About now the conversation between two men in the section behind this _fin de siècle_ maiden became loud enough to take half the car into their confidence. They were discussing the incongruous situation of the World’s Fair; for in the previous April Uncle Sam had yielded, and thrown his bouquet to that one of his daughters which, according to the cartoonist, had clamored and importuned the loudest. The crude, unformed, ill-bred creature now had this treasure in her keeping, and the righteous indignation and despair of those two New Hampshire men filled the car. What could be expected but national disgrace? What was the matter with the powers at Washington that they had not in some way averted such a disaster? A good many people thought it a joke; these gentlemen could see nothing amusing in having our country held up to ridicule. As the discussion waxed and waned, Page listened to it perforce, at first indifferently, then with more interest as he discovered that it was affecting his fair neighbor. He could see her cheek grow hot, could see that she held herself with greater rigidity. She bit her lip from time to time, and once she moved her head slowly around as if inclined to glance at the noisy talkers; but half way her deep luminous eyes shot their golden lightning straight into Page’s, and recovering herself she turned back and looked ahead again. The sunshine had begun to pour in at her window, and she suddenly seized the blind to pull it down. It fitted tightly after the manner of its kind, and her first effort was not successful. It was probably not a case for assistance, as the young woman looked as though her muscle would be equal to considerable strain, but Page spontaneously left his seat. "Allow me," he said, and drew the blind down. The girl thanked him rather severely. Page’s shipboard experience of comparative informality with strangers was fresh upon him. He spoke on the impulse of the moment, feeling sure that the severity was not intended for him. "Wouldn’t you prefer to change seats with me? Perhaps you would be less annoyed there by conversation as well as sunlight." "You heard something of it, then," the girl exclaimed; "but I think they have said all the ignorant, stupid things they can think of." "I saw that the remarks were troubling you," said Page, seating himself opposite in her section. "The Garden City has one champion, I’m sure." "Dear, generous Chicago!" ejaculated the girl, and her youthful wrath was very entertaining to her neighbor. "It is the best thing that ever happened to the country that we are to have the Fair. Perhaps," with interest, "you are a Chicagoan?" Page was obliged to deny this with a novel reluctance which amused him.