 
 166 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "I thought Selma was wonderful," replied 
 Mildred. 
 
 Where did all these people come from! 
 The corridors are crowded ; the stairways are 
 flowing with a continuous stream of people; 
 the foyer is a mass of humanity. The air re- 
 sounds with carriage calls; and for many 
 blocks the Broadway cars are standing still in 
 a long line. They are filling rapidly. Once 
 in a while a bell rings sharply and one car 
 moves slowly through the dense crowd. As 
 far as the eye can reach it beholds a sea of 
 glistening carriage tops, chiefly limousines, 
 gathered around the Opera House, a great 
 swarm of black night beetles, with yellow, 
 glowing eyes, waiting to convey their owners 
 home. 
 
 No wonder the old Metropolitan took so 
 long to empty to-night; for nearly the entire 
 audience remained until the end of the per- 
 formance. 
 
 The Conway car was soon called, and in a 
 few minutes was waiting in the line at Fifth 
 Avenue and Forty-fourth Street. 
 
 "How late you are!" exclaimed Louise, as 
 they entered the supper-room. "Mr. De 
 Witt and I were so famished that we couldn't
 
 SOLITUDE 167 
 
 wait. So we have had our supper already." 
 . "I am glad you have," replied Mildred. 
 "You were probably more hungry than I am, 
 for one. I want very little." 
 
 "L'appetit vient en mangeant," said Gil- 
 bert, handing her the menu. "Perhaps you 
 can find something that will tempt you." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mildred; "I think I will 
 just have some broiled mushrooms." 
 
 "And what else?" 
 
 "Nothing else, thank you, Mr. Greene." 
 
 "And I'll have the same," said Gilbert. 
 "And what will you have, Jack?" 
 
 "I'll have a club sandwich," Jack answered. 
 
 "And what will you have to drink, Miss 
 Ashton?" 
 
 "Oh, whatever you like," replied Mildred. 
 "What are you going to have?" 
 
 "What would you like, Jack." 
 
 "I'll have a cognac, thank you, and a strong 
 cigar." 
 
 "I know you like sauterne, Miss Ashton. 
 Shall we have a bottle of Grave?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you," said Mildred, "I think 
 that would be very nice." 
 
 "Are you sure you won't have anything, 
 Mrs. Conway?" Gilbert asked persuasively.
 
 168 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Perfectly, thank you," Louise responded. 
 
 "And you, Mr. De Witt. Can't I induce 
 you to join us in something?" 
 
 "Thank you, I will have a Chartreuse," re- 
 plied De Witt. 
 
 "Oh, so will I," cried Louise; "that sounds 
 so nice. Just what I want and didn't know 
 it." 
 
 It was very late when the party rose from 
 their table. When they reached the street 
 they found that a thick mist had blown in 
 from the sea. It was raw and cold. 
 
 In a few moments the limousine was before 
 Mrs. Carroll's door. Gilbert, who happened 
 to be sitting nearest the sidewalk, jumped out, 
 gave his hand to Mildred and escorted her up 
 the slippery steps, waiting until the door had 
 closed behind her. 
 
 Mildred heard the whirr of the machine 
 starting off as she groped her way up the three 
 flights of stairs, almost in total darkness. 
 
 On entering her room she was a little star- 
 tled to see her face in the glass: it looked so 
 white and serious. 
 
 What a long, long time it seemed since she 
 had dressed for dinner! It seemed a year 
 ago!
 
 SOLITUDE 169 
 
 She took off her dress and hung it on its 
 padded silk hanger; slipped on a pale blue 
 silk kimono-, and removed the pins from her 
 hair to rest her head, which she now discov- 
 ered was aching. Then she sat down in her 
 one easy chair and slowly and loosely braided 
 her hair, which nearly touched the floor, 
 thinking, thinking, thinking all the while. 
 
 What an eventful evening! 
 
 When she dressed to go to the Conways, she 
 was serene and cheerful ; now, as she was un- 
 dressing, she was troubled and unhappy. 
 Life now wore a new aspect, and a very se- 
 rious one. 
 
 She was much touched by the love of a 
 man for whom she had entertained so deep a 
 friendship; and she could have no doubt of 
 the sincerity of Jack Conway's passion. 
 
 Her own sympathetic heart had responded 
 to his outburst. What did that mean? 
 Could it be that there was an answering note 
 in her own heart? They had been comrades 
 in study; their interests and tastes had brought 
 them together; and during that glorious mu- 
 sic, portraying the love of two of the world's 
 most romantic lovers, it had been revealed to 
 her that their hearts were in accord.
 
 170 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "But Jack is married!" said Mildred. 
 "Married to one of my life-long friends. It is 
 all wrong wretchedly wrong! Love, which 
 should have come trailing clouds of glory has 
 come to me in tragic robes of black." 
 
 She rose from her chair and walked up and 
 down for a few moments. 
 
 What was to be done? The horror of the 
 situation grew upon her as her mind dwelt 
 upon its possibilities. What a dreadful fu- 
 ture it told for all concerned! 
 
 "Mein und dein f 
 Immer ein, 
 Ewig, eui'ig ein" 
 
 "Mine and thine, 
 Ever one, 
 Ever, ever one" 
 
 he had said! Her face burned again under 
 the memory of it. 
 
 No, no, this must never be! 
 
 The bits of melody from the second act of 
 Tristan that had been running through her 
 head describing and emphasizing the delights 
 of love, now ceased; and in their place she 
 heard the strange ascending phrase of Soli- 
 tude, climbing up, up, up into that infinity of
 
 SOLITUDE 171 
 
 sadness and hopelessness. Yes; this Solitude 
 and this sorrow that she had heard with such 
 pangs a few hours ago was to be her destiny, 
 too. In these dark meshes of Love and Fate 
 her life must be enveloped and held fast for- 
 ever. 
 
 Mildred looked around her little room. 
 At this wretched moment it seemed pitifully 
 poor and dreary. "Is this to be my life for- 
 ever?" she said half aloud. "Am I to grow 
 old here and forlorn like poor Miss Van Tas- 
 sel? Is that all that I can look forward to?" 
 
 The very question made clear the course that 
 she had resolved to follow. The sad-faced 
 Spirit of Sacrifice was beckoning to her. Her 
 pathway was plain before her. 
 
 Mildred walked to the window. 
 
 Dawn was breaking through the mists that 
 were fast floating away in the fresh breeze. 
 The faint yellow band at the horizon turned 
 saffron and then pink. A tiny rim of glowing 
 scarlet appeared through the clouds. The 
 chain of lights that indicated the long span of 
 the Queensboro Bridge faded from orange to 
 the palest lemon and the cables and towers be- 
 came sharper and sharper until the indistinct 
 threads, hanging in mid-air like a filmy cob-
 
 172 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 web, turned into a substantial thoroughfare. 
 The red ball rolled up out of the clouds and 
 burst into light. 
 
 " 'Let there be light,' " quoted Mildred, 
 who was always awed by the dawn. " 'And 
 there was light.' And light has come to mel" 
 
 At this moment the little verse on the Sun- 
 dial at Wild Acres came into Mildred's mind : 
 
 I mark ye hours; 
 
 Man notes ye time; 
 Spite storme and showers 
 
 Ye sun will shine. 
 
 "These lines seem to haunt me," she said, 
 "as the Shepherd's melody haunted Tristan. 
 I wonder why!" 
 
 And, as she gazed sorrowfully on the quiet 
 city, still sleeping in the cold morning light, 
 she heard again the plaintive violins voicing 
 that strange climbing Solitude, with its poign- 
 ant intervals, mounting up, up, up into an 
 eternity of sorrow.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 NOTES AND FLOWERS 
 
 MILDRED remained in her room the 
 next morning, merely sending for Sai- 
 dee to bring her a cup of coffee and some 
 toast. The wearing emotional disturbance 
 finally proved too much for her, and she 
 dropped down upon her bed and fell asleep. 
 
 She was roused about noon by a knock at 
 the door. This proved to be Oscar, who had 
 brought her a note. 
 
 It was from Jack. 
 
 Dear Mildred: 
 
 There is nothing in the world for me now but you. 
 You know what my life is, how unsympathetic Louise 
 and I are, and how little she cares for me. I might add 
 how little we care for each other and how separate our 
 lives are. Louise is wrapped up in people, dress and 
 fashion, and her dog; and I am wrapped up in you. 
 You have come to mean everything to me everything 
 in the world. 
 
 I am so happy to feel that you do care for me and I 
 173
 
 174 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 know there can be only one end to all this. Our lives 
 must be united. It would be a relief to Louise, I am 
 sure, if I were out of her life and she were free to marry 
 De Witt, who is the only man I have ever seen her take 
 a vital interest in. She cares for him, I think, as much 
 as she can care for any one. Louise has her own inde- 
 pendent fortune, so, you see, the money question need 
 not trouble us. 
 
 Mildred, it is clear to me that we must belong to each 
 other, the sooner the better. 
 
 I will call for you this afternoon about four o'clock 
 for a drive when we can talk over the whole question. 
 Send a note back by the messenger, and tell me that you 
 will go. Just a few words of assurance, Mildred. One 
 word "y es " would be enough. It means all in life to me. 
 
 JACK. 
 
 Mildred sat at her desk for some time, her 
 hands pressed tight to her throbbing brows. 
 Then with a sudden little tragic gesture of 
 resolution she caught up her pen and wrote: 
 
 Dear Jack: 
 
 I am sorry to disappoint you, but I can't possibly ac- 
 cept your invitation for this afternoon. I was awake 
 until long after dawn and I have a very bad headache. 
 
 Please let us try to forget last night, and go back to 
 where we were. We were good comrades and your 
 companionship made me very happy. Can we not go 
 back?
 
 NOTES AND FLOWERS 175 
 
 It costs me a great deal more to say this than you may 
 realize; but when you think it over, you will agree with 
 
 me. 
 
 MILDRED. 
 
 As she finished it suddenly came to Mildred 
 that she was going to the Conways to dinner 
 that evening for Mr.\Greene's theatre-party. 
 "I shall have to write to Louise and make an 
 excuse," she said. "Fortunately, this head- 
 ache will do." 
 
 Thereupon Mildred again took up her pen 
 and wrote 
 
 Dear Louise: 
 
 I am so sorry that I can't come to-night to dine and 
 be one of Mr. Greene's party for the "lively show" he 
 has promised as an antidote to Tristan. I have a dread- 
 ful headache; and I shall not be able to leave my room 
 all day. 
 
 Please make my excuses to Mr. Greene. 
 
 Hoping you will have a delightful evening and forget 
 all about me, I am 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 MILDRED. 
 
 Mildred sent this off at once. In about 
 half an hour the telephone rang. 
 
 "This is Louise," was the answer to Mil- 
 dred's inquiry, and then "Mildred, I am so
 
 176 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 sorry to hear that you are ill. Can I do any- 
 thing for you?" and then: "I am so disap- 
 pointed that you can't be one of the party to- 
 night. Mildred! how can I entertain three 
 men without your help, one of them being 
 Jack! You don't know what a bore Jack is 
 when you are not here. Good-bye." 
 
 The Conway dinner-table presented quite 
 a contrast to the one of the night before. 
 Every one missed Mildred's vivacious pres- 
 ence. 
 
 Louise, in her severe black velvet and 
 pearls and with her cold manner, had no foil 
 to-night with the bright-faced Mildred miss- 
 ing. There was practically no conversation. 
 Jack was as silent as Mr. De Witt and Gil- 
 bert Greene's attempts to enliven the dull 
 party fell on stony ground. He gave them up 
 as early as the entree. The courses were 
 barely tasted; and Frangois found himself in 
 an incredibly short time serving the coffee, 
 liqueurs, cigars and cigarettes. 
 
 Smoking was the first thing the men seemed 
 to enjoy. Louise also found relief in the 
 cigarette that Phil De Witt lit for her. After 
 a few puffs she smoked gracefully Louise 
 came to the rescue. "We are all dead tired
 
 NOTES AND FLOWERS 177 
 
 to-night," she said. "Suppose we give up the 
 theatre and play cards instead." 
 
 "Hooray!" cried Gilbert. 
 
 "Happy thought!" cried Phil De Witt. 
 
 "Louise, that was an inspiration!" cried 
 Jack. 
 
 Therefore, while Mildred was picturing to 
 herself the familiar party hurrying off to the 
 theatre, for a delightful evening (all but Jack, 
 for she could imagine how despondent he 
 must be) her friends were sitting in the Con- 
 way drawing-room around the card-table in- 
 tent upon auction bridge. 
 
 Mildred was so frequently absent from 
 Mrs. Carroll's dinner-table that her empty 
 place this evening called forth no surprise 
 until Mrs. Carroll said something to her neigh- 
 bor about Miss Ashton being ill to-night. 
 Immediately a wave of concern passed from 
 seat to seat. Mr. Charles J. Williams swal- 
 lowed his coffee in one gulp and left the table. 
 The sound of the front door shutting immedi- 
 ately afterwards told the rest of the boarders 
 that he had gone out. Miss Van Tassel 
 climbed at once to Mildred's room; and Mil- 
 dred responded to her knock and invited her 
 to come in. Miss Van Tassel was soon seated
 
 178 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 in Mildred's easy chair by the side of the bed, 
 where Mildred lay, her aching head propped 
 on the pillows. With great effort she feigned 
 interest in Miss Van Tassel's stories of the old 
 New York days when she was a beauty and a 
 belle. 
 
 Miss Van Tassel was of use, however, for 
 she saved Mildred the pain and trouble of get- 
 ting up to open the door. Miss Van Tassel 
 was not only glad to be of service to Mildred, 
 but she was delighted to be the only one who 
 could see all that was happening. 
 
 Saidee's first knock was to deliver a long 
 bundle of oily white paper, which contained 
 a large bunch of pink carnations, to which 
 the card of Mr. Charles J. Williams was 
 tied with several yards of wide pink satin rib- 
 bon. 
 
 Saidee's second knock brought one pink 
 rose, unwrapped, and a curiously twisted strip 
 of note paper, which Mildred unfolded she 
 had never seen anything like it before to dis- 
 cover a missive from Bernard Fogg, to bring 
 his hopes for a speedy recovery. The third 
 knock revealed Cora. 
 
 Cora, having heard the news in the kitchen
 
 NOTES AND FLOWERS 179 
 
 when she went to get her own dinner, lost no 
 time in informing the two Miss Swanns that 
 Miss Ashton was ill. Whereupon, Miss Jes- 
 sie picked up a bottle of headache cologne and 
 the bunch of fresh violets she had intended to 
 wear to a concert and x said: "Cora, take these 
 to Miss Ashton, with our compliments, and be 
 sure to find out how she is and if there is any- 
 thing we can do for her." 
 
 Cora had no sooner gone than Saidee re- 
 turned with a box from a Fifth Avenue florist 
 containing a deliciously fragrant bunch of 
 lilies-of-the-valley with the card of Mr. Gil- 
 bert Greene lying on top of them. 
 
 If the sender could have seen Mildred's 
 pleasure as her eyes fell upon them and her 
 words, "These are my favorite flowers, Miss 
 Van Tassel. I can hear the little perfumed 
 bells ring, can't you?" he would have been 
 more than delighted. 
 
 Mildred was quite touched with all these 
 attentions. 
 
 "You really are a belle," said Miss Van 
 Tassel. "You do remind me so much of my- 
 self when I was your age." 
 
 Then the last little withered leaf of the Van
 
 180 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Tassel tree began again her stories of social 
 triumphs. 
 
 "Please take your choice of the flowers, 
 Miss Van Tassel," said Mildred, when her 
 guest rose to go. 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Miss Van Tassel, "they were 
 not intended for me." 
 
 "But I want you to," said Mildred. 
 "Please do." 
 
 "I'll take the pink rose, then, if you insist," 
 said Miss Van Tassel. "Thank you, Miss 
 Ashton, you are so generous." 
 
 Mildred was very glad her choice had 
 fallen upon Mr. Bernard Fogg's offering. 
 
 As the door closed behind Miss Van Tassel, 
 Mildred took the screwed-up note and looked 
 at the creases made by the intricate folding. 
 "Why couldn't he have sent his card," said 
 Mildred, "or, at least, put his note into an en- 
 velope." 
 
 With that she tore the missive into numer- 
 ous little pieces and threw them into the waste- 
 basket. 
 
 "No," she said, after a minute, stooping to 
 fish every one of them out, although her head 
 was throbbing violently. "I want to get rid 
 of every piece every particle."
 
 NOTES AND FLOWERS 181 
 
 Then, raising the window, she threw them 
 out, delighted to see the bits of white paper 
 fluttering away upon the cool, night breeze.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AS Mildred had not appeared at the Con- 
 ways for a week, Louise, who had been 
 expecting her each day, allowed the time to 
 slip away; but when she realized that Mil- 
 dred had not been to dinner since the Tristan 
 night, she feared something must be the mat- 
 ter. This fact dawned upon her one day 
 when she was shopping; and she, therefore, 
 decided to stop at Mrs. Carroll's and learn 
 what was the trouble. 
 
 Mildred happened to be in and was more 
 than glad to see her. 
 
 "Why haven't you been to dine with us?" 
 Louise asked as Mildred entered the parlor. 
 
 "I haven't been at all well lately, Louise," 
 Mildred answered. 
 
 "That's not a good reason. If you were ill, 
 all the more reason why you should have come 
 to us. Gilbert Greene has missed you; Jack 
 
 has missed you; and I have missed you. I al- 
 
 182
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 183 
 
 ways have a double reason for missing you," 
 Louise laughed cynically, "because it puts Jack 
 over on my hands. When you aren't present, 
 he is indifferent to everything and everybody 
 so bored! He is a perfect killjoy! I never 
 saw anything like him! I do wish you would 
 come and cheer him up, cheer us all up, in 
 fact. We are suffering from the blues, blues 
 of every shade and every degree. Can't you 
 go home with me now? Or, if you don't 
 want to hurry dressing, I'll call for you in 
 half an hour. Come along!" 
 
 "I can't possibly come this evening, Louise. 
 I have some writing to do to-night. Thank 
 you ever so much, but I can't." 
 
 "Well, then, we'll expect you to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 "No," said Mildred, "I am afraid I shall 
 not get through with what I have to do to- 
 night." 
 
 "But you've all day to-morrow," said 
 Louise; "I shall begin to think that you don't 
 want to come." 
 
 "Hardly that," replied Mildred. 
 
 "Well, then, I'll tell you what we will do," 
 Louise answered. "I have tickets for the ball 
 at the Plaza Friday night. You must come
 
 184 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 to dinner, and we'll all go. Phil De Witt 
 and Gilbert Greene are coming. I suppose I 
 really ought to ask another woman, but I'd 
 rather just have you." 
 
 Mildred, beginning to think that it might 
 be wiser to accept Louise's cordial invitation 
 than to allow her to wonder at her persistent 
 refusals, promised to come; and Louise, satis- 
 fied at having carried her point, gave Mildred 
 a bird-like kiss on the cheek, tripped down the 
 steps and stepped lightly into her car. 
 
 "Now, this is not an easy thing to do," said 
 Mildred, "but I shall have to go. I know I 
 can depend on Jack when all the others are 
 present and I will be careful to avoid a tete-a- 
 tete." 
 
 Mildred was right. She could depend on 
 Jack; for when Louise told him that Mildred 
 was coming to dine on Friday, he received 
 the news with a calm exterior and resolved 
 not to embarrass Mildred in any way. 
 
 Mildred was very particular to arrive late 
 so that the party would be gathered in the 
 drawing-room when she entered. They were 
 all waiting for her. Louise greeted her 
 warmly; and so did Mr. Greene and Mr. De 
 .Witt. Jack also shook her hand cordially but
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 185 
 
 with a great effort towards formality, which 
 De Witt's sharp eyes noticed. De Witt was 
 a silent, but very observant, man. 
 
 Frangois was in high feather to-night. He 
 had plenty of time to serve the dinner. The 
 party lingered long in, delightful conversation 
 over every course; for Mildred's presence had 
 the effect of sunshine after a long rainy sea- 
 son. She made it a point never to look at 
 Jack, a little omission that Phil De Witt also 
 noted. She, however, was able to talk enter- 
 tainingly and the others also brightened up 
 amazingly. Louise was very cheerful; and 
 even the usually quiet De Witt told two good 
 stories that he had just heard at his Club. 
 
 "We are just in good time," said Louise, as 
 she came down the stairs after dinner in her 
 evening wrap. "I do hate to be early any- 
 where." 
 
 "We sha'n't be early to-night," said De 
 Witt, who was hurrying into his coat. 
 
 Mildred's wrap was lying in the small re- 
 ception-room on the other side of the hall. 
 As she went to get it, Jack followed her. He 
 held it up and as he folded it around her the 
 memory of Tristan came back. Again he 
 whispered:
 
 i86 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Mem und dein 
 Immer e'm 
 Ew'ig, ew'ig ein." 
 
 But the words he longed to hear from Mil- 
 dred were unspoken. She hurried out of the 
 door that Frangois was holding open and into 
 the limousine, in which Louise was already 
 seated. 
 
 The corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty- 
 ninth Street is beautiful at every season of the 
 year and at all times of day and night. The 
 long lines of streets, the tall, handsome hotels 
 the Plaza, the Savoy and the Netherland 
 the Metropolitan Club, the Vanderbilt Man- 
 sion and other stately private houses and Cen- 
 tral Park, which these fine buildings face, 
 present a magnificent city view. 
 
 One stands here as one stands at Hyde Park 
 Corner, or at the Marble Arch, in London, to 
 see the elegant world go by. 
 
 This spot is particularly fine at twilight 
 when the soft blue light falls upon the green 
 sward of the Park and its darker trees, and 
 upon the streets, enveloping everything in a 
 delicate mist through which the lights begin 
 to appear from street lamps and from all the 
 large buildings. The Plaza, with its pic-
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 187 
 
 turesque roof bristling with windows of vari- 
 ous shapes and sizes, gains at this hour the ef- 
 fect of a fairy castle. 
 
 This corner was so picturesque on this 
 night that our party remarked upon it as 
 the Conway limousine took its place in line 
 as far away from the Plaza as Fifth Avenue 
 and Fifty-ninth Street. A light snow had 
 been falling for several hours and had pow- 
 dered the streets with a delicate, sparkling 
 dust. It had also powdered the trees in the 
 Park. In places where the light from the 
 street lamps and the long cones of golden light 
 from automobile lamps fell upon it the soft 
 snow sparkled. The fine and delicate flakes 
 that filled the air for the snow was still fall- 
 ing made the very atmosphere scintillate. 
 Through the soft whiteness of the night the 
 lights gleamed from the tall hotels in every 
 shade from deepest ruby to orange and palest 
 lemon. A long line of lighted cars was con- 
 gested along Fifty-ninth Street and carriages 
 and limousines packed Fifth Avenue so closely 
 that there was hardly space for another; yet 
 another, and still another, was always coming. 
 So the long lines lengthened and broadened, 
 although at the entrance of the Plaza arriv-
 
 i88 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ing carriages delivered their occupants and 
 got out of the way to make room for those that 
 were gradually approaching. 
 
 How bright the Plaza was inside! How 
 full it was already! The elevators were car- 
 rying load after load of dancers to the ball- 
 room; and more and more were constantly 
 coming. The women, removing their wraps 
 in the dressing-room, found their escorts wait- 
 ing for them and together they ascended the 
 wide stairways, or took the elevator. 
 
 The halls and stairways were beautifully 
 decorated with flowers; potted plants were 
 placed so as to form a fine decorative effect; 
 and from every room, large and small, an or- 
 chestra was playing, to which people were 
 dancing. 
 
 As the Conway party entered the ball- 
 room, the orchestra was playing a very charm- 
 ing Hesitation Waltz. De Witt and Louise 
 started off at once. Many of the spectators 
 in the boxes noticed, even on this floor of beau- 
 tifully dressed women, Louise's dress of shim- 
 mering silver, which caught the light so beau- 
 tifully as she took the rhythms with easy steps 
 and well-poised head. 
 
 Gilbert Greene asked Mildred to dance;
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 189 
 
 and off they glided, both being graceful danc- 
 ers. Jack, seeing some friends, walked across 
 the floor, dodging the dancers, and drew a 
 grateful partner from a little group, in which 
 the women outnumbered the men. 
 
 "Mr. Greene," sai4 Mildred as they danced 
 along, "I haven't yet had a chance to thank 
 you in person for those lovely lilies-of-the-val- 
 ley you sent me. How did you know that 
 they are my favorite flowers?" 
 
 "I didn't know, but I know now," replied 
 Greene. "If you ever get ill again, I will 
 send you some more. Only, please don't get 
 ill again." 
 
 "No, I haven't the slightest idea of doing 
 so," said Mildred. 
 
 The next dance was a one-step. Jack, ad- 
 vancing, claimed Mildred for this. After 
 dancing a while in silence, Jack said, "Mil- 
 dred, was your letter final?" 
 
 "Yes, Jack," she answered. 
 
 "Well, then," said Jack, his face growing 
 hard, "you don't love me." 
 
 "Oh, I dol" protested Mildred, with a kind 
 of earnestness that showed Jack only too 
 clearly that it was not the kind of love that 
 his heart hungered for.
 
 igo A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "No, you don't," he repeated quickly and 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Why" 
 
 "No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't 
 give me up. You are cold cold as ice." 
 
 "I? Cold?" exclaimed Mildred, in sur- 
 prise and greatly hurt. 
 
 "Yes. You don't love me. I know it 
 you don't." 
 
 Deeply wounded, Mildred answered, "It 
 is terribly hard to give you up. I can't bear 
 to have to let you go. You don't know, Jack, 
 what your companionship has been to me. I 
 have missed our walks and our talks and our 
 music. I am very lonely. I miss you dread- 
 fully." 
 
 The music ceased. Jack and Mildred now 
 joined De Witt, who was standing by the door 
 alone, waiting for Louise and Gilbert to sail 
 into his port. 
 
 "Shall we go to supper now?" asked Louise. 
 
 "No, one more dance for me, please," said 
 De Witt; "here is the Hesitation again. Come 
 
 on." 
 
 "Shall we try this, Miss Ashton?" asked 
 Gilbert.
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 191 
 
 "With pleasure," Mildred replied; and off 
 they went to "Mighty Lak' a Rose." 
 
 Jack Conway watched Mildred and Greene 
 dancing so lightly together in such perfect 
 step and looking so well, so handsome and so 
 perfectly suited to one another; and he said 
 to himself, bitterly: 
 
 "Greene's the man Mildred loves and she 
 doesn't know it! There is no doubt about the 
 state of Greene's feelings. It is as plain as 
 day. I wonder if Mildred will throw Greene 
 down? He is the man she loves. My God! 
 but life is hard for me!" 
 
 "That was a delightful dance, Mr. Greene," 
 said Mildred, as she and her partner joined 
 the others. "I enjoyed it so much!" 
 
 "So did I," replied Gilbert. 
 
 "Yes, you did," thought Jack, looking at 
 Mildred's brightly shining eyes and her rich 
 color heightened by the exercise; "there's no 
 doubt about that. If you felt as I do, you 
 would not look like that, Mildred. Yes, I 
 am perfectly sure that you do not love me. 
 You are still very much of a child, Mildred; 
 you are not yet awake!" 
 
 To a casual observer looking down from a
 
 192 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 height upon a midnight supper in one of the 
 big New York hotels and noting the vast 
 crowd of beautifully dressed women, spar- 
 kling with jewels and wafting in the tropical 
 warmth the choicest and most delicate of per- 
 fumes at every turn of their heads, bodies and 
 gloved hands; at the well-dressed and well- 
 groomed men, seated at the hundreds of little 
 tables, around which the waiters thread their 
 way so marvellously to bring tempting and 
 beautifully decorated dishes ; at the exhibition 
 dancers; at the lights; and at the flowers; and 
 hearing the popping of champagne corks; the 
 chatter of voices with laughter occasionally 
 cutting through the din; and the intoxicating 
 syncopated rhythms of the insidious music, 
 he would imagine that nothing but joy and 
 happiness reigned in the heart and breast of 
 every one present, apparently taking life so 
 lightly, so gaily, so carelessly. 
 
 Far from it I 
 
 Our little table was no exception. Prob- 
 ably not one person in these great rooms 
 where thousands were eating, drinking and 
 making merry, was perfectly happy. Our 
 group was outwardly as merry as the rest. 
 Who could have thought otherwise? Louise,
 
 A BALL AT THE PLAZA 193 
 
 in her casing of silver mail that fit her slender 
 figure as if she had been melted into it and 
 with a tall silver and pink aigrette fastened 
 into her dark hair with a diamond pin; Mil- 
 dred, in her canary silk with her rich topaz 
 ornament, now drawing off her gloves and 
 handing them to Gilbert Greene to take care 
 of for her; and these three perfectly groomed 
 men, correct in every detail as to costume, also 
 taking off their gloves, appeared to represent 
 a party of enviable persons to whom the world 
 has given all that it has to give. 
 
 They represented, however, what Life and 
 Fate can do to make matters complicated and 
 distressful for five persons. 
 
 What tangled threads of Destiny were 
 caught in the same mesh, a mesh woven, not 
 by any one of the group, but by Fate inex- 
 orable Fate! 
 
 Not only around the table of our friends, 
 but around every table in this crowded and 
 brilliant supper-room, the voice of Fate, like 
 the rumble of distant thunder, could have 
 been heard by any ear delicate enough to dis- 
 cern it and intelligent enough to understand 
 the meaning of the long, deep, heavy and mut- 
 tering roll.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 
 
 PHILIP DE WITT was a strange, silent 
 man. One never knew what he was 
 thinking, or planning. His black eyes that 
 looked out from rather heavy brows were 
 sharp and keen and a trifle hard. They 
 changed little, too, as he talked. Their bril- 
 liancy seemed to come from without, instead 
 of from within. Philip De Witt's eyes were 
 certainly not torches of the soul; for Philip 
 De Witt had very little soul. He had gone 
 through life and had reached the age of forty 
 without experiencing many emotions save 
 those inspired by a very high temper. 
 
 If Philip De Witt had been forced to have 
 made his living unaided, he would either have 
 had to warm up a little to the world, or to 
 have become an instant failure. Coming of 
 a well-connected family, he had, after gradu- 
 ation from Princeton, been given a position 
 in an insurance company, where he drew a 
 
 194
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 195 
 
 moderate salary for a very small amount of 
 work. This suited Mr. De Witt. His sal- 
 ary barely enabled him to make both ends 
 meet, particularly as he had luxurious tastes 
 and habits. He made every penny of his ex- 
 penditure count, and, therefore, appeared to 
 have more money than he had. He lived near 
 the University Club and dined out a great 
 deal. Though not popular, he was able to 
 "fit well" into society anywhere and at any 
 time. He was an excellent, though not espe- 
 cially graceful, dancer; he played cards well; 
 he was always ready for anything; and he 
 was an attentive listener. He never broke 
 into a conversation, nor spoiled another man's 
 story. His watchfulness and little courtesies 
 to the fair sex and his polite attentions to his 
 hostess, whoever she might be, accounted, in 
 part, for his numerous invitations. 
 
 Phil De Witt had never cared much about 
 marrying, except for the pecuniary advan- 
 tages it might bring to him. A wife without 
 money was a catastrophe too intolerable to 
 consider. He had been one of the moths that 
 had flittered around Louise Steele; for he ad- 
 mired her more than any girl he had ever 
 met.
 
 I 9 6 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Louise, however, had preferred Jack Con- 
 way with money to Philip De Witt without 
 money, just as she would have preferred 
 Philip De Witt with money to Jack Conway 
 without it, had the case been reversed. Now 
 that she was tied to Jack, she preferred Phil 
 De Witt; and if she had been tied to Phil 
 De Witt, by this time she would, no doubt, 
 have been turning her thoughts to Jack 
 Conway. 
 
 One day at the Club De Witt had over- 
 heard a man ask, "Who is that chap over there 
 with the Van Dyke beard? Looks like a 
 painter!" This gave Mr. De Witt a tip. He 
 allowed his hair, which was slightly wavy, to 
 grow a trifle longer than hair is usually worn; 
 and this, with his pointed beard and mous- 
 tache, gave him the romantic appearance he 
 desired. He was, therefore, frequently taken 
 for a professional man, which pleased him. 
 
 It did not take long for Mr. De Witt to 
 discover the little rift within the lute at the 
 Conways. Naturally, he was one of the first 
 callers at the Madison Avenue house, and one 
 of the first dinner-guests. He was too clever 
 not to make himself an established and regu- 
 lar member of the Conway dinner parties.
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 197 
 
 From the more formal dinners, he graduated 
 to the small, informal ones; and he was also 
 in the habit of dropping in on Friday after- 
 noons when Louise had her receptions. Sun- 
 day afternoons he always spent at the Con- 
 ways; and he usually remained to dinner. 
 
 The past few weeks had revealed to Mr. 
 De Witt the great opportunity of his life. 
 He had long determined to make himself es- 
 sential to Louise. Mr. De Witt was very 
 tired of the insurance business and it was 
 growing every day more difficult to reach Pine 
 Street by ten o'clock. Moreover, he enjoyed 
 being with Louise. He admired the way she 
 dressed; the way she carried herself; her man- 
 ners; and her cynicism. He also admired the 
 way she entertained and he liked her coldness 
 and her self-possession. He had welcomed 
 Mildred's advent into the group and the ef- 
 fect she had upon Jack delighted him. His 
 was the mind that had directed Louise to en- 
 courage the friendship between her old friend 
 and her husband. It suited Mr. De Witt's 
 purpose. Something might be made of this. 
 Mr. De Witt saw a great and promising open- 
 ing for his plans. 
 
 "I hope Louise hasn't gone to a matinee
 
 ig8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 this afternoon," he said, when he returned 
 from his office the day after the ball; "I'll 
 try it anyway." Mr. De Witt, therefore, 
 walked the short distance from the Club to 
 the Madison Avenue house. He was soon 
 made happy to hear from Francois that Mrs. 
 Conway was at home. 
 
 Louise sent for him to come upstairs into 
 the Louis Seize drawing-room, where she was 
 half-reclining on a chaise-longue, her pale 
 green crepe-de-chine tea-gown blending ar- 
 tistically with the pink and white striped up- 
 holstery of the sofa and falling in voluminous 
 folds to the floor. 
 
 Louise, after telling Frangois that she 
 would receive Mr. De Witt here, glanced into 
 the mirror opposite; and, noticing that her 
 pose was graceful, did not stir as her visitor 
 entered. Holding out her hand, she said 
 smilingly: "I thought you would come this 
 afternoon; that's why I didn't go out. Draw 
 up a chair. No; not that one! Take a more 
 comfortable one. No; not that, either. 
 Bring the arm-chair. Yes; now you are all 
 right. You men are so silly. You never 
 know how to make yourselves comfortable. 
 What would you do without us?"
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 199 
 
 "We wouldn't do," replied Mr. De Witt, 
 fitting his back into the curves of the chair 
 and sinking complacently into its downy 
 depths. "Ah! this is comfortable!" 
 
 "Now, if you light a cigarette," said Louise, 
 handing him the little silver tray that stood 
 on the small table near her, with its pile of 
 cigarettes and convenient match-box, "your 
 happiness will be complete." 
 
 "Not entirely," said Mr. De Witt. 
 
 "Ungrateful man!" exclaimed Louise. 
 "What more can you want? And with me to 
 entertain you, too! Here, give me one of 
 your cigarettes. I like them so much better 
 than my own. Thank you! Now, then, we 
 can talk. Prepare to be brilliant, Phil, and 
 tell me a story as good as either one of those 
 you told last night. I wish you would talk 
 more. You are always clever when you do 
 talk; but you are so outrageously quiet, as a 
 rule." 
 
 "I'm not going to talk while you are ca- 
 ressing that little beast of a dog," said Mr. 
 De Witt. 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" laughed Louise. "Love me, 
 love my dog!" and with that she stopped 
 stroking her little Pekinese, and holding him
 
 200 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 up to her face kissed him violently, talking 
 as follows: 
 
 "Darling Pompon, don't listen to that nasty 
 man (kiss-kiss). Don't let him hurt your 
 dear little feelings (kiss-kiss). We'll send 
 him away, if he talks like this (kiss-kiss). 
 Yes, Pompon darling, he's a horrid, nasty, big 
 and burly brute of a man (kiss-kiss) " 
 
 "Louise, you make me sick!" said Mr. De 
 Witt, flicking the ashes from his cigarette. 
 
 Louise laughed, "Why don't you go home, 
 then?" 
 
 "I would if I hadn't come to talk over 
 something important." 
 
 "Oh, I hate important things!" cried Lou- 
 ise. "Let's be frivolous. That's the trouble 
 with you, you are always so serious." 
 
 "Things are growing serious," said Mr. De 
 Witt. 
 
 "What do you mean, Phil?" asked Louise 
 in a changed voice, raising her eyebrows and 
 looking thoughtfully at the cigarette between 
 her beautifully manicured and jeweled fin- 
 gers. 
 
 "This is what I mean," he replied. "I'll 
 put it in the form of a question. Have you 
 noticed Jack's interest in Mildred Ashton?"
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 201 
 
 "Why, of course," replied Louise, "that's 
 nothing new. You're in an antediluvian 
 mood. You're horrid this afternoon. First, 
 you are cross to my darling Pompon and then 
 you quote ancient history. Two crimes 
 within ten minutes! What will you do 
 next?" 
 
 "Louise, be serious for a moment and listen 
 to me. It's important. I think Jack's and 
 Mildred's attachment can be made useful to 
 us, do you understand?" 
 
 Louise laid her cigarette on the tray. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked. 
 
 "I needn't put it any plainer. You're over 
 twenty-one." 
 
 "Oh, no!" she said. "Not Mildred. Mil- 
 dred never would allow anything of the 
 kind." 
 
 "She wouldn't!" retorted Mr. De Witt, 
 ironically. "Humph!" 
 
 "No, not Mildred Ashton. I know her too 
 well." 
 
 "I know better," said Mr. De Witt. "Mil- 
 dred Ashton is in love with Jack, and Jack's 
 in love with her. They've got an understand- 
 ing between them. Let us make the most of 
 it."
 
 202 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Oh, Phil!" exclaimed Louise, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "I can bring you proofs," said he, "and I 
 will." 
 
 "Oh, you are mistaken, Phil," said Louise. 
 "Mildred is my friend. Even if I were to 
 divorce Jack as we have so often talked 
 about she would never consent to marrying 
 a divorce. I know her views. I have heard 
 her talk. Moreover, I know her character. 
 Besides," she added, "Mildred is going to 
 marry Gilbert Greene." 
 
 "Who said so?" asked Mr. De Witt. 
 
 "Nobody." 
 
 "Then how do you know?" asked Mr. De 
 Witt. 
 
 "How idiotic you are! Don't ask a woman 
 to explain how she knows anything, or 
 nothing. We know things intuitively we 
 have a peculiar sense of intuition and I know 
 but I don't know how I know that Mil- 
 dred Ashton is going to marry Gilbert 
 Greene." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Mr. De Witt. 
 
 "Phil, I thought you had sharp eyes and 
 saw everything. Do you mean to say that you
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 203 
 
 haven't noticed how crazy Gilbert Greene is 
 over Mildred?" 
 
 "No," said Phil De Witt. "Greene always 
 behaves like that with all women. I don't 
 see anything unusual in his attentions to Mil- 
 dred." 
 
 "I see something very unusual in the look 
 in his eyes for her. He doesn't look at me, 
 for instance, with that love-light that he 
 has for Mildred. I tell you, Phil, Gilbert 
 Greene is in love with Mildred; and she is 
 in love with him and doesn't know it." 
 
 "What rot you are talking, Louise! How 
 could such a thing be possible? That's non- 
 sense, perfect nonsense!" 
 
 "No, it isn't," said Louise. "Jack thinks so, 
 too. He said so when we got home from the 
 ball last night." 
 
 "Jack said that!" cried Mr. De Witt. 
 "Humph! I tell you Mildred Ashton is in 
 love with Jack. That's the reason why she 
 stayed away from this house for so long. I 
 noticed it at supper at Sherry's that night after 
 the opera. They were both agitated when 
 they came in; they didn't eat anything; and 
 they didn't look at one another. Then, at din-
 
 204 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ner last night they carefully avoided one an- 
 other's eyes; and Jack went out of his way to 
 be unnecessarily gracious to Mildred." 
 
 "There's nothing in it," said Louise. "I 
 tell you that if Mildred doesn't love Gilbert 
 Greene now, she will in time. / know women. 
 What do you think! I'm one, myself." 
 
 "Well, at any rate," said De Witt, "we 
 could use it. I have several little bits of evi- 
 dence that would be very annoying even to an 
 expert lawyer: he would have much to prove." 
 
 "No," said Louise, "Phil, I won't let you 
 use Mildred in this matter. I have told you 
 that if the right time comes when I can get a 
 divorce comfortably I may marry you. 
 There is no especial hurry. The time will 
 come. I think Jack will go away I think he 
 is planning to go now and desertion would 
 be quite good enough. Oh, good heavens! 
 it's six o'clock! Phil, you must go. Jack and 
 I are dining out to-night. I have barely time 
 to dress. Run along, Phil. Come here and 
 kiss Pompon good-bye: he wants to forgive 
 you for being so horrid and to show that he 
 bears you no malice." 
 
 "I'll do nothing of the kind," replied Mr. 
 De Witt, indignantly, as he rose.
 
 AN AFTERNOON CALL 205 
 
 "Come in to-morrow at the same time," 
 said Louise, kissing Pompon's little silky ears. 
 
 "I don't know whether I will, or not," re- 
 plied Mr. De Witt, leaving the room without 
 looking back. 
 
 "I know you will," I^ouise called after him.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IN WASHINGTON 
 
 MILDRED was only too glad that she had 
 accepted the invitation of the two Miss 
 Swanns to accompany them to Washington to 
 the Twenty-first Continental Congress of the 
 Daughters of the American Revolution. She 
 thought the little trip and the change of scene 
 might restore her nerves, which had been so 
 shaken. She was delighted, therefore, when 
 the appointed day came for their departure. 
 
 On arriving in Washington, the four travel- 
 lers (for Cora was included, of course) were 
 soon comfortably settled in the New Willard 
 Hotel, prepared to spend the forthcoming 
 week. They met so many friends and re- 
 ceived so many callers that Sunday passed like 
 a dream. 
 
 Miss Hatty Swann went to the preliminary 
 meeting on Monday morning; but Miss Jessie 
 suggested that she should take Mildred sight- 
 seeing. Consequently, Mildred and Miss Jes- 
 
 ao6
 
 IN WASHINGTON 207 
 
 sie spent the morning visiting the Capitol and 
 other public buildings and joined Miss Hatty 
 at luncheon, after which all three went to the 
 formal opening of the Congress. 
 
 Memorial Continental Hall struck Mildred 
 as imposing. The auditorium was a fine sight 
 with its decorations of flags and spring flow- 
 ers and the large assemblage of well-dressed 
 women. The insignia of the Daughters was 
 placed above the stage ; and at the back of the 
 stage hung three impressive historical paint- 
 ings. 
 
 Very soon after Mildred and her hostesses 
 were seated, President Taft entered through 
 the Memorial South Portico and took his 
 place on the platform, where the officers of 
 the society and their distinguished guests were 
 already grouped. At the same moment the 
 big flag was unfurled from the centre of the 
 domed ceiling, while the two thousand women 
 with their men guests waved their handker- 
 chiefs in greeting and the Marine Band, sta- 
 tioned in the adjoining Museum, added to 
 the general excitement by playing patriotic 
 airs. 
 
 President Taft made a genial speech, in 
 which he laid emphasis on the pleasure he had
 
 2o8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 of welcoming the beauties of the Spring and 
 the beauties of the Daughters together. He 
 reminded the latter that they had gathered to 
 stimulate the memories of, and the respect for, 
 those men who made this nation possible and 
 who laid broad its foundation in the Constitu- 
 tion of the United States ; and that one of the 
 motives for the existence of the society was to 
 uphold the principles of that Constitution and 
 to insist on their preservation as long as the na- 
 tion shall endure. 
 
 Then followed the address by the President- 
 General, Mrs. Matthew T. Scott, which gave 
 Mildred a more definite idea of the signifi- 
 cance of the society than she had previously 
 had. 
 
 Mildred had never attended an assembly of 
 this kind; and every detail of the procedure 
 interested her, as well as the addresses. The 
 two Miss Swanns presented their guest to 
 many of the ladies, whose faces Mildred re- 
 membered when she saw them again that even- 
 ing at the large reception given in Memorial 
 Hall. 
 
 At the meeting next day, when various gifts 
 were presented to the Museum, such as John 
 Hancock's desk, a lamp from the Battleship
 
 IN WASHINGTON 209 
 
 and a loving-cup that General Wash- 
 ington had given to Mrs. Alexander, Mildred 
 turned to Miss Hatty Swann and said: "I 
 think I will contribute something, too. I 
 have a great many Revolutionary relics at 
 home. There is an old powder-horn that be- 
 longed to Light Horse Harry Lee; I have my 
 great-great-grandfather's sword and his blue 
 and buff uniform ; I have two or three old cos- 
 tumes, and I don't know what else besides. 
 I should like to have some of my family things 
 here." 
 
 "Why don't you?" Miss Hatty replied. "I 
 think that is a splendid idea," and then turn- 
 ing to her sister, "Jessie," said Miss Hatty, 
 "we have brought in a valuable member. 
 Miss Ashton is going to give some relics to the 
 Museum." 
 
 Miss Jessie, leaning forward, looked at Mil- 
 dred and smiled. "I knew she would become 
 one of us," she said. 
 
 As the other meetings were devoted to busi- 
 ness matters, Mildred preferred to continue 
 her sight-seeing. Her hostesses, therefore, 
 left her to her own devices. 
 
 On Thursday morning, as she was crossing 
 Fourteenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue,
 
 2io A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 she heard a voice behind her exclaim in a tone 
 of surprise: "Why, Miss Ashton, how do 
 you do?" 
 
 "Why, Mr. Greene!" Mildred exclaimed 
 with a smile. "Where did you come from?" 
 
 "New York," he answered. "Yesterday. 
 What are you doing here?" 
 
 "I came with some friends the two Miss 
 Swanns to the Congress of the Daughters of 
 the American Revolution. We arrived on 
 Saturday. What are you doing here?" 
 
 "Oh, I came down on business," replied 
 Gilbert. "I am going to build a house on 
 New Hampshire Avenue for a western Sena- 
 tor; and I ran down to look at the site." 
 
 "When are you going back to New York?" 
 
 "I was going," Gilbert replied, "this after- 
 noon at three o'clock; but I have changed my 
 mind since I have met you. I don't know 
 when I shall go now. How long are you go- 
 ing to be here?" 
 
 "Until Saturday," answered Mildred; "but 
 we are going to spend Sunday in Baltimore." 
 
 "Where are you going now?" Gilbert in- 
 quired. "But wait a minute before you an- 
 swer," he continued, taking hold of her arm 
 gently and leading her to the sidewalk, "if you
 
 IN WASHINGTON 211 
 
 stand in this dangerous place, you won't be go- 
 ing anywhere." 
 
 "You'd better say I'll be taking a long jour- 
 ney," laughed Mildred, "to 
 
 'The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns.' > 
 
 It is a dangerous spot." 
 
 "It's as bad as anything in New York," said 
 Gilbert, "particularly as you are not apt to be 
 on your guard here. You are not going to be 
 run over while I am with you." 
 
 "Then I suppose I can be run over as much 
 as I like when you are not with me? Is that 
 it?" queried Mildred. 
 
 "I should think once would satisfy you," re- 
 plied Gilbert. "But that once is not going to 
 be to-day, anyhow. Come, let us go into La- 
 fayette Square and look at the fine, old trees. 
 It is such a beautiful square! I remember it 
 as long as I can remember anything. I used 
 to visit relatives in Washington when K, H, 
 and I Streets were the chief centres of fashion- 
 able life and Washington was a little place." 
 
 "It's my first visit," said Mildred. 
 
 "Oh, is it? Have you seen all the sights?" 
 
 "The principal ones," Mildred answered.
 
 212 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Can't I take you somewhere that you 
 haven't been?" asked Gilbert. "What about 
 Arlington? Suppose I call for you this after- 
 noon and we'll motor down." 
 
 "I'd love to go," said Mildred, "but I have 
 an engagement. We are going to President 
 and Mrs. Taft's reception to the Daughters." 
 
 "How about to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes ; I can go to-morrow." 
 
 "All right, then," answered Gilbert. 
 "We'll go to-morrow. I'll call for you about 
 three o'clock. Aren't those forsythias lovely? 
 They are quite special to Washington: they 
 are all over the city. I love them." 
 
 "Yes," answered Mildred. "I was struck 
 with them the first thing." 
 
 "This is the time to see Washington," said 
 Gilbert. "Spring in Washington is perfect." 
 
 The four-mile drive to Arlington on Friday 
 afternoon was delightful. The great white 
 dome of the Capitol in the distance was the 
 chief feature of the landscape and reminded 
 Gilbert and Mildred all the while that they 
 were in Washington. The house with its 
 massive columns impressed the New York vis- 
 itors as noble but melancholy and wonderfully
 
 IN WASHINGTON 213 
 
 adapted to its present purpose. The desola- 
 tion of the rooms, devoid of furniture and life, 
 depressed them both. 
 
 As they wandered about the beautiful 
 grounds on this sunny April afternoon, the 
 sound of a muffled drum was heard and soon 
 the Marine Band was sben advancing along 
 the road with slow tread marked by the solemn 
 measures of Chopin's Funeral March. 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Gilbert, "this must be 
 the ceremonial cortege for General Phil 
 Kearney. I had forgotten that his body was 
 to be brought to Arlington this afternoon. 
 Do you want to stay?" 
 
 "Why, yes," replied Mildred, "we might 
 stand here for a moment and watch the pro- 
 
 cession." 
 
 "Here's a shady spot, then," Gilbert an- 
 swered. "It is awfully hot. There is a little 
 breeze here. The papers said that President 
 Taft was to make an address. I think that is 
 he in that carriage just entering the driveway." 
 
 They stood in silence until the band and the 
 carriages had passed. Then Gilbert asked: 
 "Do you have to be back at any particular 
 time?"
 
 214 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "No," said Mildred. "I have no engage- 
 ment for this evening." 
 
 "Then we will take a little longer drive." 
 
 "I'll be delighted to, Mr. Greene," Mildred 
 responded. 
 
 "It must have been a pleasure to you, Miss 
 Ashton, to have seen the old Lee house," said 
 Gilbert, as the motor whirled out of the 
 grounds. 
 
 "Arlington isn't the Lee homestead, Mr. 
 Greene," Mildred replied. "It is the Custis 
 house. It was the home of George Washing- 
 ton Parke Custis, whose daughter married 
 General Robert E. Lee. Their wedding took 
 place here. The Lee homestead is Strat- 
 ford, in Westmoreland County. Light Horse 
 Harry was my ancestor." 
 
 "How strange !" exclaimed Gilbert. "Light 
 Horse Harry Lee was a fellow-soldier and 
 great friend of my ancestor, General Greene 
 General Nathanael Greene." 
 
 "Are you descended from General Greene?" 
 asked Mildred. 
 
 "Yes," replied Gilbert. 
 
 "Then I shall say how strange, too," said 
 Mildred. "To think that our ancestors were 
 friends!"
 
 IN WASHINGTON 215 
 
 "Light Horse Harry Lee died on General 
 Greene's estate, or his daughter's, I forget 
 which, in Georgia. Perhaps you remember 
 that General Greene had estates given to him 
 in Georgia and South Carolina. He was de- 
 voted to Mulberry Grove. Anthony Wayne, 
 'Mad Anthony Wayne, N had the plantation 
 next to him." 
 
 "Isn't it strange," said Mildred, "to think 
 that we have known each other for several 
 months and never discovered that we had Rev- 
 olutionary ancestors who were friends. We 
 might call ours an inherited friendship. We 
 are quite historical, aren't we?" 
 
 "You see," replied Gilbert, "occasions like 
 these patriotic gatherings bring out such 
 things. People naturally talk of their ances- 
 tors and interesting coincidences are brought 
 to light." 
 
 "Yes; and other curious things happen," 
 said Mildred. "For instance, I witnessed a 
 very nice little scene the other day in Memo- 
 rial Hall. The meeting had come to an end 
 and we were on the platform, where many of 
 the ladies had gathered to speak to their 
 friends. One of them was making some re- 
 marks about three large paintings of histori-
 
 cal scenes on the wall at the back of the stage 
 suddenly a gentleman rose from a seat in 
 the hall and said politely to one of the Daugh- 
 ters, 'Perhaps, madam, it might interest you 
 to know that the artist is here. Allow me 
 to introduce Mr. Millard Brown.' An el- 
 derly lady, overhearing this, stepped forward 
 and said: 'Why, as I am alive, it is Mil- 
 lard Brown.' She extended an eager hand. 
 'Don't you remember me, Millard and the 
 old art days in Paris, thirty- four years ago?' 
 The old white-haired gentleman rose and 
 looked into the lady's face, with an embar- 
 rassed and uncertain expression. Then sud- 
 denly his memory lighted up. 'Why yes, yes !' 
 he exclaimed. 'It is Martha Trowbridge. 
 Bless me my dear. You are alive and well, 
 and I haven't seen you or your good people 
 these many, many years.' He was very much 
 overcome in fact they both were. He took 
 both of her hands in his. Then he said 'How 
 strange to meet again and in this way!' Their 
 eyes were full of tears. Wasn't that extraor- 
 dinary?" 
 
 "It only proves once again, that life is 
 stranger than fiction," Gilbert observed 
 thoughtfully.
 
 IN WASHINGTON 217 
 
 "I wonder," Mildred mused, "if you would 
 know me if thirty-four years were to pass 
 without our seeing each other and we were to 
 meet unexpectedly like that." 
 
 "I think so," replied Gilbert, emphatically. 
 "Only I would never let thirty-four years go 
 by without seeing you. \That's too long be- 
 tween calls." 
 
 "Perhaps we have another binding link in 
 the Revolution," said Mildred. "My great- 
 great-grandfather, Major Ashton, fought un- 
 der General Washington, too. He was in 
 the retreat from Long Island; but I don't 
 know whether he served under Putnam, or 
 Greene." 
 
 "That is interesting, too," replied Gilbert. 
 
 "I must look through my family papers," 
 said Mildred. "It would be strange if I were 
 to find some letters from your ancestor, to my 
 great-great-grandfather among them." 
 
 "Yes, it would," Gilbert agreed. 
 
 "I am going home when I return to New 
 York; and, if I should find anything, I will 
 send it to you. I wish you could see my old 
 house, Mr. Greene. You would love it. All 
 architects rave over it. It is much like the 
 Morris-Jumel house in New York."
 
 2i8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "That's a charming house 1" exclaimed Gil- 
 bert. 
 
 "Our old gardens are still in existence, Mr. 
 Greene, and they really are wonderful. You 
 should see our Rosary! Unfortunately, I 
 have had to rent my old home, so I can't invite 
 you to see it, as I should love to do." 
 
 "The invitation is something anyhow," said 
 Gilbert. "Thank you." 
 
 "The lease expires next November," contin- 
 ued Mildred ; "but Mr. Carpenter, my lawyer, 
 thinks the tenants will want to renew it. I 
 leave everything to him. I wish I could show 
 you the portrait of my great-great grand- 
 father, Major John Ashton, in his buff and 
 blue uniform. It is painted by Gilbert Stuart. 
 His wife's portrait was also painted by Stuart. 
 There is a family tradition that she had some 
 very romantic love-affair; but nobody knows 
 just what it was. Then she married her 
 cousin, Major John Ashton; and they were 
 very happy. People say I look like her. I 
 wonder if you'd think so!" 
 
 "I should like to see her portrait very 
 much," Gilbert replied. r< Was she was she 
 as pretty as you are?"
 
 IN WASHINGTON 219 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Greene," protested Mildre'd, with 
 a merry laugh. "There's nothing subtle about 
 you." 
 
 As Gilbert handed Mildred out of the car, 
 he said: "You say you have no engagement 
 this evening. May I call and bring a friend 
 of mine Percy Maude-Edgerley? He is an 
 attache of the British Legation. I think you 
 would like to know him ; and I am sure he will 
 be delighted to meet you. I am dining with 
 him to-night." 
 
 "I'll be charmed," responded Mildred; 
 "and I'll be so pleased to introduce you to the 
 two Miss Swanns. You'll fall in love with 
 both of them. / have. I want you to know 
 them." 
 
 "Then it's au revoir" said Gilbert, holding 
 out his hand, from which he had quickly 
 drawn the glove. 
 
 "Yes, au revoir" replied Mildred, who did 
 not seem to object to the fact that he kept her 
 hand in his a little longer than was conven- 
 tional. 
 
 The two Miss Swanns were delighted when 
 Mildred told them of the callers who were 
 coming that evening; and Miss Hatty imme-
 
 220 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 diately ordered Cora to set a small table for 
 the cake and sherry she purposed handing to 
 the guests. 
 
 Mildred saw at a glance how charmed Miss 
 Hatty and Miss Jessie were with Gilbert 
 Greene and how they met with his approval 
 also. Miss Jessie was very much pleased with 
 the diplomat, who took a seat near Mildred 
 and waited for her to open the conversation. 
 
 "What a contrast to Bernard Fogg!" 
 thought Mildred, as she contemplated the tall, 
 athletic figure of Mr. Maude-Edgerley, who 
 was sitting in an easy and indifferent pose. 
 What a typical Englishman he was, with his 
 light hair, sandy moustache, clear, round, blue 
 eyes, and pink and white complexion. How 
 differently, too, Mr. Maude-Edgerley talked 
 from Bernard Fogg. Mr. Maude-Edgerley 
 spoke from his throat in cool, well-measured 
 and musical tones not on the edge of his lips, 
 as Mildred noted with satisfaction. The 
 slight cadence that Mildred found so charm- 
 ing was not an affectation: it told the story 
 that the Londoner had not been long in this 
 country. The range of his vocabulary was 
 wide and his piquant adjectives a man is 
 known by the adjectives he keeps were
 
 IN WASHINGTON aai 
 
 i 
 
 chosen with that taste which is the prerogative 
 of the person of culture. 
 
 Observant and alert, a polite listener and 
 quick of repartee, Mr. Maude-Edgerley soon, 
 and without trying to do so, made his pres- 
 ence agreeably felt. Although he was not 
 what one would describe as a brilliant conver- 
 sationalist, when he made a remark it came 
 from a storehouse of knowledge and informa- 
 tion, so whatever he said was worthy of atten- 
 tion. An Oxford graduate, a traveller, a 
 scholar and a gentleman of breeding, Mr. 
 Maude-Edgerley was a splendid example of 
 the kind of men Great Britain sends to repre- 
 sent her in foreign countries. 
 
 "What a pity," thought Mildred, "that Ber- 
 nard Fogg is the idea most people have of an 
 Englishman! Now I begin to understand 
 why it is that Englishmen systematically avoid 
 each other when they have nothing in com- 
 
 mon." 
 
 Mr. Maude-Edgerley was surprised to 
 learn that Mildred did not know London, al- 
 though she had been on the Continent several 
 times. 
 
 "Oh, you must come to London," he said, 
 "and when you do, you must let me show you
 
 222 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 London. You must see London," he added, 
 " 'the most wonderful and awful of cities,' as 
 Steevens puts it." 
 
 "I suppose you know every inch of it," said 
 Mildred. 
 
 "No, Miss Ashton," the Londoner replied. 
 "Nobody knows London. You might spend 
 your whole life studying it and you would 
 never know it. It is unthinkably vast. Of 
 course, in one sense," he added, "I know Lon- 
 don very well parts of it the West End, 
 Westminster and the City. I know the City 
 very well. I should like to take you about in 
 the City to see some of the fine old churches 
 and the Guildhall. You know the Guildhall, 
 don't you, Greene?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Greene, delighted to be 
 drawn into the conversation. "Fine old 
 building with a glorious timber roof. I re- 
 member the pigeons almost as many as at St. 
 Mark's in Venice and how they come flutter- 
 ing down out of the cool, blue shadows ! I re- 
 member Gog and Magog, too." 
 
 "What are they?" asked Mildred. 
 
 "Two enormous, wooden giants," explained 
 Mr. Maude-Edgerley. "They used to be car- 
 ried in the procession on Lord Mayor's Day;
 
 IN WASHINGTON 223 
 
 and, according to the prophecy of Mother 
 Shipton, 'when they fall, London will fall.' I 
 go to the Guildhall very often," added Mr. 
 Maude-Edgerley. "I am writing a book on 
 old London tavern signs. There is quite a col- 
 lection of them in the Guildhall; and there is 
 also a valuable library relating to the history 
 of London. I do a great deal of research 
 there. The study of Old London is one of my 
 diversions." 
 
 "What are the others?" asked Mildred. 
 
 "Cricket," replied Mr. Maude-Edgerley, 
 "and golf." 
 
 Gilbert rose to go. "Now you really must 
 come to London, Miss Ashton," Mr. Maude- 
 Edgerley said, as he also rose, "and when you 
 do, I shall be deeply wounded if you do not 
 drop me a line and let me show London to 
 you. We must have tea at Hurlingham, too. 
 That's a definite engagement, I hope." 
 
 Miss Hatty, Miss Jessie and Mildred talked 
 for some time about their guests with the ac- 
 companiment of an additional glass of sherry 
 and the remains of the cake. When the two 
 Miss Swanns bade Mildred good-night and 
 went to their respective rooms, each was soon 
 dreaming out a pretty romance for Mildred.
 
 224 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Miss Hatty put Mildred and Gilbert 
 Greene through a series of complicated ad- 
 ventures; and, according to the annoying 
 method of dreams, as each adventure was 
 about to end happily, a new catastrophe arose. 
 Finally, the distracted and sympathetic Miss 
 Hatty awoke in tears. 
 
 Miss Jessie, on the other hand, saw pictures 
 of an ancient English half-timbered house 
 with many peaked gables and lovely gardens 
 and lawns sweeping to the Thames and also 
 of a London house. In both of these Mildred 
 was presiding. Miss Jessie had just ended a 
 delightful week in the country house and was 
 half-way through a ceremonious dinner in 
 Park Lane, when the butler with the pow- 
 dered hair and splendid livery suddenly turned 
 into the more familiar person of Cora, who 
 was entering the room with Miss Jessie's early 
 morning cup of coffee.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 
 
 IT was not until two months after her re- 
 turn to New York that Mildred was able 
 to arrange a brief visit to Wild Acres to look 
 over her family papers and select the articles 
 she wished to send to the Museum in Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 In reply to her letter asking if it would be 
 possible for her to come to Wild Acres for a 
 few days, Mr. Carpenter informed Mildred 
 that her request had come at an opportune 
 time. The tenants were away and Mrs. 
 O'Toole was taking care of the house. Mil- 
 dred could, therefore, come any day she 
 pleased. Mr. Carpenter had already spoken 
 to Mrs. O'Toole, who would prepare for her 
 arrival. 
 
 Mildred telephoned Mr. Carpenter that she 
 would run down on the following day. 
 
 Mildred found it harder than she expected 
 to be back at Wild Acres, under the changed 
 conditions. She decided to finish her errand
 
 226 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 speedily and return to New York. It was too 
 painful to remain in this loved spot. Conse- 
 quently, on the morning following her arrival, 
 she went into the attic soon after breakfast. 
 
 Unlocking the door, which had not been 
 opened since she left, more than a year and a 
 half ago, Mildred entered. 
 
 "Oh! how hot it is!" she exclaimed, as a 
 scorching breath of air rushed at her, heavy 
 with that peculiar odor that one finds in an 
 old attic and nowhere else. 
 
 The attic at Wild Acres, like all other old 
 attics, contained the possessions of the present 
 owners and the relics of past generations 
 heaped together in an impartial manner. 
 Here were old pieces of furniture some out 
 of repair ; old brass handles and key-plates; 
 old curtain rods and rings; broken picture 
 frames ; odd pieces of china and cut glass ; bags 
 of linen and cotton of all sizes, tied tightly, and 
 containing odds and ends of all kinds; great 
 bundles, firmly pinned and displaying neatly 
 written labels of their contents; and innumer- 
 able chests, boxes and trunks of all ages, sizes 
 and varieties. 
 
 Mildred's first care was to open the circular 
 window in the gable, to let in some light and
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 227 
 
 air. As she did this, the bumping and bang- 
 ing and whizzing of a large wasp against the 
 pane proved that her action was appreciated 
 by an unwilling prisoner, who, spreading his 
 wings, balanced himself delicately for half a 
 second on the sill and darted out joyfully into 
 the welcome sunshine. 
 
 The sunlight now streamed in and fell upon 
 the group of chests and trunks that Mildred 
 wanted to open. 
 
 "I think the costumes are in that" she said, 
 looking at a big oak chest decorated with black 
 egg-shaped lozenges and spindles. 
 
 Taking a bunch of keys from the small bas- 
 ket she held on her arm, she soon found the 
 proper key. The lock turned. 
 
 Yes ; she was right. This was the chest for 
 costumes. Now she found the old blue and 
 buff uniform in which Major Ashton's por- 
 trait, hanging in the library, downstairs was 
 painted by Gilbert Stuart. 
 
 "This is going to Washington," she said, lay- 
 ing it aside to be packed. 
 
 "I believe I will go through that one, too," 
 she said, looking at a big, red leather trunk 
 studded with brass nails in a quaint pattern. 
 "That trunk belonged to Dolly Ashton, my
 
 228 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 great-great-grandmother. I wonder which 
 key will fit it? It must be a rather small one," 
 she added, looking at the lock. 
 
 Kneeling before this trunk, Mildred tried 
 key after key; but not one would do. "This 
 is exasperating!" she exclaimed, after trying 
 nearly every key on every bunch. "Now I am 
 determined to get into this trunk." 
 
 She tried a little one that she had over- 
 looked. "There! At last!" she cried, as the 
 key slipped easily into the lock, which gave 
 an accommodating little click. "There! I 
 haven't seen inside of this trunk for years!" 
 
 Mildred was glad to renew her acquaintance 
 with the contents. Here was a pink and 
 white striped silk dress with little sprigs of 
 flowers scattered over it; here was a white 
 quilted satin petticoat, yellowed by time ; here 
 was a light blue and silver brocade ; here was a 
 muslin gown sprigged with silver; here was a 
 pair of pale blue satin slippers with glittering 
 paste buckles and enormously high heels; here 
 was a faded straw hat, wide of brim and 
 trimmed with yellow gauze ribbon and some 
 tiny silk flowers ; here was a dress of lilac lute- 
 string silk embroidered with little silver feath-
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 229 
 
 ers; here were several rolls of rich lace; and 
 here were three beautiful fans. 
 
 When all these things lay in a heap on the 
 floor, Mildred picked up the pink and white 
 silk as she rose to her feet and held it before 
 her. "She must have been just my size. / 
 could wear this dress. She had pretty clothes 
 and dainty things. Why, I believe she was 
 painted in this very pink and white silk." 
 
 As Mildred knelt down again before the 
 trunk and was about to repack the things, she 
 noticed that what she thought was the bottom 
 was a secret tray. She soon discovered how 
 to lift this up and out; and, to her surprise, 
 here she found, wrapped in an old green silk 
 cloak, a large rosewood box, with the tiny key 
 in the lock. 
 
 "I must examine this," she said, "but it is 
 too hot here. I will take it downstairs." 
 
 Tumbling all the things back into the trunk, 
 Mildred shut the lid, turned the key and went 
 downstairs. "I'll take this out on the veran- 
 dah," she said. 
 
 Seating herself in one of the low wicker 
 chairs, Mildred placed the heavy rosewood 
 box on her lap. Then she paused for a mo-
 
 230 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 ment to admire the grain of the wood; the 
 mother-of-pearl inlay that ran around the 
 edge, forming a love-knot at each corner; and 
 the large, square slab of mother-of-pearl that 
 ornamented the centre of the top and softly 
 breathed forth tender hues of rose and green 
 beneath its milky lustre. She turned the tiny 
 key and raised the lid. 
 
 "Lovely I" she exclaimed, as her glance fell 
 upon the delicate light blue silk crape with 
 which it was lined. 
 
 The box was one of those artistic produc- 
 tions of the late Eighteenth Century, which, 
 owing to careful planning and deft workman- 
 ship, are marvels of compactness, convenience 
 and beauty. A little lid, covered with blue 
 crape and bearing in its centre a tiny crown- 
 shaped knob of silver filagree, enclosed each 
 of the four compartments that surrounded a 
 large one in the centre. On raising the first 
 with a gentle, reverent touch, Mildred found 
 beneath it a dozen miniature spools of colored 
 embroidery silks; in the second, a little olive- 
 wood box with a painting in sepia of Nice in 
 1770 on the lid; in the third, some wheel- 
 shaped, ivory winders with the silk still bright 
 upon them; and in the fourth, an agate-
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 231 
 
 handled seal bearing the Ashton coat-of-arms 
 and several delicately drawn patterns for em- 
 broidery work. In the large central compart- 
 ment lay a silver-topped glass vinaigrette, 
 exquisitely cut with rows of deep set stars, 
 which flashed in the sunlight as Mildred held 
 it up to examine its beauty. Here was some- 
 thing else. A silver thimble with a lace-like 
 rim of filagree. It bore the initials of the 
 owner, D. A., and the date 1774. Mildred 
 tried it on. It fitted perfectly. 
 
 "It must have been hard to sew with this," 
 thought Mildred, as she critically observed 
 her newly adorned finger. "I should think 
 the filagree would catch the thread; but per- 
 haps our ancestors sewed more slowly than we 
 do to-day." 
 
 Placing it back carefully in the little silk- 
 lined hole opposite a plump scarlet velvet 
 strawberry emery cushion with green leaves, 
 the new owner of the box let down the crape 
 lining of the top, puckered into a curious 
 formal rosette pattern of a by-gone age and 
 held in place by a small, movable silver pin. 
 Here she discovered a number of invitations 
 to distinguished houses in Paris and London 
 dated 1770, an illustrated programme of an
 
 232 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 evening's entertainment at Ranelagh; a card 
 to a fashionable rout in London; a few clip- 
 pings from the New York Gazette relating to 
 entertainments at the Governor's House and 
 Hull's Assembly Rooms in Broadway; and a 
 crisp and faded ivy-leaf, evidently very pre- 
 cious as it was folded in a sheet of pink 
 watered letter paper with gilt edges. 
 
 This box had not been opened for over a 
 hundred years: the pretty blue crape was not 
 faded in the least ; the silver was not tarnished ; 
 and everything was in beautiful order, just as 
 Dolly Ashton had left it. 
 
 As Mildred was wondering by what process 
 Time gives so strange and subtle a perfume 
 "a sense-beguiling odor," she called it to all 
 delicate objects, there seemed to be added to 
 this indescribable essence that excites some as 
 yet imperfectly understood connections with 
 the brain that seem to start currents of thought 
 and vague imaginings an imperceptible sense 
 of the scent, rather than the scent itself, of 
 attar of rose ; and Mildred almost felt the pres- 
 ence of the Eighteenth Century lady who had 
 so long been a Dweller among Shadows. 
 
 "Enough!" said Mildred to herself, as she
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 233 
 
 fancied that a cool wave of air touched her 
 forehead and then the hand that was placing 
 these treasures back and fastening the pin at 
 the top. "Let us lift the tray," for she had dis- 
 covered the little silken loops at each side. 
 Yes ; the tray lifted, and below it what? 
 
 A ray of sunlight that had been playing 
 with Mildred's hair now leaped into the box 
 far more rapidly than Mildred's gaze to dance 
 and revel there with the semi-precious stones 
 of a necklace that had so long been hidden in 
 darkness. How it welcomed the long ban- 
 ished light! The stones palpitated and 
 flashed in bewildering harmonies of purple, 
 yellow, red, green and blue, as if with joy in 
 response to the warm kiss of the golden sun- 
 beam that woke them into life again. 
 
 Recovering from the first blinding flash, 
 Mildred lifted the necklace to examine it 
 more carefully. It was hard to decide which 
 was the lovelier, the harmoniously gradu- 
 ated stones, or their quaint setting in inter- 
 woven threads of silver. 
 
 "A jardiniere a flower garden of jewels, 
 set in the lovely Italian manner," exclaimed 
 Mildred, as she clasped it on her neck. "I
 
 234 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 have seen just such necklaces on the long necks 
 of Luini's and Botticelli's women! Oh, how 
 beautiful!" 
 
 But this was not all. The necklace had lain 
 beside two packages of yellowed letters, each 
 tied with a faded blue ribbon, and a Diary, 
 bound in green leather and fastened with a 
 silver clasp. 
 
 Mildred paused. 
 
 Should she read these, or burn them? Al- 
 though greatly tempted, not only by a natural 
 curiosity but by her love of romance, she hesi- 
 tated ; for it seemed to her that to open them 
 would be to intrude upon the privacy of one 
 powerless to defend herself from the profane 
 eye of an intruder. Long she sat there 
 immovable, wondering, pondering, thinking 
 what she should do. Finally, believing that 
 perhaps these records of a past life, connected 
 to hers by ties of blood, might have some mes- 
 sage for her, as they had come to her so 
 strangely and after so many years, she decided 
 to untie the packages and unclasp the little 
 book. 
 
 Again the faint odor of roses made her half 
 close her eyes for a moment and the same cool 
 breeze came again, first gently shaking the
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 235 
 
 sprays of honeysuckle above her head and 
 then ruffling her hair and fanning her cheek. 
 
 "I wonder," exclaimed Mildred with a 
 slight shiver, "if she could be here beside mel 
 If such a thing is possible! Spiritualists 
 would say 'Of course, she is here I' / do not 
 know: it is very strange. One spray of that 
 honeysuckle is waving and every other cluster 
 is still! Life is so strange! Perhaps the 
 dead are more alive than we, who think we 
 live! Who can say, or not, if some emanation 
 has not been mysteriously evoked? Perhaps 
 it is imagination; but I feel her here beside 
 me; and with all reverence and sympathy I am 
 going to open her Diary." 
 
 Mildred paused again, thinking how 
 strangely she had been invited to open a chap- 
 ter into the Past. Then, for a few moments 
 the Present claimed her: the morning was so 
 perfect. As she looked beyond the verandah 
 through the frame of roses and honeysuckle, 
 both in luxuriant bloom, she was again im- 
 pressed with the loveliness of her ancestral 
 home. The sun threaded its bewildered way 
 through the thick grove of maples to lay 
 patches large and small of luminous yel- 
 low upon the green lawn; beneath the
 
 236 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 branches of the frees the Sound, lying deep 
 below the bluff and gay with pleasure-boats 
 of many kinds, gleamed with waves of silver 
 and blue; at intervals a light wind forerun- 
 ner of a storm caught and gently swayed the 
 sleepy boughs of the maples, beeches and ce- 
 dars and turned the excited leaves of the tall 
 poplars backward into a quivering mass of 
 delicate, silvery gray; many birds were flying 
 hither and thither busy making, or returning 
 to, their nests; and fat, yellow-banded bees 
 often visited the clusters of honeysuckle above 
 her head from which, at their clumsy depar- 
 ture, these guests shook down showers of dew- 
 drops hidden too deep in the white and buff 
 horns of honey for the sun to find. 
 
 The voices of June were all around her. 
 She heard the drowsy hum of these soft- 
 footed honey-gatherers; the frequent and so 
 sweet call of the loving robins to "Hurry up, 
 hurry up, hurry up, dearie!" the peevish 
 "mee-u" of the cat birds from the neatly 
 trimmed bushes; the occasional raucous "caw- 
 caw" of a far-away crow; the shrill "Bob, Bob 
 White" of the quails from various quarters; 
 the puff , puff , puff of a distant motor boat, 
 dancing up and down upon the shining
 
 AN OLD WORK-BOX 237 
 
 Sound ; and the hoot of an automobile quickly 
 passing beyond the hedges and the entrance 
 gate to Wild Acres. 
 
 Unclasping the Diary, Mildred sat for 
 many hours on the verandah reading from the 
 faded pages and was startled to discover in- 
 cidents in her great-great-grandmother's ro- 
 mance that strangely resembled her own. 
 
 Are our lives but reproductions of those 
 that have gone before us? Do we, who have 
 inherited certain qualities from our ancestors, 
 attract to ourselves circumstances that will 
 bring into action these inherited qualities dor- 
 mant in us? 
 
 How strange is heredity! How strange are 
 the workings of Life!
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 OPENING the Diary at random, the first 
 entry Mildred's eyes fell upon was: 
 
 March 4, 1777. Everybody's gone out, even 
 Prissy! I feel so lonely and depressed. 
 Heigh-ho! I wish somebody would come 
 and run away with me; and I wouldn't care 
 if that somebody's name began with the 
 initials J. A. 
 
 Is this love? Yes; I think it is! And 
 who wouldn't love such a handsome, gallant 
 fellow? Certainly not Dolly! 
 
 "Life, what art thou without love?" 
 
 Then Mildred turned to the first page. 
 
 April 23, 1775. Sunday. I am beginning a 
 Diary to-day because of the great excite- 
 ment in town. News has just come from 
 Boston that hostilities have begun between 
 the King's troops and the Provincials. 
 238
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 239 
 
 Uncle John considers it very serious. I 
 have therefore resolved to chronicle the 
 happenings. Went to Trinity, as usual, 
 and walked in the Mall after church. 
 Everybody stopped to discuss the alarming 
 news from Boston. 
 
 April 29. Saturday. What an awful week! 
 Nothing but confusion and commotion all 
 over the town. All business stopped. 
 Nothing but the sound of fifes and drums 
 and clattering of horsemen. Soldiers en- 
 listing on all sides. All the mothers, wives 
 and sweethearts of the town in tears. Many 
 people so panic-stricken that they are get- 
 ting ready to flee into the country. Many 
 families at odds, some members siding with 
 the King and some for Independence. We 
 are having great excitement in our house; 
 for we, too, are divided. Uncle John is 
 for the King, as is natural, I suppose, for 
 one of His Majesty's Council for the Prov- 
 ince; but Aunt Betty and I are for Inde- 
 pendence of the Colonies. This is natural, 
 too, I dare say, for all the Ashtons are in 
 the Continental Army. We grow very hot 
 sometimes, especially when my cousin, John 
 Ashton, calls.
 
 240 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 May 26. The 'Asia, a man-of-war, Captain 
 Van Deput, arrived from Boston. 
 
 June 25. General William Tryon arrived 
 from England. He landed late in the even- 
 ing. There was a great commotion, but 
 not so much as for the welcome to General 
 George Washington, who came from 
 Philadelphia early in the afternoon. He 
 has just been made commander-in-chief of 
 all the troops. General Washington was 
 attended by General Schuyler and General 
 Lee and escorted by the Philadelphia Light 
 Horse, Captain Markoe. He was received 
 by the military and citizens. General W. 
 is very distinguished of bearing and man- 
 ner. Admired him very much. 
 
 June 26. Gen. W. left for N. England to- 
 day. 
 
 July 3. Read General Washington's reply to 
 the address of the Provincial Congress of 
 the Colony of New York in this morning's 
 Gazette. Indeed but it is fine! I must 
 copy it: 
 
 "As to the fatal but necessary operations 
 of war when we assumed the soldier we did 
 not lay aside the citizen; and we shall most 
 sincerely rejoice with you in that happy
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY, 241 
 
 hour when the establishment of American 
 Liberty on the most firm and solid founda- 
 tions shall enable us to return to our private 
 stations in the Bosom of a free, peaceful and 
 happy Country." 
 
 July 17. Read the declaration in the Ga- 
 zette this morning by the representatives of 
 the United Colonies of North America now 
 in Congress in Philadelphia, setting forth 
 the causes and necessity of their taking 
 arms. 
 
 Much impressed with the righteousness 
 of our cause. 
 
 July 20. On Monday last saw Col. Lasher's 
 Battalion of City Militia reviewed by Brig- 
 adier-Generals Montgomery and Wooster. 
 Many ladies and gentlemen were present. 
 They went through the exercises with the 
 greatest order, alertness and decorum. The 
 country can never be enslaved while we 
 have such men to defend us. John Ashton 
 is in this Battalion. He did well. Aunt 
 Betty was very proud of him. So was I. 
 John came to supper afterwards. He told 
 us some new toasts that he heard at Fraun- 
 ces Tavern in the afternoon. Here they 
 are:
 
 242 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "May the enemies of Heaven be turned 
 into salt petre and go off in hot blasts. 
 
 "May America ever be the dread and 
 scourge of tyrants. 
 
 "The Daughters of America in the arms 
 of their defenders only. 
 
 "Duel and jack-boots before dishonor 
 and wooden shoes." 
 
 Uncle John laughed heartily and then 
 said: 
 
 'Damme, Jack, but you forget this is a 
 Tory house! Let's drink to the King and 
 his worst enemies your Aunt Betty, Dolly 
 and Jacky Ashtonl' 
 
 Uncle John is very good, I think, to let 
 us talk so freely as he does, he being so ar- 
 dent a Tory; but Uncle John is Uncle John 
 with the best of good tempers, and besides 
 he loves Aunt Betty (dear thing!) so dearly 
 (who doesn't, I'd like to know?) that he 
 would submit to anything and everything 
 for her sake. All Aunt Betty's family in- 
 cluding me Dolly are strong for Inde- 
 pendence. Indeed, we become more ar- 
 dent and eager for it each day, each hour. 
 
 "The daughters of America in the arms 
 of their defenders only," say I.
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 243 
 
 Sept. 1 8. The Minute Men paraded to-day. 
 Saw the parade from our house. Drank a 
 dish of tea afterwards at Cousin Hannah's. 
 Nothing talked of but the war. Cousin 
 Hannah is going to Philadelphia to-mor- 
 row to visit the Shippens. 
 
 Nov. 26. Sunday morning went to the New 
 Dutch Church with John Ashton to hear 
 Dr. Archibald Ladlie. He has just been 
 made chaplain to the First Battalion of In- 
 dependent Minute Men. His text was 
 "Stand fast in the Liberty with which 
 Christ hath made us free and be not en- 
 tangled again with the yoke of bondage." 
 Gal. v. i. A splendid sermon. Walked 
 with John in the Mall after church. 
 Everybody we met very solemn. Long 
 faces everywhere. 
 
 Dec. 2. Bought some books at Valentine 
 Nutter's. Also The Mourning Bride, 
 Beaux Stratagem and Recruiting Officer. 
 I love to read plays. 
 
 Mildred now skimmed through a number 
 of pages chiefly devoted to historical events. 
 She began to read attentively again in the 
 summer of 1776.
 
 244 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 July 8. Fleet from Halifax arrived. It is 
 off Staten Island. 
 
 July 10. The Congress Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence of the United States of America 
 was read at the head of each brigade of the 
 Continental Army posted near and in the 
 City. The statue of King George in Bowl- 
 ing Green was thrown down and broken in 
 pieces. They say the lead is to be used 
 for bullets. As the statue is almost oppo- 
 site our house, we had full benefit of the 
 performance. I am sure I am glad enough 
 that it has gone. It always looked so 
 ghostly on moonlight nights and still worse 
 in the dark. When I was a little girl I was 
 afraid at night it might come in my win- 
 dow; and I have never quite got over my 
 feeling about that man on the horse. 
 
 July 12. Lord Howe has arrived in the 
 Eagle from England with a large fleet. 
 Uncle John, Aunt Betty and I watched the 
 ships from the gallery on top of our house. 
 It was a wonderful sight. They turned 
 towards the Jersey shore when they reached 
 Bedlow's Island and went up the river. 
 The British lion is roused! 
 
 Sept. 21. Oh what a dreadful thing I have
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 245 
 
 to record now! How can I write it down? 
 It was so awful, that terrible, terrible fire 
 of last night! It broke out near Whitehall 
 between twelve and one o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. We were all in bed. Aunt Betty 
 called me. I dressed and went up to the 
 gallery, where Aunt Betty and Uncle John 
 were already watching the fire. It was an 
 awful, awful sight. There was a high 
 wind blowing, which made everything 
 worse. Soon flames began to burst out in 
 other places until the whole city seemed to 
 be burning up. It grew worse and worse. 
 I shall never forget the strange light, the 
 roaring of the flames, the unnatural, hot air, 
 the crashing of the houses as their walls 
 fell in, the clouds of smoke and all the ex- 
 citement of the people running about the 
 streets fighting the flames and trying to save 
 the poor people. Major-General Pattison 
 sent for two regiments and placed guards 
 in the streets. Lord Howe ordered the 
 boats of the fleet manned. All the build- 
 ings between Broad Street and the North 
 River were burned and many near King's 
 College. Oh, how we grieved to see dear 
 old Trinity burn to the ground! How
 
 246 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 awful it was to watch it! It was a pyramid 
 of fire! Several women and children per- 
 ished in the fire. We heard their shrieks 
 in the midst of the flames. I can never for- 
 get the horror of it all! Those bright 
 flames in the darkness of night! The fire 
 raged ten hours! It is just out; but even 
 now it is smouldering in places, which are 
 being watched. Many hundreds of fam- 
 ilies are destitute. Uncle John, Aunt 
 Betty, Prissy and I have worked hard all 
 day to relieve sufferers. We have one poor 
 family that we are taking care of in our 
 house. How sad to look around and see 
 the blackened ruins! And oh, the smell of 
 it all! The horrid, horrid, charred smell! 
 Truly we are living in terrible times! 
 Oct. 7. Uncle John has everything to please 
 him now! Our town is entirely British! 
 His Majesty's Forces are in possession of 
 New York, with all the harbor and Sound, 
 of Long and Staten Islands and nearly all 
 of New York Island. They are also in pos- 
 session of Powles Hook and command the 
 East River and Connecticut Sound. So 
 vast a Fleet has never been seen together in 
 this part, or, perhaps, in all America be-
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 247 
 
 fore. The Ships are stationed up the East 
 River, or Sound, as far as Turtle Bay. 
 Near the Town the multitude of masts car- 
 ries the appearance of a wood. Some are 
 moored in the North River; others in the 
 Bay between Red and Yellow Hook; some 
 off Staten Island; and several off Powles 
 Hook and towards the Kills. The Men-of- 
 War are moored chiefly up New York 
 Sound and make, with the other ships, a 
 very magnificent and formidable appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Jan. 3, 1777. Bought a new squirrel muff 
 and tippet at Lyon Jonas's in Broad Street. 
 Muffs are large this year. Mine seems im- 
 mense. The tippet is small, but very mod- 
 ish. 
 
 Jan. 4. Everybody is studying French with 
 M. Teniere, lately arrived from Paris. I 
 am going to begin next week. Read the 
 Earl of Chesterfield's Letters to His Son, 
 just imported. 
 
 Jan. 25. Uncle John, Aunt Betty, Cousin 
 Hannah, Cousin Tom, Mr. Ludlow and I 
 went to the opening of the little theatre in 
 John Street, now the Royal Theatre. The 
 play was Tom Thumb, the celebrated bur-
 
 248 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 lesque written by the late Mr. Fielding to 
 ridicule the bathos of several dramatic 
 pieces that at his time had engrossed the 
 London theatres. 
 
 We sent Prissy and Cousin Hannah's 
 Judy early, to keep our seats for us. The 
 house was crowded. The characters were 
 performed by the Gentlemen of the Army 
 and Navy. The performers showed much 
 spirit and taste. 
 
 The prologue was written and spoken by 
 Captain Stanley. Dr. Beaumont, the sur- 
 geon-general, was monstrous amusing. So 
 was Lieut. Pennefeather. He took the 
 part of Huncamunca. Lieut. P. always 
 plays a woman's part. They say he is fine 
 in the Beaux Stratagem, which the officers 
 are soon going to give. How I should like 
 to see him play Lady Teazle, or Mrs. 
 Malaprop! He is too funny for anything. 
 Aunt Betty and I nearly split our sides 
 laughing, for we know him so well ; but we 
 had never seen him act before. 
 
 Major Williams of the Artillery; Cap- 
 tain Oliver De Lancey of the lyth Dra- 
 goons; Captain Michael Seix of the 22nd 
 Foot; Captain William Loftus of the
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 249 
 
 Guards; Captain Edward Bradden of the 
 1 5th Foot; Captain Phipps, William Hew- 
 let and Major John Andre were the others 
 who took part. Captain De Lancey 
 painted the scenes, except the drop curtain. 
 This was done by Major Andre'. It repre- 
 sented a beautiful prospect a meadow 
 with a winding stream extending a long 
 way into the distance. In the centre is a 
 cascade, the water falling most natural. It 
 is overshadowed by majestic trees. The 
 whole is wonderfully toned and glazed. 
 Everybody was in raptures over it. 
 Jan. 26. Met Lieut. Pennefeather walking 
 in Hanover Square this morning as I was 
 going to Henry Wilmot's to get some 
 double-edged blonde lace for Aunt Betty. 
 I held out my hand and greeted him with 
 
 *O Huncamunca! Huncamunca O!' 
 quoting this line with an expression of great 
 admiration. 
 
 Lieut. P. shook my hand warmly and said 
 it was the nicest congratulation he had had. 
 I told him how much we had enjoyed his 
 acting. He smiled gratefully, but insisted 
 that the honors should go to Dr. Beaumont 
 and Major Andre.
 
 250 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Lieut. P. then asked if he might bring 
 Captain Stanley and Major Andre to call 
 that evening. I said yes ; but come to sup- 
 per. Knew it would please Uncle John. 
 It did. A most delectable evening! We 
 played Quadrille until long after midnight. 
 Aunt Betty and Major Andre were part- 
 ners and Lieut. Pennefeather and I. Lieut. 
 P. and I won. We consulted together in 
 a corner away from the others later and de- 
 cided to buy a new snuff-box for Uncle 
 John with our winnings, as a surprise. I 
 saw some yesterday at Rivington's, just im- 
 ported, of paper, beautifully painted and 
 gilt. 
 
 Feb. 20. I think I am getting to be quite 
 "the taste." I had more attention last night 
 at the Assembly than Patty Deane, who has 
 been the toast of the town for two years. 
 Patty was monstrously vexed. I danced 
 three minuets with J. A. and several coun- 
 try dances. He dances to perfection. The 
 officers were fluttering around me like but- 
 terflies. "Splitt me!" if they weren't! I 
 got that fine expression from Lieut. Penne- 
 feather. He is always saying it, and in 
 such a monstrous funny way.
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 251 
 
 I felt all the evening quite as a flower 
 must feel when it holds out every petal and 
 all its leaves to the butterflies. My butter- 
 flies were red-coated and gold-laced, very 
 gallant and smart. There were others be- 
 sides officers at my feet. Ahem! There 
 were two Maccaronis just from London, 
 who were my devoted slaves. There were 
 two gentlemen from Philadelphia and 
 three from Boston who basked in the sun- 
 light, the moonlight, or the candle light of 
 my charms. I flirted terribly with all of 
 them, Uncle John encouraging me. But 
 there was one devoted admirer that I liked 
 best of all. He shall be nameless. O 
 Diary, even you shall be kept in the dark I 
 
 Yes; I was the ton last night. "Strike 
 me dumb" but I was! Another of Lieut. 
 Pennefeather's favorite exclamations. Aunt 
 Betty was proud of me. So was Uncle 
 John. I think Uncle John wants a wed- 
 ding in his house. Who the bride, I won- 
 der? 
 
 Guion, the new coiffeur, just arrived 
 from London, dressed my hair in the very 
 latest mode. It was the first time I ever 
 wore a tete. It took Guion two hours to
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 build it. I can describe it because I am 
 looking at it now in the glass. 
 
 To begin with, it is at least three feet 
 above my forehead, the hair brushed up 
 perfectly straight. Then come some soft 
 and rounded puffs and a profusion of little 
 curls, some tightly pinned to the head, and 
 some loosely dangling; and when I give 
 my head a shake a playfully, petulant 
 shake they move in the most bewitching 
 manner. At least, that is what Captain 
 Stanley told me last night. 
 
 This style of head is new to me, so I was 
 glad to know that I carried it with ease. 
 But, to go on. My head is built up into a 
 kind of architectural mass. It is a veritable 
 construction worthy of Inigo Jones, Batty 
 Langley, or Sir Christopher Wren. Well, 
 any number of wrens could build among 
 my curls and puffs and I'd be none the 
 wiser. And if we have bees in our bon- 
 nets, why not wrens in our curls? Answer 
 me, O Diary! 
 
 I think Guion must have used several 
 bushels of horsehair and wool, eight or ten 
 pots of pomade and several bags of scented 
 powder. While he was composing this
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 253 
 
 monument, every now and again he would 
 walk away to a distance and survey me; 
 first on one side, then directly in front, then 
 from the back and then on the other side, 
 squinting his eyes and looking at me 
 through his lorgnette. When it was all 
 built up and perfectly satisfactory, he pow- 
 dered it with a sweet-scented powder of a 
 pale pinkish hue. He tried the effect of 
 several powders against my skin, and said 
 this was the most becoming to my complex- 
 ion. Then, when the powdering was fin- 
 ished, he wound in and out among my 
 curls yards and yards and yards of the love- 
 liest pale blue gauze ribbon with a silver 
 thread running through it! I think he 
 used fifteen yards. (I mean to measure it 
 when my head is taken to pieces next week) 
 and he made the most modish loops and 
 knots and bows that I ever saw. Guion has 
 the most skilful fingers! 
 
 But this is not all, O Diary! I have 
 every kind of fruit on my tete, I think, that 
 ever grew in the Garden of Eden, or in Mr. 
 William Prince's nurseries at Flushing. 
 For example, I have a big bunch of red 
 morello cherries on the right, by the side
 
 254 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 of three large curls ; I have peaches, plums, 
 apricots, pears and crab-apples (beauties) 
 at the puffs on top where there is the great- 
 est height; and I have strawberries, cur- 
 rants, gooseberries and grapes at the back. 
 On the left side a cascade of ribbon falls 
 nearly to my shoulders. 
 
 My dress but why speak of my dress 
 after my head? My dress was blue and sil- 
 ver brocade trimmed with a profusion of 
 blonde lace. My slippers were blue satin 
 with very high heels and glittering paste 
 buckles. 
 
 "I have just had these in my hand," Mil- 
 dred exclaimed; and then read on: 
 
 Captain De Lancey said I was the most 
 perfect female Maccaroni he had seen in 
 New York as yet. 
 
 Guion also dressed Aunt Betty's head. 
 She wore fourteen tall puce-colored ostrich 
 feathers arranged "a la Reine" or the style 
 that Marie Antoinette most approves, some 
 turned down towards the face and some 
 turned up; and below them a band of puce- 
 colored ribbon tied in a bow. Aunt Betty
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 255 
 
 carried her headdress like a queen herself. 
 Guion darkened her eyebrows very much, 
 which made her very handsome. She wore 
 a great number of mouches, which Guion 
 cut in the latest style chiefly little stars and 
 crescents. They were most becoming. 
 Aunt Betty carried the new patch-box I 
 gave her at Christmas. I got it at Oliver 
 Bruff's in Maiden Lane. I didn't tell 
 Aunt Betty what I paid for it. I did 
 Uncle John though; and he said it was all 
 right. Aunt Betty would not approve of 
 my spending two guineas for her when 
 there is so much suffering among our Amer- 
 ican people and food is so dear and getting 
 dearer every day. 
 
 Uncle John thinks differently. He paid 
 Guion two hundred pounds for dressing 
 Aunt Betty's and my heads! We keep the 
 fruits and feathers and ribbons, so we shall 
 have something to show for it when our 
 heads are taken apart. 
 
 Oh, I haven't finished with the Assem- 
 bly! Oh, Diary, Diary! where am I run- 
 ning to? Why didn't you refuse to let my 
 quill fly along like the goose on which it 
 grew? Je reviens a mes moutons. Ah! I
 
 256 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 am coming to the most important thing of 
 all, my fan! 
 
 I carried a Watteau fan. J. A. wrote a 
 verse on it when I wasn't looking. It was 
 wrote on the plain side behind the picture 
 of Venus in her chariot drawn by doves 
 with Cupid by her side. He took the fan 
 away and did not return it till after sup- 
 per; and then he handed it to me folded. 
 I did not discover the poem until this morn- 
 ing when Prissy called my attention to it. 
 She found it when she was putting away 
 my things. This is the verse : 
 
 "The Paphian goddess, in her chase, 
 Found naught so fair as Dolly's face; 
 In all her journeys through the skies 
 Found naught so fair as Dolly's eyes; 
 Venus her torch doth yield, and doves, 
 To Dolly, now the Queen of Loves!" 
 
 What do you think of that, little Diary, 
 for gallantry? 
 
 Mildred read on and on. She soon no- 
 ticed that the Diary, which had begun to 
 chronicle the thrilling history of Revolution- 
 ary days, became by degrees a personal rec- 
 ord of the young girl, who was both a belle
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 257 
 
 and a patriot, now mingling in the gaieties 
 of New York and now busy making clothes 
 for the American soldiers and helping her 
 charitable Aunt Betty alleviate the miseries 
 of the afflicted, impoverished and distressed. 
 Soon through the records of her daily life of 
 pleasures and duties the golden thread of love 
 began to intertwine. ^References to J. A. be- 
 came increasingly frequent. He took walks 
 with her; he danced with her; he played cards 
 with her; he rode with her; he wrote verses 
 to her; he made little pen-and-ink sketches 
 for her; and, above all, he frequently sang 
 to her accompaniments on the harpsichord. 
 What particularly struck Mildred was the 
 fact that J. A. and Dolly found so much de- 
 light in the enjoyment of music together. 
 When he was absent from town, Dolly was in- 
 consolable and poured out the longings for the 
 beloved one that absence creates upon the 
 pages of the little book that evidently became 
 to Dolly a sympathetic friend who received 
 confidences that she could not voice even 
 to her dearly-loved Aunt Betty. When- 
 ever J. A. returned to New York, the Diary 
 bubbled over with Dolly's outbursts of 
 joy.
 
 258 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 The romance culminated in the winter of 
 1780. There was reference to a letter in 
 which J. A. offered Dolly his hand and heart. 
 On the same page was a record of Dolly's an- 
 swer, which cost her so much to give. The 
 Diary bore witness to Dolly's struggle, dis- 
 tress of mind and sacrifice. 
 
 The last entry was : 
 
 Jan. 19, 1780. Yesterday was the Queen's 
 Birthday. The Royal salute began at 
 noon, fired from Fort George and repeated 
 by the ships-of-war at two o'clock. Uncle 
 John went to the grand dinner given by 
 General Tryon to General Knyphausen, 
 General Philips, General Pattison, com- 
 mandant of the city, Baron Riedesel and 
 others. The Ball given by the officers of 
 the Army was magnificent. It cost two 
 thousand guineas! It was opened by 
 Major-General Pattison and the Baroness 
 Riedesel, a very attractive woman. The 
 country-dances began at nine thirty. At 
 twelve, supper; in the two long rooms. The 
 tables exhibited a most elegant appearance, 
 being ornamented with Parterres and Ar- 
 bors displaying an elegant assemblage of
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY DIARY 259 
 
 natural and artificial flowers, China images, 
 etc. We did not get home till after three 
 in the morning. 
 
 J. A. danced the minuet with me just be- 
 fore supper. He asked if my letter was fi- 
 nal. Told him yes that I could not bring 
 myself to marry any one who was fighting 
 against the cause which was so dear to me. 
 
 "Ever, ever thine," he murmured in my 
 ear, as he gave me his arm and we went into 
 the supper rooms. Both much agitated, but 
 had to face the company. Major-General 
 Pattison, who had taken out the Baroness 
 Riedesel, soon catching sight of my escort, 
 said in a loud voice so that everybody could 
 hear him: "I call upon the adjutant-gen- 
 eral for a song. We all know what a brave 
 soldier he is; and yet music is, perhaps, not 
 the least of his accomplishments. Ladies 
 and gentlemen, I offer the toast, our worthy 
 adjutant-general, the brave soldier and the 
 accomplished gentleman, Major John An- 
 dre!" 
 
 Came home and sat alone for hours in 
 my room until the sun rose. I am full 
 of sorrow and oppressed with the sense of 
 solitude,
 
 260 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Mildred closed the little book. For a 
 while she was lost in thought. Then she re- 
 placed the Diary in the box, shut the lid and 
 turned the key. 
 
 "I will take this box to the attic," she said, 
 "and put it back among her things. The 
 story is a sacred and personal one; and I will 
 keep it so."
 
 'CHAPTER XXI 
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 
 
 WHEN Mildred returned to Mrs. Car- 
 roll's she tried to feel as if she were 
 coming home; but it was no use. Boarding- 
 house life was more depressing than ever. 
 Several days passed before she became ad- 
 justed again to the scenes. Moreover, it was 
 very warm and she felt the change from the 
 country. 
 
 One morning as she was ascending the 
 stairs just after breakfast and wondering how 
 she could possibly live through another sum- 
 mer in such small quarters, she met Miss Jes- 
 sie Swann, returning from an early walk to 
 the florist's. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Ashton," the latter exclaimed, 
 "how glad I am to see you. I didn't know 
 you had got back yet. My sister and I have 
 been talking about you and we want to see 
 you. We have something we want to talk 
 over with you. Can you spare us a few min- 
 utes?"
 
 262 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "With pleasure," Mildred responded, fol- 
 lowing Miss Jessie into the sitting-room, 
 which looked so cool and refreshing in its 
 summer attire of new white matting, furni- 
 ture covers of crisp linen and the mirrors and 
 pictures immaculate in their neatly stretched 
 veilings of white net 
 
 "Hatty!" she called. "Here's Miss Ash- 
 ton." 
 
 "Oh, how do you do, Miss Ashton, I am so 
 glad to see you," said Miss Hatty, entering 
 from the inner room. "Do sit down a few 
 minutes. My sister and I have been wanting 
 to see you. We have decided to go to Eu- 
 rope," and Miss Hatty paused a moment, for 
 she had not become quite accustomed to this 
 startling fact; "and we want you to go with 
 us. It is very sudden for us, because we gen- 
 erally make our plans a long way ahead; but 
 we have never been abroad and Jessie is so 
 anxious to go that she has persuaded me. 
 You know Europe; and we think it would be 
 so nice if you would go with us. We want 
 you to arrange the whole trip; and, as you 
 know the ropes, we will leave everything to 
 you. Will you think it over?"
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 263 
 
 "I can answer now," replied Mildred. "I 
 shall be delighted to go." 
 
 "Don't feel obliged to answer at once," 
 said Miss Hatty, who was deliberate. 
 "Wouldn't you like to take a night's sleep on 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh, how sweet you are!" exclaimed the 
 enthusiastic Miss Jessie, putting her hand 
 gently on Mildred's arm. 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you," said Mildred to Miss 
 Hatty. "I always know my own mind 
 quickly. I think it would be delightful. 
 How long do you intend to stay?" 
 
 "Why," said Miss Jessie, who was unfold- 
 ing the white tissue paper that contained the 
 roses she had just purchased, "we think of 
 staying a little over a year. We want to sail 
 as soon as we can get passage the end of this 
 month, perhaps and, of course, being there 
 through the winter, we may as well spend the 
 summer and come back a year from next Oc- 
 tober." 
 
 "That gives us two summers and a winter 
 in Europe," added Miss Hatty. 
 
 "I think that is a lovely plan," said Mil- 
 dred. "What are you going to do with
 
 264 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Cora?" she added, as the latter entered with 
 a vase for Miss Jessie. 
 
 "Why, Cora goes with us, of course," said 
 Miss Hatty. 
 
 "Do you want to go, Cora?" asked Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 "Yes'm," answered the grinning Cora, her 
 dark skin having turned a little dull and 
 ashy. "Yes'm, I wants to go; but I'se 
 skeered. Miss Hatty, she skeered, too; but 
 she don't let on, like I does." 
 
 "Oh, we couldn't think of leaving Cora," 
 said Miss Jessie. "We couldn't do without 
 Cora. She's one of the family." 
 
 "I certainly is," said Cora, who was watch- 
 ing Miss Jessie arrange the flowers. "I cer- 
 tainly is. I couldn't do without you-all, 
 either. If you-all goes to de bott'm, I goes, 
 
 too." 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" Mildred 
 asked Miss Hatty. 
 
 "We want you to lay out the whole trip, 
 Miss Ashton," explained Miss Swann. 
 
 "Then," said Mildred, "the first thing to do 
 is to telephone right away to the steamship 
 companies and get them to send us lists of 
 sailings."
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 265 
 
 "Yes. Use our telephone. Call them up 
 now," suggested Miss Hatty, who was begin- 
 ning to get excited. 
 
 "Do you care about any special line?" 
 asked Mildred. 
 
 "No," replied Miss Jessie. 
 
 "I always used to go with my aunt, Mrs. 
 Van Norden, on the French line," said Mil- 
 dred. "How would you like to take a 
 French steamer? We could go from Cher- 
 bourg directly to Paris unless you would 
 rather go to England first." 
 
 "No," said Miss Jessie. "I want to go 
 right straight to Paris." 
 
 "See how frivolous my sister is," laughed 
 Miss Hatty. "Nothing but Paris will suit 
 her!" 
 
 "But, Hatty," Miss Jessie objected, "Paris 
 isn't entirely frivolous. The Louvre, for in- 
 stance, isn't frivolous. I have always wanted 
 to see the Louvre." 
 
 "Let's leave England until the very last," 
 suggested Miss Hatty. "I want to go to 
 Switzerland and to Italy. I care more about 
 seeing Italy than any other country. I want 
 to go to Venice and to Florence and to 
 Rome."
 
 266 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Suppose then," said Mildred, "that we 
 spend the winter in Italy having Easter in 
 Rome then the early spring in Paris, get to 
 London in May for the season and give the 
 rest of the summer to England. We could 
 take an English steamer home, from Liver- 
 pool, or Southampton." 
 
 'That sounds delightful, Miss Ashton," 
 said Miss Hatty. 
 
 "Oh, I think it is splendid!" cried Miss 
 Jessie. "Perfectly splendid! I'm so glad we 
 are going!" 
 
 "I am, too," said Miss Hatty; "but oh! to 
 think of what we shall have to do to get 
 ready!" 
 
 "I reck'n Cora's got to whirl in and be 
 mighty busy, too," ejaculated Cora. 
 
 "I reckon she has," said Miss Jessie, em- 
 phatically, looking, with a smile, at Cora. 
 "We'll never get to Europe, if you stand still 
 like this all day." 
 
 Cora never moved. She merely showed 
 more of her large, white teeth, for she knew 
 perfectly well that Miss Jessie was joking and 
 that she was more than willing that Cora 
 should hear the discussion of all the arrange-
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 267 
 
 ments for the trip in which she was to have 
 a part. 
 
 "All right," said Mildred, rising, "I will 
 lay out two or three tours and telephone to 
 the office of the French company, and I'll run 
 down again later. Shall you be in this after- 
 noon, Miss Swann?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Miss Hatty, "think of 
 the letters that we have to write!" 
 
 "Come in at five o'clock," said Miss Jes- 
 sie, "and have a cup of tea with us." 
 
 "Let her come before five, Jessie," said 
 Miss Hatty. "Come early, Miss Ashton, and 
 stay to tea." 
 
 "Then I'll be in about four o'clock," said 
 Mildred, "and we'll talk it all over. I am 
 perfectly delighted to go, and I can't thank 
 you half enough for wanting me." 
 
 It was not long before this important piece 
 of news was circulated throughout the board- 
 ing-house; but the greatest effect was felt in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Cora, who already occupied the seat of 
 honor at the kitchen table, began to assume 
 an extra air of dignity and importance. 
 Oscar and Saidee, duly impressed with her
 
 268 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 forthcoming trip, accorded to her all that she 
 demanded. Cora was looked upon already 
 as a heroine and traveller into mysterious and 
 unknown regions. 
 
 iWhen it was agreed that the little party 
 should sail in three weeks, Mildred, too, 
 found that she had much to do. One after- 
 noon, after she had been paying a few calls 
 on the East side, she concluded to walk home. 
 
 Wending her way rather slowly along 
 Fifth Avenue, Mildred had just crossed 
 Fifty-seventh Street, when she saw coming 
 towards her a rather slim figure in a tight 
 fitting frock coat, tall collar, bright necktie 
 and top hat. It looked familiar. 
 
 "Oh, good heavens!" she said to herself, "I 
 believe that's Bernard Fogg! I hope he 
 hasn't seen me!" 
 
 Alas! Mildred, alack and alas for you! He 
 has seen you. In fact, he has been following 
 you all the afternoon, walking on the other 
 side of the street. He has walked a little 
 faster this last block and crossed. Now he is 
 coming to meet you. You can't escape him. 
 
 "Good evening," said Fogg, lifting his hat. 
 "I will join you. You are going home, I 
 fancy?"
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 269 
 
 "Yes," replied Mildred, "I am going 
 home." 
 
 There was no help for it. 
 
 Apart from the annoyance of his unwished- 
 for presence, Mildred hoped she would meet 
 none of her friends. What would they 
 think! 
 
 At any rate, she hacl to try to accept the 
 situation with as much composure as she 
 could muster, so she tried to make the best 
 of it. 
 
 "It is a lovely afternoon," she said, "but it 
 is getting a little warm. Fifth Avenue al- 
 ready begins to look deserted. Everybody 
 will soon be going away." 
 
 Mildred unwittingly played into her es- 
 cort's hand. This gave him his chance. 
 
 "I hear you are going to Europe, Miss 
 Ashton," said Bernard Fogg, "with some 
 friends. How would you like to go with 
 me?" 
 
 Mildred looked amazed. 
 
 "I mean, of course, as Mrs. Bernard Fogg." 
 
 Mildred laughed merrily. She could not 
 help it. 
 
 Mistaking the meaning of her laugh, Mr. 
 Fogg continued: "I have been thinking
 
 a;o A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 about this for a long time. So you see it is 
 nothing new to me; in fact, I have quite 
 made up my mind to it." 
 
 Mildred laughed again. It was too ridicu- 
 lous. 
 
 "You see," he went on, "living is really 
 cheaper for two than for one. I get three 
 pounds I mean fifteen dollars a week; and 
 that is plenty for two people. I have many 
 friends in London who would consider three 
 pounds a week quite a bit of money. How 
 much do you make, Miss Ashton?" 
 
 "Well, that is rather a private and personal 
 affair," replied Mildred, in cool tones, 
 haughtily. 
 
 "Oh but it isn't, you know. Not alto- 
 gether. It's partly my affair. I am making 
 it my affair. I was thinking that you and I 
 together might count on five pounds a week. 
 Five pounds a week!" he repeated. "That 
 is quite a bit of money! Our music, too 
 you could accompany me and you have such 
 good connections. You could get me draw- 
 ing-room engagements that would add quite 
 a little to our income. Besides," he contin- 
 ued, "I have saved a little and we could use 
 this for a trip home. I should like my fam-
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 271 
 
 ily to see you, Miss Ashton. We can soon get 
 summer rates ; and, of course, we will go sec- 
 ond class." 
 
 "What?" cried Mildred. 
 
 "Of course," said Bernard Fogg. "Why, 
 aren't you and the Swanns going second 
 class?" 
 
 "Why, no," said Mildred. She was look- 
 ing at him now with a steady, level gaze. 
 
 Mr. Fogg failed to catch the meaning of 
 her glance. 
 
 "Why, I always travel second-class," he 
 said, "and so do my sisters. I should never 
 want my wife Mrs. Bernard Fogg to have 
 anything better than my sisters have had." 
 
 "Mr. Fogg," said Mildred, coldly, "you 
 don't understand me at all. If you did, you 
 wouldn't be wasting your time and mine on a 
 matter to which there can be but one answer. 
 I couldn't consider this for a moment." 
 
 "Yes, but you will," replied Bernard Fogg, 
 "you will consider it for a good many mo- 
 ments. Women always talk like this. In 
 fact, I expected some such answer." 
 
 "I am glad you did," was Mildred's sharp 
 retort, "for then you won't get a shock." 
 
 "I like to see you when you talk like this.
 
 272 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 It gives you such a pretty color," said Mr. 
 Fogg; "you look quite like an English girl 
 
 now." 
 
 Mildred had reached the end of her pa- 
 tience. What could she do? Here she was 
 only at Forty-second Street! She counted 
 two more blocks on Fifth Avenue, and then 
 Madison Avenue and Park Avenue to cross, 
 and another long block to Lexington Avenue. 
 "I believe I have twenty minutes more of 
 this!" she said. "How can I stand it!" 
 
 "You will come to think of this as I do," 
 said Bernard Fogg. "You will come to 
 think of everything as I do in time." 
 
 Mildred looked at him. "God forbid!" 
 she thought. 
 
 "Moreover," he went on, "you will come 
 to think as I want you to think. You will 
 learn to be an English wife in time. I think 
 you have the making of a very good wife, 
 Mildred." 
 
 "Address me as Miss Ashton, if you please," 
 said Mildred, her lips quivering and her 
 cheeks burning with indignation. 
 
 "You have a splendid color now," said 
 Fogg admiringly. "I like it, you know 
 really now, very much."
 
 TWO INVITATIONS 273 
 
 Mildred resolved to walk the rest of the 
 way in silence. Not a word more was spoken 
 as the two passed through the soft blue even- 
 ing mist that had descended upon the streets 
 and through which the lights from the tall 
 buildings began to glimmer. At last the cor- 
 ner of Lexington Avenue was reached; and 
 never had Mrs. Carroll's door looked so wel- 
 come to Mildred. 
 
 "Now," said Bernard Fogg, taking his 
 latch-key from his pocket and opening the 
 door, "you will think this over and " 
 
 "I will do nothing of the kind," said Mil- 
 dred, who had now almost regained her 
 equanimity. "I shall never give it another 
 thought." 
 
 Bernard Fogg turned. Was it possible 
 that she meant what she said? 
 
 "You don't seem to understand," he ex- 
 claimed. "There are a great many girls at 
 home who would be proud to marry me." 
 
 "Go and marry them then," said Mildred; 
 "all of them!" Then she added: "I will not 
 tell you, Mr. Fogg, what I really think of 
 you, for I do not believe you would care to 
 hear it. Only this; please don't bring up 
 this subject again, Mr. Fogg."
 
 274 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Something in her imperious manner com- 
 pelled Fogg to stand aside. Mildred darted 
 into the hall and up the stairs, with the de- 
 termination to find Mrs. Carroll and ask her 
 to change her seat, or Fogg's, at the table. 
 "I'll tell Mrs. Carroll why," she said. "I 
 can't stand a repetition of this. Mrs. Carroll 
 will be furious!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A SUNDAY MORNING 
 
 THE crisp, flat sheets of the Sunday papers 
 lay unfolded on the large table in the 
 Conway library and no sound broke the still- 
 ness of the room except the ticking of the 
 clock, the ringing of the Westminster chimes 
 at every quarter, and the occasional scratch- 
 ing of a match, as Jack Conway started a fresh 
 cigar, or renewed the light of one partially 
 smoked. 
 
 Jack had been up since six o'clock. 
 
 He had taken an early stroll in Central 
 Park, which was still wearing its June beauty, 
 and had lounged for a while on one of the 
 benches feeding the squirrels and watching 
 their antics and labors. Returning, he had 
 breakfasted lightly alone, as usual and had 
 retired to the library, where he was accus- 
 tomed to spend his Sunday mornings. 
 
 As a rule, he read the papers thoroughly 
 and then glanced over the new American, 
 
 275
 
 276 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 English and French novels that came regu- 
 larly every week from a Fifth Avenue book- 
 seller. 
 
 It was a duty of Francois to open the heavy 
 package immediately on its arrival, so that 
 the new volumes might be displayed on the 
 library table without delay and be within reach 
 of everybody. But this morning the master 
 of the house was as indifferent to literature as 
 he was to the newspapers. 
 
 Taking a strong cigar from the box that was 
 standing open near the pile of newspapers, 
 Jack lit it thoughtfully and dropped into an 
 easy chair. Hours passed, and still he sat 
 there, contemplating not only the cigar and 
 the smoke, but the past, present and future of 
 Jack Conway, the millionaire broker, whose 
 fortune had not brought him the one thing he 
 desired, happiness. 
 
 These morning hours passed away like the 
 cigars, leaving no trace behind but the ashes 
 of buried hopes. 
 
 Was it only yesterday afternoon that he saw 
 Mildred off for Europe? 
 
 It seemed an age already 1 Would Time 
 make this parting easier, or harder? 
 
 Jack had known for three months that his
 
 A SUNDAY MORNING 277 
 
 dream was over, that Mildred never could 
 be his; but he had realized it the more sharply 
 and emphatically yesterday when he heard 
 that deep, sombre note of the steamer as she 
 bade the shore farewell and bore Mildred out 
 into the vasty deep, like some huge bird, a 
 roc of the Thousand and One Nights, per- 
 haps, carrying off a peerless princess while the 
 bystanders looked on, helpless. 
 
 Mildred was gone, gone for a year! And 
 with her departure the brightness of the sun- 
 light, the tenderness of the moonlight, the per- 
 fume of flowers and all the joy and vitality 
 of existence had vanished, too. Nothing was 
 left. Life seemed cold, hard and unbeautiful. 
 
 The daily vase of Catherine Mermets was 
 standing on the table. It happened to be near 
 Jack's box of cigars. Jack remembered how 
 often Mildred used to take a rose out of this 
 very vase and put it on. She wore one that 
 memorable night of Tristan. 
 
 Jack rang for Francois. 
 
 "Franqois, otez les fleurs. Elles me font 
 du mal ce matin." 
 
 "Ota, M'sieur" replied the butler, as he 
 bore away the roses in wonderment at this un- 
 usual order.
 
 278 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Associations were not only painful, but 
 every sound went through Jack like a sharp 
 stab. The hoot of a passing automobile, the 
 occasional ringing of the telephone and the 
 voice of Frangois attending to it, the strains 
 of a Chopin Polonaise coming in from a 
 neighbor's open window, the pat-pat-pat of 
 Pompon's tiny feet as he, in search of com- 
 pany, ran in to make a visit, awakened Jack 
 to the realization of how sensitive the nerves 
 of the ear are when the heart is aching. 
 
 Jack did not intend to bear the strain of the 
 present much longer. The setting of his 
 troubled existence was soon to be changed; 
 and even if Sorrow must henceforth be his 
 companion new scenes might prevent him 
 from going mad, as he sometimes felt he must. 
 
 It was easy for Jack to order his life in 
 fresh fields in a dignified way. How simple 
 a matter to open a branch of his bank in 
 Shanghai; and what more natural than that 
 the senior partner should be on the spot to 
 organize it? 
 
 Jack had arranged every detail, although 
 he had not told Louise of it, as yet. His pur- 
 pose was to leave New York in two weeks. 
 He thought he would go through the form of
 
 A SUNDAY MORNING 279 
 
 inviting Louise to accompany him. She 
 would refuse, of course, and then would fol- 
 low naturally a discussion of her future plans. 
 Jack would then announce that he intended 
 to remain in China indefinitely. Louise 
 would understand by that that she would be 
 free to arrange her life as she pleased. 
 
 There were to be no guests to luncheon ; and 
 Jack had, therefore, decided that he would 
 see Louise immediately after their noon meal 
 and "have it over." 
 
 If Jack had spent a more indolent morning 
 than usual, Louise had spent a much busier 
 one. As a rule, she rose on Sundays just in 
 time for luncheon, and tripped downstairs to 
 meet her guests with a fresh complexion, 
 bright eyes and a ravishing costume. 
 
 This morning, however, she rose soon after 
 the first rays of the sun, piercing through the 
 window-curtains of daffodil silk, played with 
 the rich silver toilet articles on the dressing- 
 table. She had dressed quickly and with- 
 out the assistance of Annette. 
 
 Louise had much to do. 
 
 "I wish," she exclaimed, petulantly, as she 
 seated herself before her desk, "I wish I had 
 not promised Phil that I would sail next week.
 
 2&> A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 It gives me so little time. I am so flurried 
 already that I am nearly beside myself. I've 
 got a great deal to do before I can get off com- 
 fortably; and there are always so many things 
 that come up unexpectedly. This is a nui- 
 sance a perfect nuisance! There is a lot of 
 business to be attended to, too. When things 
 are well put together and run along easily, 
 Life is perfectly simple; but when you begin 
 to pull things to pieces oh ! what a mess you 
 make! This little establishment is running 
 along smoothly; I have everything just as I 
 want it; Jack lets me alone; I do as I please; 
 I have hosts of nice friends; I have why 
 should I go anyhow? What am I going to 
 gain by it? I don't know if I am not giving 
 up too much after all !" 
 
 Louise's glance travelled rapidly around the 
 room with all its elegancies and luxuries. It 
 was hard to detach herself from this charm- 
 ing boudoir, furnished precisely to her liking 
 in the style Pompadour, after many confer- 
 ences with an experienced decorator. Then 
 her mind quickly placed before her in rapid 
 succession pictures of the familiar drawing- 
 rooms, the hall, the reception-room, the li- 
 brary, the dining-room and the model French
 
 A SUNDAY MORNING 281 
 
 kitchen, where such choice dishes were pre- 
 pared. Everything was certainly not only 
 beautifully appointed, but in perfect running 
 order. 
 
 "Yes ; Phil De Witt has asked a great deal 
 of me," Louise said aloud. "A very great 
 deal. What has he ta offer in return for my 
 sacrifice?" 
 
 Louise, to her own intense surprise, was be- 
 ginning to realize that the idea of Philip De 
 Witt's sole companionship spread over an in- 
 definite period of European travel was likely 
 to pall upon her, now that matters were draw- 
 ing to a focus. 
 
 Was Philip De Witt growing a little fade 
 already? 
 
 "Why should I leave this?" she mused. "I 
 know what I have. 'Better bear' how is it? 
 'Better bear the ills we have than fly to those 
 we we' I forget how it goes. But never 
 mind! I'm as happy as most of the people 
 I know. I think I will call it off! Why, 
 Pompon!" turning to the little dog as he 
 bounded into the room and jumped into her 
 lap. "Where have you been? You naughty, 
 naughty darling, not to have been to see me 
 before this morning! Why didn't you? Oh,
 
 282 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 I know. I am up so much earlier than usual. 
 N'est ce pas, duckie? Pompon, beeyootiful 
 sing, I think you have just missed a trip to 
 Europe! I'm not quite sure; but I think we 
 are not going, after all!" 
 
 Then changing her voice to a more serious 
 tone, Louise said: "I believe I'll call Phil 
 up now and tell him to postpone the sailing 
 for another week. That will give me time to 
 think it all over and balance up the whole 
 thing more carefully. I'm not a flighty girl 
 of eighteen and I have a position to consider. 
 It's true people don't think of divorce as they 
 did when I was a child; but, after all, an es- 
 tablished position, free from any touch of 
 scandal, counts for something in the world. 
 It is not a question of right or wrong at 
 least, it doesn't seem so to me it's a question 
 of taste!" Then she laughed, adding: 
 ''Perhaps I'm losing my taste for Phil! I'll 
 call him up, any way, and change the date. 
 Jump down, Pompon! Be quiet now; I'm 
 going to telephone." 
 
 As Louise held up her finger, the obedient 
 little dog sat down on the folds of her loose 
 gown and watched his mistress as she tele- 
 phoned, pricking up his ears to listen.
 
 A SUNDAY MORNING 283 
 
 "Phil, I suppose you are amazed to be called 
 up by me at this outrageously early hour; but 
 I want to tell you that I can't possibly get off 
 by next Saturday. I've been up ages already, 
 working at my desk; and I see that it will be 
 perfectly impossible for me to manage it. 
 There's so much to do* Now run along, like 
 a dear, to-morrow morning the first thing to 
 the White Star office and change the sailing 
 to the next week; and if you can't get passage 
 then, take the week after. Perhaps that 
 would be still better anyway." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 Pompon gave two short, sharp barks and 
 then broke out into a series of whines: what 
 was the matter with dear Mistress? 
 
 On hearing the reply to her airy command, 
 Louise's face had turned white and hard. 
 Every particle of color had also left her lips. 
 The hand that held the telephone trembled 
 with agitation. 
 
 Mr. Phil De Witt had made a mistake. He 
 had given evidence of his high temper and in- 
 flexible will a little too soon. Mr. De Witt 
 had no idea of losing Louise now that he had 
 brought her to the point; and he, therefore, 
 received her instructions in a mood that as-
 
 284 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 tonished Louise beyond bounds. His blunt 
 phrases also gave her a shock; for Mr. De 
 Witt told Mrs. Conway very peremptorily 
 that she must be ready; that everything was 
 arranged; and that he would not consider 
 changing the plans now. 
 
 There was, moreover, a new note in his 
 voice, to which Louise was unaccustomed 
 from him, or from any one else, a note of 
 angry determination. 
 
 Louise's quick mind suddenly filled with a 
 suggestion that perhaps Mr. Philip De Witt, 
 as a guest in the Conway house and Mr. Philip 
 De Witt under every day conditions might 
 prove to be two different personages. 
 
 Louise was frightened as well as irritated. 
 
 There was a pause; and then Pompon heard 
 Louise's voice in a very cold and emphatic 
 tone saying: "You needn't come at all this 
 afternoon. I sha'n't see you if you do. I 
 shall be very tired and I intend to be excused 
 to every one. Good-bye." 
 
 Louise stood the telephone on her desk and 
 hung up the receiver. "Well !" she exclaimed, 
 taking a deep breath. "Well I I'm lucky to 
 find this out nowl"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 'TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP 
 
 into the library, Louise," said 
 Jack, immediately after luncheon. 
 "I've something I want to talk to you about." 
 
 "That sounds serious," replied Louise. 
 "Yes, I'll come. I was going to write some 
 letters, but they can wait." 
 
 Following her husband into his den, Lou- 
 ise was no sooner seated in the chair that Jack 
 had pulled forward for her near the cool 
 breeze that was slightly waving the curtains 
 of the one large window, than she exclaimed : 
 "Oh, dear! what a smell of stale smoke! 
 Jack, you must have been smoking the whole 
 morning. I can't possibly listen to you in 
 this stuffy atmosphere. Let's take a drive. 
 You order the car for five o'clock; and in 
 the meantime, I'll go and take a rest. I'm 
 dreadfully tired. I've been up since day- 
 break. I'll be ready between five and half- 
 
 past I haven't had any fresh air all day. 
 
 285
 
 286 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 I'd like a drive very much. I suppose the 
 matter can wait that long, can't it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Louise," answered Jack. "And 
 it won't take very long to discuss. If you 
 want a drive, I'll be very glad to go with 
 you. The air will do us both good." 
 
 "All right," replied Louise, as she fluttered 
 away. 
 
 "I knew Jack was planning to make a 
 move," Louise said to herself, as she threw 
 her dressing-gown around her and took a rest- 
 ful posture on the sofa in her bedroom. "I 
 wonder what he is going to do? I shall soon 
 know. All this upheaval and uncertainty is 
 extremely trying. However, I will try to for- 
 get everything for a while and get a little 
 nap." 
 
 Pushing the electric button near the sofa 
 that always summoned Annette, Louise told 
 her maid to call her at half-past four and that 
 she would wear her new taupe crepe de chine 
 and brown hat with the blue plumes. 
 
 At half-past five Louise floated down 
 stairs, looking very fresh and charming. Her 
 costume was most becoming; and, as she 
 stopped before the mirror in the hall to tie 
 on her long blue chiffon veil, Jack noticed
 
 TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP 287 
 
 the fine lines of her new gown and her stylish 
 slippers that matched the costume. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" asked Jack, as the 
 chauffeur, with his hand on the wheel, turned 
 his head for the order. 
 
 "Oh, I don't care," said Louise. "Let's 
 have a couple of hours,." 
 
 "Go up Riverside," said Jack to the chauf- 
 feur. 
 
 For a little while neither spoke. The day 
 had been very warm. It was pleasant to sit 
 quietly and enjoy the refreshing air as the 
 motor sped through Central Park. Pres- 
 ently, when they were well along Riverside 
 Drive, Jack broke the silence. 
 
 "I am going to open a bank in Shanghai, 
 Louise, and I am going there to run it myself 
 for a time." 
 
 "You are?" exclaimed Louise, a little 
 startled by this announcement. "When do 
 you expect to go?" 
 
 "In two weeks," replied Jack. "My ar- 
 rangements are all made." 
 
 "Isn't this rather sudden?" asked Louise. 
 
 "No," Jack answered. "I've had it under 
 consideration for some time. Everything 
 seems sudden when it happens, you know.
 
 288 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 The question that concerns me now," he added 
 after a pause, "is what shall we do with the 
 house. Would you care to keep it, or shall 
 we sell out, or shall we store the furniture and 
 rent the house, or shall we try to rent it fur- 
 nished? I want your ideas." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," answered Louise, 
 who at that moment when her tasteful and 
 comfortable home seemed to be drifting away 
 from her, began to cherish a warm feeling for 
 the house and all it contained. Quickly her 
 mind, penetrating into the future, saw Louise 
 Conway without a background. She did not 
 relish the idea of wandering from pillar to 
 post seeking for new sensations and gossiped 
 about whenever she appeared in London, 
 Paris, or New York society. It would re- 
 quire a great deal of energy to re-establish 
 herself. Mrs. Jack Conway had her place 
 in the world. What position would Mrs. 
 Philip De Witt occupy? The fabric that 
 Philip De Witt had erected rested on shifting 
 sands. Its colors were fading, too. Louise 
 was beginning to have misgivings that Mr. 
 De Witt was not possessed of enough personal 
 charm to hold her interest, much less her af- 
 fection. It was a dangerous experiment.
 
 TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP 289 
 
 Was it worth while? The episode of the tele- 
 phone this morning had brought her to her 
 senses. It was very probable that she might 
 miss Jack's generous treatment. She now had 
 complete independence. Why surrender it? 
 
 There had been a long interval of silence 
 while Louise thought vail this over and Jack 
 mused quietly, his eyes on the beautiful river. 
 
 Again Jack broke the silence. 
 
 "Louise," he said, not reading her thoughts, 
 but imagining that she was trying to come to 
 a decision, "it isn't fair for me to expect you 
 to answer such a question in a minute. Think 
 it over. I suppose," he added with a bitter 
 laugh, "you wouldn't care to go to Shanghai 
 with me?" 
 
 "I'm not at all sure that I wouldn't," was 
 Louise's astonishing answer. "I think I 
 should like to see China very much." 
 
 "Come along then," replied Jack, surprised 
 and bewildered anew as to the rapidly veering 
 mind of woman. 
 
 Louise saw in this trip an easy solution of 
 the whole situation. Besides Jack was a 
 most agreeable travelling companion: he 
 made everything so easy and comfortable. 
 Phil De Witt's travelling qualifications were
 
 290 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 as yet untried. He might be irritable over 
 little things. He looked it. The more Lou- 
 ise considered the question, the more Shang- 
 hai smiled upon her. 
 
 "Yes, Jack," she said, more emphatically, 
 "I think I'd like to go to China very much. 
 We could leave Francois in charge of every- 
 thing; and when we felt like returning the 
 house would be here in readiness undis- 
 turbed to receive us. You have always 
 made life easy for me and I don't see why we 
 should have a domestic earthquake. It is so 
 unnecessary. We are perfectly adjusted to 
 our life, why change things?" 
 
 "I'm willing," replied Jack. "I think we 
 may as well let matters stand as they are. We 
 are as happy as most people, I suppose. One 
 thing we can say for ourselves, we do allow 
 each other perfect liberty and independence. 
 That's something!" 
 
 "It's a great deal to me," replied Louise. 
 "Jack, there is one thing that you are not, 
 and that is a tyrant! You're very easy going 
 and considerate. I was thinking of taking a 
 trip myself, going to Europe. I want new 
 scenes and new people for a time; and I think 
 China is just the thing to interest me."
 
 TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP 291 
 
 "Can you be ready in two weeks?" asked 
 Jack. "I can easily make it a week later, if 
 that would suit you better." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Louise. "Annette will pack 
 everything; and, as we are not going to break 
 up, there is nothing that can't be ordered, or 
 attended to, speedily." 
 
 Again there was an interval of silence. The 
 car now turned into Riverside Drive on its 
 homeward run. 
 
 "What a perfect sunset!" exclaimed Jack. 
 
 "Where?" responded Louise languidly 
 "oh, yes over there. How pretty!" 
 
 The glassy waters of the Hudson were now 
 returning to the skies some of the reflected 
 beauty of the amethystine clouds whose deli- 
 cate golden radiance fast turned into the 
 deeper reds and purples of the afterglow. 
 Soon the darker blues of twilight fell upon 
 the ever-restless waves and the leafy foliage 
 and grassy terraces of the Drive. Here and 
 there a group of slender trees, seen through 
 the veil of evening mist, looked as if they 
 might have been cut from the background of 
 a mural painting by Puvis de Chavannes. 
 
 When the car swirled into Central Park, 
 the blue twilight lay like a scarf upon the
 
 292 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 landscape. The Sunday crowds were begin- 
 ning to scatter and the automobiles were turn- 
 ing on their lights. 
 
 "Any one dining to-night with us?" asked 
 Jack, as he handed Louise out of the car. 
 
 "Only the Taylors." 
 
 "Is De Witt coming?" 
 
 "No," replied Louise. "I didn't invite 
 him for to-night. The Taylors don't like 
 him." 
 
 "What time do we dine?" asked Jack. 
 
 "Half-past eight," replied Louise, as she 
 started up the stairway. 
 
 Before ringing for Annette, Louise seated 
 herself at her desk. 
 
 "What a long day!" she exclaimed, as she 
 counted the hours that had passed since she 
 was sitting in this spot. "What a long, long 
 day!" 
 
 Taking a sheet of delicately perfumed 
 paper from one of the pigeon-holes and dip- 
 ping her pen in the heavy silver inkstand, Lou- 
 ise paused a moment. "Now here goes!" she 
 said: 
 
 Dear Phil: 
 
 You will be surprised to hear that I am going to 
 China on July loth. Jack is opening a bank in Shang-
 
 'TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP 293 
 
 hai. We shall be gone at least a year. This is to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 With best wishes, I am 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 LOUISE CONWAY. 
 
 "There!" said Louise. "That's over! I 
 wish I could see the expression of Phil De 
 Witt's face when he reads this. I know just 
 what he will say what he is all the time say- 
 ing 'You never can depend upon a woman !' '
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 
 
 travels in divers paces with div- 
 ers persons"; and during the twelve 
 months that had passed he had galloped with 
 the European party and had stood still with 
 some of those who had spent this year in New 
 York. 
 
 Life had ebbed away slowly enough with 
 Gilbert Greene, who not only missed the 
 gatherings at the Conways', but the whole city 
 seemed changed with Mildred out of it. 
 There was a sense of desolation everywhere 
 he went. 
 
 Glancing at his calendar on the morning 
 of June the twenty-fourth, as he was shaving, 
 he remembered that it was just a year ago that 
 he had watched the big steamer slipping 
 slowly out of her dock. The picture came 
 back vividly to him at intervals all through 
 the day of Mildred standing out prominently 
 among the travellers at the rail waving hand-
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 295 
 
 kerchiefs, caps and hats to upturned faces of 
 their friends on the pier below. Mildred 
 was wearing the lilies-of-the-valley that he 
 had brought to say the farewell he could not 
 speak; and as she passed from sight he fancied 
 that her last glance was directed to him. 
 
 It was now four o'clock. Gilbert was sit- 
 ting in his office in the top floor of a sky- 
 scraper on Fifth Avenue, just finishing the 
 dictation of a letter, when he was interrupted 
 by the ringing of the telephone on his desk. 
 His stenographer was too well-acquainted 
 with Mr. Greene's expressions not to notice the 
 excitement beneath his voice as he answered: 
 "Why, how are you?" 
 
 (Pause). 
 "When did you get in?" 
 
 (Pause). 
 
 "Yesterday? How nice of you to call me 
 up?" 
 
 (Pause). 
 "That's still nicer." 
 
 (Pause). 
 "This evening?" 
 
 (Pause). 
 
 "Yes, with pleasure. What time?" 
 (Pause).
 
 296 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 "Where are you staying?" 
 
 "All right, then. Eight o'clock. Au re- 
 voir!" 
 
 Gilbert turned to the stenographer: 
 
 "Where were we? Please read that last 
 sentence?" 
 
 "If you agree with me," the stenographer 
 read, "that the Italian villa is the best model 
 for your site " 
 
 "With a series of terraces to the sea-wall," 
 added the architect, "kindly let me hear from 
 you at an early date, and I will send you sev- 
 eral plans. 
 
 "Faithfully yours, 
 
 "That will do, Miss North, thank you, for 
 this afternoon. Just copy this letter and give 
 it to me to sign. I will sign the others to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 A few moments later Gilbert Greene was 
 quickly moving through the busy throng of 
 smartly dressed shoppers on Fifth Avenue 
 and slipping through the long lines of auto- 
 mobiles to his bachelor apartment. 
 
 Three hours is a long time to wait when one 
 has an unexpected and delightful appointment 
 in view. These three hours seemed to Gil- 
 bert the longest he had ever experienced.
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 297 
 
 At a quarter before eight he was walking 
 down Fortieth Street; and, consequently, he 
 arrived at Mrs. Carroll's a little ahead of 
 time. 
 
 "It was so good of you to send for me to 
 come right away," he said, as Mildred en- 
 tered. 
 
 "I wanted to see you," replied Mildred. 
 
 Gilbert smiled. "You came home sooner 
 than you expected, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes; we expected to return in October; 
 but the two Miss Swanns had to come home 
 on account of some money matters. Their 
 lawyer sent for them. They are going to 
 Baltimore to-morrow. I wasn't sorry. I am 
 perfectly delighted to be home again." 
 
 "You had a delightful trip?" 
 
 "Wonderful," replied Mildred, "simply 
 wonderful. Nothing happened to spoil it 
 anywhere. First, we went to France. We 
 landed at Cherbourg, as you know, and went 
 directly to Paris; in August we went to 
 Switzerland; and then we went to Italy. We 
 spent the winter in Rome. After Easter we 
 went back to Paris ; and then we went to Lon- 
 don. We expected to spend the summer in 
 England ; but, in the most unforeseen way, the
 
 2-98 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 two Miss Swanns were suddenly called 
 home." 
 
 "How was Paris?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 "Lovely!" exclaimed Mildred. "Lovely! 
 There's only one Paris! I hated to leave it. 
 We had a lovely time there. Didn't you re- 
 ceive any postal cards from me from Paris? 
 I sent you several. I had to think of you in 
 Paris, Mr. Greene." 
 
 "Yes, I did," answered Gilbert. "I did; 
 and I ought to have acknowledged them. 
 Please forgive me." 
 
 "I thought perhaps you didn't care for 
 them." 
 
 "On the contrary, I was delighted to re- 
 ceive them. You sent me, too, all my favor- 
 ite haunts. Now tell me something about 
 London. How did you like London?" 
 
 "London? Immensely! It seemed to me 
 more historic, somehow, than Paris. I don't 
 know why, but it did. It is such a vast huge 
 city its vastness impressed me. I felt that 
 even if Paris were picked up and placed in 
 London it would just be swallowed up and 
 made a quarter in London. I could never 
 imagine London becoming a quarter of Paris. 
 [That's the difference. London is so strange,
 
 IVE SUN WILL SHINE 299 
 
 so peculiar, so archaic in some ways and so 
 modern in others, mysterious, unfathomable 
 city! And such violent contrasts! Such 
 wealth and such poverty! Such elegance and 
 such indifference! London seemed to me a 
 great queen dressed in velvet and rags, 
 magnificent and squalid at the same time. I 
 think London a very beautiful city the 
 vistas are so wonderful and the atmospheric 
 effects most exquisite. I love St. Paul's, with 
 its splendid dome, that seems to hover over the 
 great capital. Indeed, Mr. Greene, when- 
 ever I think of London, I think of St. Paul's 
 seen from London Bridge. I had my first 
 view of St. Paul's in the moonlight; and it 
 looked as if it were made of black velvet and 
 snow. I shall never forget that impression. 
 Oh, by the way, I made a discovery in St. 
 Paul's, or rather, I think I did. When I 
 went to a service there, I was struck by the 
 peculiar beauty of the singing of the chor- 
 isters, whose voices seemed to come from the 
 dome and float down to us through the dim 
 mists; and it occurred to me that Wagner may 
 have tried to reproduce these effects in 
 Parsifal, by arranging the knights, squires 
 and youths at various stages in the dome of
 
 300 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Monsalvat to sing of the 'wondrous work of 
 mercy and salvation/ ' 
 
 "Yes," said Gilbert, "I shouldn't wonder. 
 The acoustics are most peculiar in St. Paul's. 
 Did you see the Whispering Gallery and the 
 .Geometrical Staircase?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," answered Mildred, "and the 
 choir-stalls. Oh, those choir-stalls!" 
 
 "Aren't they lovely?" chimed Gilbert. "I 
 remember them very well. They are by 
 Grinling Gibbons." 
 
 Thus the friends continued to talk of Lon- 
 don and Paris, brightened by anecdotes of 
 Mildred's travelling experiences, until it be- 
 came Gilbert's turn to give an account of him- 
 self. 
 
 An hour passed away very quickly in these 
 pleasant paths of conversation and friendly 
 gossip. 
 
 Presently Mildred turned to her personal 
 affairs. 
 
 "I suppose you haven't heard, what I have 
 just learned, Mr. Greene, that Wild Acres has 
 been sold?" 
 
 "Has it?" he replied in a tone of surprise. 
 
 "Yes ; and the strange part of it is," she con- 
 tinued, "that I don't know the name of the
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 301 
 
 purchaser. Mr. Carpenter is pledged to 
 secrecy the strictest secrecy. I suppose in 
 time it will all come out; but just now it is 
 very mysterious. I'd much rather know who 
 is going to have it, though. Mr. Carpenter 
 has arranged for me to go and see it once 
 again." 
 
 "When are you going?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "You'll be lonely, won't you?" 
 
 "Oh, no; Mrs. O'Toole, my old house- 
 keeper, will be there; and she will stay with 
 me the two or three days that I shall spend in 
 the dear old place. I've got to look over some 
 personal things in the attic. Oh, I forgot to 
 tell you that all the old furniture, silver, china 
 and glass have been sold with the house." 
 
 "That's awfully hard on you, Miss Ashton, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, it is," answered Mildred, sadly; "but 
 the strange Unknown wouldn't have it under 
 any other conditions." 
 
 "Grasping brute!" muttered Gilbert, sav- 
 agely. 
 
 "No, he wouldn't," continued Mildred, 
 "and Mr. Carpenter told me I had better take 
 the offer. In fact, he insisted that I should.
 
 302 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 Mr. Carpenter seems to have taken a desper- 
 ate fancy to this purchaser; and he told me 
 that I must accept this wonderful offer, that 
 nothing like it would ever come to me again. 
 I never saw Mr. Carpenter so excited about 
 anything before. It is all very strange!" 
 
 Mildred paused for a while and then con- 
 tinued: "It is terribly hard for me to let it 
 go, Mr. Greene; but, strange as it may seem, 
 I can stand selling it better than I did renting 
 it two years ago. You have no idea what it 
 cost me to give up my old home to strangers. 
 But I've learned how to bear things philo- 
 sophically. If any one had told me two years 
 ago that I would one day be talking calmly 
 like this about selling it, I should have been 
 furious, simply furious." 
 
 "I can't imagine your being furious, Miss 
 Ashton. That adjective doesn't seem to be- 
 long to you," replied Mr. Greene. 
 
 "Mr. Greene," said Mildred, after another 
 pause, "I'm going to ask a favor of you." 
 
 "What is it?" he inquired eagerly. 
 
 "I want you to help me invest the money 
 that I shall get for the property." 
 
 "What will Mr. Carpenter say?" 
 
 "I don't care what he says," replied Mil-
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 303 
 
 dred. "I want your advice. Think it over 
 please and tell me of some good invest- 
 ments." 
 
 Mildred chanced to look up. And in that 
 look a new world opened to her. Gilbert 
 Greene was gazing at her deep down into 
 her very heart. And his gaze, fervent and in- 
 tense, held a question. N Mildred's eyes fell, 
 and silence enveloped the two. It seemed an 
 hour to Mildred an hour of heart searching 
 and contest, a vivid reckoning of herself and 
 of him, a summary of past thoughts and emo- 
 tions, trivial in themselves as they happened, 
 but now, in their total so commanding that 
 they overwhelmed her. At length, she raised 
 her eyes and met Gilbert's gaze again held 
 it till all was blurred with tears. 
 Then she heard him speak: 
 "Mildred, dear heart, I love you." 
 Mildred felt as if she had been caught in a 
 whirlwind; as if her soul and spirit had been 
 mysteriously and divinely lifted from her, 
 swirled into space, brought back and placed 
 in the keeping of another. She knew now 
 what Love meant and that Gilbert Greene 
 was the one love of her life, the only man for 
 her, once and forever.
 
 304 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 What happens? What does it? Who 
 waves the magic wand? 
 
 One moment ago Mr. Greene and Miss 
 Ashton were quietly talking under formal 
 conditions. A glance a single, deep glance 
 had changed the world for them. Their 
 hearts and spirits had become united and now 
 vibrated as one. 
 
 "Mildred," said Gilbert softly, "will you 
 go with me to-morrow to Wild Acres? I 
 will call for you and take you down to Port 
 Washington in my car." 
 
 "I'd love it," cried Mildred eagerly, "I'd 
 like you to see Wild Acres. You ought to 
 know it now. You will have to be interested 
 in everything that interests me. That's one 
 of the penalties." 
 
 "What are the others?" asked Gilbert. 
 "The more the merrier for me. I adore 
 penalties of this kind." 
 
 "Oh, you'll find out soon enough," replied 
 Mildred, airily. "At any rate, that's one of 
 them. You've got to rejoice when I rejoice 
 and weep when I weep; and you've got to 
 weep some tears with me over Wild Acres. 
 There!" 
 
 "I'll weep just as many as you like," said
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 305 
 
 Gilbert. "Must I fill tear-bottles, or buck- 
 ets? Take your choice. And now good- 
 night, dearest one, good-night; I'll be here 
 
 to-morrow at ten." 
 
 Mrs. O'Toole came on the portico to 
 greet Miss Mildred, when she heard the ap- 
 proaching automobile. She was overjoyed. 
 Mildred was so happy to see her kind, fa- 
 miliar face that she did not notice the look 
 of recognition which Mrs. O'Toole gave to 
 Gilbert and which Gilbert ignored. 
 
 Mildred, on jumping out of the car, threw 
 her arms around the old housekeeper and 
 kissed her affectionately, noticing, however, 
 that the latter had aged a good deal in the past 
 year and that she walked with a feebler step. 
 
 "Nothing is changed, is it?" Mildred said, 
 gaily, as she entered the hall. "I must run 
 all over the house. Mrs. O'Toole, I feel as if 
 I were six years old again. I must go into 
 every nook and corner! Oh, I am so glad to 
 be at home again. If only I could stay here 
 forever!" 
 
 In the course of half an hour Mildred was 
 seated comfortably in a big, easy chair in the 
 library and wondering why Gilbert, who had 
 gone to put the car into the garage, had not
 
 306 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 returned. She was about to go in search of 
 him, when Mrs. O'Toole came in, bringing a 
 package and a letter. 
 
 "Mr. Greene told me to give you this, Miss 
 Mildred," said Mrs. O'Toole, who was smil- 
 ing broadly. 
 
 Mildred, greatly puzzled, took the package 
 without a word. She opened the letter to 
 read: 
 
 Dear Mildred: 
 
 The new owner of Wild Acres has asked me to see 
 that you receive this package on your arrival. 
 
 I am going into the Rosary to have a smoke. Will 
 you join me there? Yours ever, 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 "It feels like a jewel case," said Mildred, 
 as she looked at the strange handwriting of the 
 address: 
 
 Miss Ashton, 
 Wild Acres, 
 
 Port Washington. 
 Please open 
 immediately. 
 
 Mildred's surmise was correct. A jewel 
 case it was; but on lifting the lid of sapphire 
 velvet instead of finding upon the white satin
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 307 
 
 a necklace, or a piece of silver, her eyes beheld 
 two large keys. She knew them very well. 
 The copper one was the key of the front door; 
 the big iron one belonged to the entrance gate. 
 The accompanying card, in the same strange 
 autograph, read: 
 
 "These keys are for Miss Mildred Ash- 
 ton, to whom Mr. Carpenter will hand the 
 deed of Wild Acres to-morrow in proper 
 form." 
 
 "I do not understand this," exclaimed the 
 stupefied Mildred. "Who could have done 
 such a thing? How can I accept such a gift 
 from a stranger? I must find Gilbert and 
 ask him what I shall do. There must surely 
 be some mistake." 
 
 With that, Mildred hurriedly closed the 
 case and flew out of the house. She found 
 Gilbert waiting for her at the foot of the 
 grass steps. 
 
 "Gilbert," cried Mildred, handing the card 
 to him, "what can this mean? I don't un- 
 derstand it at all." She looked up into Gil- 
 bert's face and then: 
 
 "Why, Gilbert! was it? Did you? Oh, 
 my dear!" 
 
 "I certainly did," Gilbert answered, with
 
 3o8 A DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION 
 
 a merry twinkle in his eyes. "I bought it 
 for you, hoping that you might love me some 
 day; and, if not, at least I could have the home 
 where you had spent most of your life and 
 which I could leave to you. It is now yours, 
 Mildred." 
 
 "No, ours'' replied Mildred, burying her 
 face on his shoulder. 
 
 Recovering, she said, "Come here!" And 
 drawing him gently to the Sun-dial, "Read 
 this." 
 
 Through the garlands of red and pink roses, 
 deliciously sweet in the hot June sunshine, 
 Gilbert read aloud: 
 
 "I mark ye hours, 
 
 Man notes ye time; 
 Spite storme and showers 
 Ye sun will shine." 
 
 "I came here," said Mildred, "one dreary 
 November afternoon, two years ago, full of 
 distress that I had to leave my old home. I 
 stood in this very spot and read those words. 
 They comforted me; and I resolved that I 
 would take that message to heart and try to 
 find the sunshine. I also resolved, then and 
 there, that I would be a true daughter of my 
 house and race: to bear whatever trials might
 
 YE SUN WILL SHINE 309 
 
 come to me with fortitude; and courageously 
 to do whatever fortune might appoint. I 
 have been through some hard experiences. 
 My reward is too great! Could I ever have 
 imagined that such a sun was shining all the 
 time for me behind the clouds? Such a light 
 upon my path, as yo\i are, Gilbert, dear, for 
 me!" 
 
 Never had The Rosary looked more beau- 
 tiful than at this hour under the cloudless sky. 
 How bright the sun! How warm and sweet 
 the roses! How true and tender the lovers! 
 
 A thrush in a tall, red rosebush near the 
 Sun-dial tried to voice it all in passionate song, 
 nearly bursting his little throat in ecstasy; and 
 his song was this : 
 
 "Sunshine and roses; light and perfume; 
 and, better still, LOVE that makes all things 
 perfect: Love! Love! Love!" 
 
 THE END
 
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