I faced Mildred's pouts with the hope that she and her mother would not
wait dinner for me. I fled. In another minute I was safe, alone, under
the chill, cloudy autumn sky--free to think, think, think of my dear
lady.
I walked for hours along streets and squares; I lived over again and
again every look, word, and hand-touch--every kiss; I was completely,
unspeakably happy.
Mildred was utterly forgotten: my lady of the ebony frame filled my
heart and soul and spirit.
As I heard eleven boom through the fog, I turned, and went home.
When I got to my street, I found a crowd surging through it, a strong
red light filling the air.
A house was on fire. Mine.