A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD

By Charles Dudley Warner

INTRODUCTORY SKETCH

The title naturally suggested for this story was "A Dead Soul, " but itwas discarded because of the similarity to that of the famous novel byNikolai Gogol--"Dead Souls"--though the motive has nothing in commonwith that used by the Russian novelist. Gogol exposed an extensive fraudpracticed by the sale, in connection with lands, of the names of "serfs"(called souls) not living, or "dead souls. "

This story is an attempt to trace the demoralization in a woman's soulof certain well-known influences in our existing social life. In noother way could certain phases of our society be made to appear sodistinctly as when reflected in the once pure mirror of a woman's soul. 

The character of Margaret is the portrait of no one woman. But it wassuggested by the career of two women (among others less marked) who hadbegun life with the highest ideals, which had been gradually eatenaway and destroyed by "prosperous" marriages and association withunscrupulous methods of acquiring money. 

The deterioration was gradual. The women were in all outward conductunchanged, the conventionalities of life were maintained, the graceswere not lost, the observances of the duties of charities and ofreligion were even emphasized, but worldliness had eaten the heart outof them, and they were "dead souls. " The tragedy of the witheredlife was a thousand-fold enhanced by the external show of prosperousrespectability. 

The story was first published (in 1888) in Harper's Monthly. During itsprogress--and it was printed as soon as each installment was ready (avery poor plan)--I was in receipt of the usual letters of sympathy, or protest, and advice. One sympathetic missive urged the removalof Margaret to a neighboring city, where she could be saved by beingbrought under special Christian influences. The transfer, even in aserial, was impossible, and she by her own choice lived the life she hadentered upon. 

And yet, if the reader will pardon the confidence, pity intervened toshorten it. I do not know how it is with other writers, but the personsthat come about me in a little drama are as real as those I meet inevery-day life, and in this case I found it utterly impossible to go onto what might have been the bitter, logical development of Margaret'scareer. Perhaps it was as well. Perhaps the writer should have nodespotic power over his creations, however slight they are. He mayprofitably recall the dictum of a recent essayist that "there is nolimit to the mercy of God. "

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. 

Hartford, August 11, 1899. 

A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD

I

We were talking about the want of diversity in American life, the lackof salient characters. It was not at a club. It was a spontaneoustalk of people who happened to be together, and who had fallen into anuncompelled habit of happening to be together. There might have beena club for the study of the Want of Diversity in American Life. Themembers would have been obliged to set apart a stated time for it, toattend as a duty, and to be in a mood to discuss this topic at a sethour in the future. They would have mortgaged another precious portionof the little time left us for individual life. It is a suggestivethought that at a given hour all over the United States innumerableclubs might be considering the Want of Diversity in American Life. Only in this way, according to our present methods, could one expectto accomplish anything in regard to this foreign-felt want. It seemsillogical that we could produce diversity by all doing the same thing atthe same time, but we know the value of congregate effort. It seems tosuperficial observers that all Americans are born busy. It is not so. They are born with a fear of not being busy; and if they are intelligentand in circumstances of leisure, they have such a sense of theirresponsibility that they hasten to allot all their time into portions, and leave no hour unprovided for. This is conscientiousness in women, and not restlessness. There is a day for music, a day for painting, aday for the display of tea-gowns, a day for Dante, a day for the Greekdrama, a day for the Dumb Animals' Aid Society, a day for the Societyfor the Propagation of Indians, and so on. When the year is over, theamount that has been accomplished by this incessant activity can hardlybe estimated. Individually it may not be much. But consider whereChaucer would be but for the work of the Chaucer clubs, and whatan effect upon the universal progress of things is produced by theassociate concentration upon the poet of so many minds. 

A cynic says that clubs and circles are for the accumulation ofsuperficial information and unloading it on others, without muchindividual absorption in anybody. This, like all cynicism, containsonly a half-truth, and simply means that the general diffusionof half-digested information does not raise the general level ofintelligence, which can only be raised to any purpose by thoroughself-culture, by assimilation, digestion, meditation. The busy bee isa favorite simile with us, and we are apt to overlook the fact thatthe least important part of his example is buzzing around. If the hivesimply got together and buzzed, or even brought unrefined treacle fromsome cyclopaedia, let us say, of treacle, there would be no honey addedto the general store. 

It occurred to some one in this talk at last to deny that there wasthis tiresome monotony in American life. And this put a new face onthe discussion. Why should there be, with every race under the heavensrepresented here, and each one struggling to assert itself, and nohomogeneity as yet established even between the people of the oldestStates? The theory is that democracy levels, and that the anxiouspursuit of a common object, money, tends to uniformity, and thatfacility of communication spreads all over the land the same fashionin dress; and repeats everywhere the same style of house, and thatthe public schools give all the children in the United States the samesuperficial smartness. And there is a more serious notion, that in asociety without classes there is a sort of tyranny of public opinionwhich crushes out the play of individual peculiarities, without whichhuman intercourse is uninteresting. It is true that a democracy isintolerant of variations from the general level, and that a new societyallows less latitude in eccentricities to its members than an oldsociety. 

But with all these allowances, it is also admitted that the difficultythe American novelist has is in hitting upon what is universallyaccepted as characteristic of American life, so various are the types inregions widely separated from each other, such different points of vieware had even in conventionalities, and conscience operates so variouslyon moral problems in one community and another. It is as impossible forone section to impose upon another its rules of taste and proprietyin conduct--and taste is often as strong to determine conduct asprinciple--as it is to make its literature acceptable to the other. Ifin the land of the sun and the jasmine and the alligator and the fig, the literature of New England seems passionless and timid in face of theruling emotions of life, ought we not to thank Heaven for the diversityof temperament as well as of climate which will in the long-run save usfrom that sameness into which we are supposed to be drifting?

When I think of this vast country with any attention to localdevelopments I am more impressed with the unlikenesses than with theresemblances. And besides this, if one had the ability to draw to thelife a single individual in the most homogeneous community, the productwould be sufficiently startling. We cannot flatter ourselves, therefore, that under equal laws and opportunities we have rubbed out thesaliencies of human nature. At a distance the mass of the Russian peopleseem as monotonous as their steppes and their commune villages, but theRussian novelists find characters in this mass perfectly individualized, and, indeed, give us the impression that all Russians are irregularpolygons. Perhaps if our novelists looked at individuals as intently, they might give the world the impression that social life here is asunpleasant as it appears in the novels to be in Russia. 

This is partly the substance of what was said one winter evening beforethe wood fire in the library of a house in Brandon, one of the lesserNew England cities. Like hundreds of residences of its kind, it stoodin the suburbs, amid forest-trees, commanding a view of city spiresand towers on the one hand, and on the other of a broken country ofclustering trees and cottages, rising towards a range of hills whichshowed purple and warm against the pale straw-color of the wintersunsets. The charm of the situation was that the house was one of manycomfortable dwellings, each isolated, and yet near enough together toform a neighborhood; that is to say, a body of neighbors who respectedeach other's privacy, and yet flowed together, on occasion, without theleast conventionality. And a real neighborhood, as our modern life isarranged, is becoming more and more rare. 

I am not sure that the talkers in this conversation expressed theirreal, final sentiments, or that they should be held accountable for whatthey said. Nothing so surely kills the freedom of talk as to have somematter-of-fact person instantly bring you to book for some impulsiveremark flashed out on the instant, instead of playing with it andtossing it about in a way that shall expose its absurdity or show itsvalue. Freedom is lost with too much responsibility and seriousness, andthe truth is more likely to be struck out in a lively play of assertionand retort than when all the words and sentiments are weighed. A personvery likely cannot tell what he does think till his thoughts are exposedto the air, and it is the bright fallacies and impulsive, rash venturesin conversation that are often most fruitful to talker and listeners. The talk is always tame if no one dares anything. I have seen the mostpromising paradox come to grief by a simple "Do you think so?" Nobody, Isometimes think, should be held accountable for anything said in privateconversation, the vivacity of which is in a tentative play about thesubject. And this is a sufficient reason why one should repudiate anyprivate conversation reported in the newspapers. It is bad enough to beheld fast forever to what one writes and prints, but to shackle a manwith all his flashing utterances, which may be put into his mouth bysome imp in the air, is intolerable slavery. A man had better be silentif he can only say today what he will stand by tomorrow, or if he maynot launch into the general talk the whim and fancy of the moment. Racy, entertaining talk is only exposed thought, and no one would hold a manresponsible for the thronging thoughts that contradict and displace eachother in his mind. Probably no one ever actually makes up his mind untilhe either acts or puts out his conclusion beyond his recall. Whyshould one be debarred the privilege of pitching his crude ideas into aconversation where they may have a chance of being precipitated?

I remember that Morgan said in this talk that there was too muchdiversity. "Almost every church has trouble with it--the differentsocial conditions. "

An Englishman who was present pricked-up his ears at this, as if heexpected to obtain a note on the character of Dissenters. "I thought allthe churches here were organized on social affinities?" he inquired. 

"Oh, no; it is a good deal a matter of vicinage. When there is areal-estate extension, a necessary part of the plan is to build a churchin the centre of it, in order to--"

"I declare, Page, " said Mrs. Morgan, "you'll give Mr. Lyon a totallyerroneous notion. Of course there must be a church convenient to theworshipers in every district. "

"That is just what I was saying, my dear: As the settlement is not drawntogether on religious grounds, but perhaps by purely worldly motives, the elements that meet in the church are apt to be socially incongruous, such as cannot always be fused even by a church-kitchen and achurch-parlor. "

"Then it isn't the peculiarity of the church that has attracted toit worshipers who would naturally come together, but the church is aneighborhood necessity?" still further inquired Mr. Lyon. 

"All is, " I ventured to put in, "that churches grow up likeschoolhouses, where they are wanted. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Mr. Morgan; "I'm talking about the kind ofwant that creates them. If it's the same that builds a music hall, or agymnasium, or a railway waiting-room, I've nothing more to say. "

"Is it your American idea, then, that a church ought to be formed onlyof people socially agreeable together?" asked the Englishman. 

"I have no American idea. I am only commenting on facts; but one ofthem is that it is the most difficult thing in the world to reconcilereligious association with the real or artificial claims of sociallife. "

"I don't think you try much, " said Mrs. Morgan, who carried alongher traditional religious observance with grateful admiration of herhusband. 

Mr. Page Morgan had inherited money, and a certain advantageous positionfor observing life and criticising it, humorously sometimes, and withoutany serious intention of disturbing it. He had added to his fair fortuneby marrying the daintily reared daughter of a cotton-spinner, and he hadenough to do in attending meetings of directors and looking out for hisinvestments to keep him from the operation of the State law regardingvagrants, and give greater social weight to his opinions than if he hadbeen compelled to work for his maintenance. The Page Morgans had been agood deal abroad, and were none the worse Americans for having comein contact with the knowledge that there are other peoples who arereasonably prosperous and happy without any of our advantages. 

"It seems to me, " said Mr. Lyon, who was always in the conversationalattitude of wanting to know, "that you Americans are disturbed by thenotion that religion ought to produce social equality. "

Mr. Lyon had the air of conveying the impression that this questionwas settled in England, and that America was interesting on account ofnumerous experiments of this sort. This state of mind was notoffensive to his interlocutors, because they were accustomed to it intransatlantic visitors. Indeed, there was nothing whatever offensive, and little defensive, in Mr. John Lyon. What we liked in him, Ithink, was his simple acceptance of a position that required neitherexplanation nor apology--a social condition that banished a sense of hisown personality, and left him perfectly free to be absolutely truthful. Though an eldest son and next in succession to an earldom, he was stillyoung. Fresh from Oxford and South Africa and Australia and BritishColumbia he had come to study the States with a view of perfectinghimself for his duties as a legislator for the world when he should becalled to the House of Peers. He did not treat himself like an earl, whatever consciousness he may have had that his prospective rank made itsafe for him to flirt with the various forms of equality abroad in thisgeneration. 

"I don't know what Christianity is expected to produce, " Mr. Morganreplied, in a meditative way; "but I have an idea that the earlyChristians in their assemblies all knew each other, having met elsewherein social intercourse, or, if they were not acquainted, they lost sightof distinctions in one paramount interest. But then I don't suppose theywere exactly civilized. "

"Were the Pilgrims and the Puritans?" asked Mrs. Fletcher, who nowjoined the talk, in which she had been a most animated and stimulatinglistener, her deep gray eyes dancing with intellectual pleasure. 

"I should not like to answer 'no' to a descendant of the Mayflower. Yes, they were highly civilized. And if we had adhered to their methods, weshould have avoided a good deal of confusion. The meeting-house, youremember, had a committee for seating people according to their quality. They were very shrewd, but it had not occurred to them to give the bestpews to the sitters able to pay the most money for them. They escapedthe perplexity of reconciling the mercantile and the religious ideas. "

"At any rate, " said Mrs. Fletcher, "they got all sorts of people insidethe same meeting-house. "

"Yes, and made them feel they were all sorts; but in those, days theywere not much disturbed by that feeling. "

"Do you mean to say, " asked Mr. Lyon, "that in this country you havechurches for the rich and other churches for the poor?"

"Not at all. We have in the cities rich churches and poor churches, withprices of pews according to the means of each sort, and the rich arealways glad to have the poor come, and if they do not give them the bestseats, they equalize it by taking up a collection for them. "

"Mr. Lyon, " Mrs. Morgan interrupted, "you are getting a travesty ofthe whole thing. I don't believe there is elsewhere in the world such aspirit of Christian charity as in our churches of all sects. "

"There is no doubt about the charity; but that doesn't seem to make thesocial machine run any more smoothly in the church associations. I'mnot sure but we shall have to go back to the old idea of considering thechurches places of worship, and not opportunities for sewing-societies, and the cultivation of social equality. "

"I found the idea in Rome, " said Mr. Lyon, "that the United States isnow the most promising field for the spread and permanence of the RomanCatholic faith. "

"How is that?" Mr. Fletcher asked, with a smile of Puritan incredulity. 

"A high functionary at the Propaganda gave as a reason that the UnitedStates is the most democratic country and the Roman Catholic is the mostdemocratic religion, having this one notion that all men, high or low, are equally sinners and equally in need of one thing only. And I mustsay that in this country I don't find the question of social equalityinterfering much with the work in their churches. "

"That is because they are not trying to make this world any better, butonly to prepare for another, " said Mrs. Fletcher. 

"Now, we think that the nearer we approach the kingdom-of-heaven idea onearth, the better off we shall be hereafter. Is that a modern idea?"

"It is an idea that is giving us a great deal of trouble. We've gotinto such a sophisticated state that it seems easier to take care of thefuture than of the present. "

"And it isn't a very bad doctrine that if you take care of the present, the future will take care of itself, " rejoined Mrs. Fletcher. 

"Yes, I know, " insisted Mr. Morgan; "it's the modern notion ofaccumulation and compensation--take care of the pennies and the poundswill take care of themselves--the gospel of Benjamin Franklin. "

"Ah, " I said, looking up at the entrance of a newcomer, "you are justin time, Margaret, to give the coup de grace, for it is evident by Mr. Morgan's reference, in his Bunker Hill position, to Franklin, that he isgetting out of powder. "

The girl stood a moment, her slight figure framed in the doorway, whilethe company rose to greet her, with a half-hesitating, half-inquiringlook in her bright face which I had seen in it a thousand times. 

II

I remember that it came upon me with a sort of surprise at themoment that we had never thought or spoken much of Margaret Debree asbeautiful. We were so accustomed to her; we had known her so long, wehad known her always. We had never analyzed our admiration of her. She had so many qualities that are better than beauty that we had notcredited her with the more obvious attraction. And perhaps she had justbecome visibly beautiful. It may be that there is an instant in a girl'slife corresponding to what the Puritans called conversion in the soul, when the physical qualities, long maturing, suddenly glow in aneffect which we call beauty. It cannot be that women do not have aconsciousness of it, perhaps of the instant of its advent. I rememberwhen I was a child that I used to think that a stick of peppermint candymust burn with a consciousness of its own deliciousness. 

Margaret was just turned twenty. As she paused there in the doorway herphysical perfection flashed upon me for the first time. Of course I donot mean perfection, for perfection has no promise in it, rather the sadnote of limit, and presently recession. In the rounded, exquisite linesof her figure there was the promise of that ineffable fullness anddelicacy of womanhood which all the world raves about and destroys andmourns. It is not fulfilled always in the most beautiful, and perhapsnever except to the woman who loves passionately, and believes she isloved with a devotion that exalts her body and soul above every otherhuman being. 

It is certain that Margaret's beauty was not classic. Her featureswere irregular even to piquancy. The chin had strength; the mouth wassensitive and not too small; the shapely nose with thin nostrils had anassertive quality that contradicted the impression of humility in theeyes when downcast; the large gray eyes were uncommonly soft and clear, an appearance of alternate tenderness and brilliancy as they were veiledor uncovered by the long lashes. They were gently commanding eyes, andno doubt her most effective point. Her abundant hair, brown with a touchof red in it in some lights, fell over her broad forehead in the fashionof the time. She had a way of carrying her head, of throwing it back attimes, that was not exactly imperious, and conveyed the impressionof spirit rather than of mere vivacity. These details seem to me allinadequate and misleading, for the attraction of the face that madeit interesting is still undefined. I hesitate to say that there was adimple near the corner of her mouth that revealed itself when she smiledlest this shall seem mere prettiness, but it may have been the keynoteof her face. I only knew there was something about it that won theheart, as a too conscious or assertive beauty never does. She may havebeen plain, and I may have seen the loveliness of her nature, which Iknew well, in features that gave less sign of it to strangers. Yet Inoticed that Mr. Lyon gave her a quick second glance, and his manner wasinstantly that of deference, or at least attention, which he had shownto no other lady in the room. And the whimsical idea came into mymind--we are all so warped by international possibilities--to observewhether she did not walk like a countess (that is, as a countess oughtto walk) as she advanced to shake hands with my wife. It is so easy toturn life into a comedy!

Margaret's great-grandmother--no, it was her great-great-grandmother, but we have kept the Revolutionary period so warm lately that it seemsnear--was a Newport belle, who married an officer in the suite ofRochambeau what time the French defenders of liberty conquered the womenof Rhode Island. After the war was over, our officer resigned his loveof glory for the heart of one of the loveliest women and the care of thebest plantation on the Island. I have seen a miniature of her, whichher lover wore at Yorktown, and which he always swore that Washingtoncoveted--a miniature painted by a wandering artist of the day, whichentirely justifies the French officer in his abandonment of the trade ofa soldier. Such is man in his best estate. A charming face can make himcampaign and fight and slay like a demon, can make a coward of him, can fill him with ambition to win the world, and can tame him into thedomesticity of a drawing-room cat. There is this noble capacity in manto respond to the divinest thing visible to him in this world. EtienneDebree became, I believe, a very good citizen of the republic, and in'93 used occasionally to shake his head with satisfaction to find thatit was still on his shoulders. I am not sure that he ever visited MountVernon, but after Washington's death Debree's intimacy with ourfirst President became a more and more important part of his life andconversation. There is a pleasant tradition that Lafayette, when he washere in 1784, embraced the young bride in the French manner, and thatthis salute was valued as a sort of heirloom in the family. 

I always thought that Margaret inherited her New England conscience fromher great-great-grandmother, and a certain esprit or gayety--that is, a sub-gayety which was never frivolity--from her French ancestor. Herfather and mother had died when she was ten years old, and she hadbeen reared by a maiden aunt, with whom she still lived. The combinedfortunes of both required economy, and after Margaret had passed herschool course she added to their resources by teaching in a publicschool. I remember that she taught history, following, I suppose, theAmerican notion that any one can teach history who has a text-book, justas he or she can teach literature with the same help. But it happenedthat Margaret was a better teacher than many, because she had notlearned history in school, but in her father's well-selected library. 

There was a little stir at Margaret's entrance; Mr. Lyon was introducedto her, and my wife, with that subtle feeling for effect which womenhave, slightly changed the lights. Perhaps Margaret's complexion or herblack dress made this readjustment necessary to the harmony of the room. Perhaps she felt the presence of a different temperament in the littlecircle. 

I never can tell exactly what it is that guides her in regard to theinfluence of light and color upon the intercourse of people, upon theirconversation, making it take one cast or another. Men are susceptibleto these influences, but it is women alone who understand how to producethem. And a woman who has not this subtle feeling always lacks charm, however intellectual she may be; I always think of her as sitting in theglare of disenchanting sunlight as indifferent to the exposure as a manwould be. I know in a general way that a sunset light induces one kindof talk and noonday light another, and I have learned that talk alwaysbrightens up with the addition of a fresh crackling stick to the fire. I shouldn't have known how to change the lights for Margaret, although Ithink I had as distinct an impression of her personality as had my wife. There was nothing disturbing in it; indeed, I never saw her otherwisethan serene, even when her voice betrayed strong emotion. The qualitythat impressed me most, however, was her sincerity, coupled withintellectual courage and clearness that had almost the effect ofbrilliancy, though I never thought of her as a brilliant woman. 

"What mischief have you been attempting, Mr. Morgan?" asked Margaret, asshe took a chair near him. "Were you trying to make Mr. Lyon comfortableby dragging in Bunker Hill?"

"No; that was Mr. Fairchild, in his capacity as host. "

"Oh, I'm sure you needn't mind me, " said Mr. Lyon, good-humoredly. "Ilanded in Boston, and the first thing I went to see was the Monument. Itstruck me as so odd, you know, that the Americans should begin life bycelebrating their first defeat. "

"That is our way, " replied Margaret, quickly. "We have started on a newbasis over here; we win by losing. He who loses his life shall findit. If the red slayer thinks he slays he is mistaken. You know theSoutherners say that they surrendered at last simply because they gottired of beating the North. "

"How odd!"

"Miss Debree simply means, " I exclaimed, "that we have inherited fromthe English an inability to know when we are whipped. "

"But we were not fighting the battle of Bunker Hill, or fighting aboutit, which is more serious, Miss Debree. What I wanted to ask you waswhether you think the domestication of religion will affect its power inthe regulation of conduct. "

"Domestication? You are too deep for me, Mr. Morgan. I don't anymore understand you than I comprehend the writers who write about thefeminization of literature. "

"Well, taking the mystery out of it, the predominant element of worship, making the churches sort of good-will charitable associations for thespread of sociability and good-feeling. "

"You mean making Christianity practical?"

"Partially that. It is a part of the general problem of what women aregoing to make of the world, now they have got hold of it, or are gettinghold of it, and are discontented with being women, or with being treatedas women, and are bringing their emotions into all the avocations oflife. "

"They cannot make it any worse than it has been. "

"I'm not sure of that. Robustness is needed in churches as much as ingovernment. I don't know how much the cause of religion is advancedby these church clubs of Christian Endeavor if that is the name, associations of young boys and girls who go about visiting other likeclubs in a sufficiently hilarious manner. I suppose it's the spirit ofthe age. I'm just wondering whether the world is getting to think moreof having a good time than it is of salvation. "

"And you think woman's influence--for you cannot mean anything else--issomehow taking the vigor out of affairs, making even the church a soft, purring affair, reducing us all to what I suppose you would call a mushof domesticity. "

"Or femininity. "

"Well, the world has been brutal enough; it had better try a littlefemininity now. "

"I hope it will not be more cruel to women. "

"That is not an argument; that is a stab. I fancy you are altogetherskeptical about woman. Do you believe in her education?"

"Up to a certain point, or rather, I should say, after a certain point. "

"That's it, " spoke up my wife, shading her eyes from the fire witha fan. "I begin to have my doubts about education as a panacea. I'venoticed that girls with only a smattering--and most of them in thenature of things can go, no further--are more liable to temptations. "

"That is because 'education' is mistaken for the giving of informationwithout training, as we are finding out in England, " said Mr. Lyon. 

"Or that it is dangerous to awaken the imagination without a heavyballast of principle, " said Mr. Morgan. 

"That is a beautiful sentiment, " Margaret exclaimed, throwing backher head, with a flash from her eyes. "That ought to shut out womenentirely. Only I cannot see how teaching women what men know is going togive them any less principle than men have. It has seemed to me a longwhile that the time has come for treating women like human beings, andgiving them the responsibility of their position. "

"And what do you want, Margaret?" I asked. 

"I don't know exactly what I do want, " she answered, sinking back in herchair, sincerity coming to modify her enthusiasm. "I don't want to go toCongress, or be a sheriff, or a lawyer, or a locomotive engineer. Iwant the freedom of my own being, to be interested in everything in theworld, to feel its life as men do. You don't know what it is to have aninferior person condescend to you simply because he is a man. "

"Yet you wish to be treated as a woman?" queried Mr. Morgan. 

"Of course. Do you think I want to banish romance out of the world?"

"You are right, my dear, " said my wife. "The only thing that makessociety any better than an industrial ant-hill is the love between womenand men, blind and destructive as it often is. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Morgan, rising to go, "having got back to firstprinciples--"

"You think it is best to take your husband home before he denies eventhem, " Mr. Morgan added. 

When the others had gone, Margaret sat by the fire, musing, as if noone else were in the room. The Englishman, still alert and eager forinformation, regarded her with growing interest. It came into my mindas odd that, being such an uninteresting people as we are, the Englishshould be so curious about us. After an interval, Mr. Lyon said:

"I beg your pardon, Miss Debree, but would you mind telling me whetherthe movement of Women's Rights is gaining in America?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Lyon, " Margaret replied, after a pause, witha look of weariness. "I'm tired of all the talk about it. I wish men andwomen, every soul of them, would try to make the most of themselves, andsee what would come of that. "

"But in some places they vote about schools, and you have conventions--"

"Did you ever attend any kind of convention yourself, Mr. Lyon?"

"I? No. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Neither did I. But you have a right to, you know. I shouldlike to ask you one question, Mr. Lyon, " the girl, continued, rising. 

"Should be most obliged. "

"Why is it that so few English women marry Americans?"

"I--I never thought of that, " he stammered, reddening. "Perhaps--perhapsit's because of American women. "

"Thank you, " said Margaret, with a little courtesy. "It's very nice ofyou to say that. I can begin to see now why so many American women marryEnglishmen. "

The Englishman blushed still more, and Margaret said good-night. 

It was quite evident the next day that Margaret had made an impressionon our visitor, and that he was struggling with some new idea. 

"Did you say, Mrs. Fairchild, " he asked my wife, "that Miss Debree is ateacher? It seems very odd. "

"No; I said she taught in one of our schools. I don't think she isexactly a teacher. "

"Not intending always to teach?"

"I don't suppose she has any definite intentions, but I never think ofher as a teacher. "

"She's so bright, and--and interesting, don't you think? So American?"

"Yes; Miss Debree is one of the exceptions. "

"Oh, I didn't mean that all American women were as clever as MissDebree. "

"Thank you, " said my wife. And Mr. Lyon looked as if he couldn't see whyshe should thank him. 

The cottage in which Margaret lived with her aunt, Miss Forsythe, was not far from our house. In summer it was very pretty, with itsvine-shaded veranda across the front; and even in winter, with theinevitable raggedness of deciduous vines, it had an air of refinement, a promise which the cheerful interior more than fulfilled. Margaret'sparting word to my wife the night before had been that she thoughther aunt would like to see the "chrysalis earl, " and as Mr. Lyon hadexpressed a desire to see something more of what he called the "gentry"of New England, my wife ended their afternoon walk at Miss Forsythe's. 

It was one of the winter days which are rare in New England, but ofwhich there had been a succession all through the Christmas holidays. Snow had not yet come, all the earth was brown and frozen, whicheverway you looked the interlacing branches and twigs of the trees made adelicate lace-work, the sky was gray-blue, and the low-sailing sun hadjust enough heat to evoke moisture from the frosty ground and suffusethe atmosphere into softness, in which all the landscape became poetic. The phenomenon known as "red sunsets" was faintly repeated in thegreenish crimson glow along the violet hills, in which Venus burned likea jewel. 

There was a fire smoldering on the hearth in the room they entered, which seemed to be sitting-room, library, parlor, all in one; theold table of oak, too substantial for ornament, was strewn with lateperiodicals and pamphlets--English, American, and French--and with bookswhich lay unarranged as they were thrown down from recent reading. Inthe centre was a bunch of red roses in a pale-blue Granada jug. MissForsythe rose from a seat in the western window, with a book in herhand, to greet her callers. She was slender, like Margaret, but taller, with soft brown eyes and hair streaked with gray, which, sweepingplainly aside from her forehead in a fashion then antiquated, contrastedfinely with the flush of pink in her cheeks. This flush did not suggestyouth, but rather ripeness, the tone that comes with the lines made inthe face by gentle acceptance of the inevitable in life. In her quietand self-possessed manner there was a little note of graceful timidity, not perhaps noticeable in itself, but in contrast with that unmistakableair of confidence which a woman married always has, and which in theunrefined becomes assertive, an exaggerated notion of her importance, ofthe value added to her opinions by the act of marriage. You can see itin her air the moment she walks away from the altar, keeping step toMendelssohn's tune. Jack Sharpley says that she always seems to besaying, "Well, I've done it once for all. " This assumption of themarried must be one of the hardest things for single women to bear intheir self-congratulating sisters. 

I have no doubt that Georgiana Forsythe was a charming girl, spiritedand handsome; for the beauty of her years, almost pathetic in itsdignity and self-renunciation, could not have followed mere prettinessor a commonplace experience. What that had been I never inquired, but ithad not soured her. She was not communicative nor confidential, I fancy, with any one, but she was always friendly and sympathetic to the troubleof others, and helpful in an undemonstrative way. If she herself hada secret feeling that her life was a failure, it never impressedher friends so, it was so even, and full of good offices and quietenjoyment. Heaven only knows, however, the pathos of this apparentlyundisturbed life. For did a woman ever live who would not give all theyears of tasteless serenity, for one year, for one month, for one hour, of the uncalculating delirium of love poured out upon a man who returnedit? It may be better for the world that there are these women to whomlife has still some mysteries, who are capable of illusions and thesweet sentimentality that grows out of a romance unrealized. 

Although the recent books were on Miss Forsythe's table, her tastes andculture were of the past age. She admired Emerson and Tennyson. One maykeep current with the news of the world without changing his principles. I imagine that Miss Forsythe read without injury to herself thepassionate and the pantheistic novels of the young women who have comeforward in these days of emancipation to teach their grandmothers a newbasis of morality, and to render meaningless all the consoling epitaphson the mossy New England gravestones. She read Emerson for hissweet spirit, for his belief in love and friendship, her simpleCongregationalist faith remaining undisturbed by his philosophy, fromwhich she took only a habit of toleration. 

"Miss Debree has gone to church, " she said, in answer to Mr. Lyon'sglance around the room. 

"To vespers?"

"I believe they call it that. Our evening meetings, you know, only beginat early candlelight. "

"And you do not belong to the Church?"

"Oh, yes, to the ancient aristocratic church of colonial times, " shereplied, with a little smile of amusement. "My niece has stepped offPlymouth Rock. "

"And was your religion founded on Plymouth Rock?"

"My niece says so when I rally her deserting the faith of her fathers, "replied Miss Forsythe, laughing at the working of the Episcopalian mind. 

"I should like to understand about that; I mean about the position ofDissenters in America. "

"I'm afraid I could not help you, Mr. Lyon. I fancy an Englishman wouldhave to be born again, as the phrase used to be, to comprehend that. "

While Mr. Lyon was still unsatisfied on this point, he found theconversation shifted to the other side. Perhaps it was a new experienceto him that women should lead and not follow in conversation. At anyrate, it was an experience that put him at his ease. Miss Forsythe was agreat admirer of Gladstone and of General Gordon, and she expressedher admiration with a knowledge that showed she had read the Englishnewspapers. 

"Yet I confess I don't comprehend Gladstone's conduct with regard toEgypt and Gordon's relief, " she said. 

"Perhaps, " interposed my wife, "it would have been better for Gordon ifhe had trusted Providence more and Gladstone less. "

"I suppose it was Gladstone's humanity that made him hesitate. "

"To bombard Alexandria?" asked Mr. Lyon, with a look of asperity. 

"That was a mistake to be expected of a Tory, but not of Mr. Gladstone, who seems always seeking the broadest principles of justice in hisstatesmanship. "

"Yes, we regard Mr. Gladstone as a very great man, Miss Forsythe. Heis broad enough. You know we consider him a rhetorical phenomenon. Unfortunately he always 'muffs' anything he touches. "

"I suspected, " Miss Forsythe replied, after a moment, "that party spiritran as high in England as it does with us, and is as personal. "

Mr. Lyon disclaimed any personal feeling, and the talk drifted into acomparison of English and American politics, mainly with reference tothe social factor in English politics, which is so little an elementhere. 

In the midst of the talk Margaret came in. The brisk walk in the rosytwilight had heightened her color, and given her a glowing expressionwhich her face had not the night before, and a tenderness and softness, an unworldliness, brought from the quiet hour in the church. 

 "My lady comes at last, Timid and stepping fast, And hastening hither, Her modest eyes downcast. "

She greeted the stranger with a Puritan undemonstrativeness, and as ifnot exactly aware of his presence. 

"I should like to have gone to vespers if I had known, " said Mr. Lyon, after an embarrassing pause. 

"Yes?" asked the girl, still abstractedly. "The world seems in a vespermood, " she added, looking out the west windows at the red sky and theevening star. 

In truth Nature herself at the moment suggested that talk was animpertinence. The callers rose to go, with an exchange of neighborhoodfriendliness and invitations. 

"I had no idea, " said Mr. Lyon, as they walked homeward, "what the NewWorld was like. "

III

Mr. Lyon's invitation was for a week. Before the end of the week Iwas called to New York to consult Mr. Henderson in regard to a railwayinvestment in the West, which was turning out more permanent thanprofitable. Rodney Henderson--the name later became very familiar to thepublic in connection with a certain Congressional investigation--was agraduate of my own college, a New Hampshire boy, a lawyer by profession, who practiced, as so many American lawyers do, in Wall Street, inpolitical combinations, in Washington, in railways. He was already knownas a rising man. 

When I returned Mr. Lyon was still at our house. I understood that mywife had persuaded him to extend his visit--a proposal he was littlereluctant to fall in with, so interested had he become in studyingsocial life in America. I could well comprehend this, for we are allmaking a "study" of something in this age, simple enjoyment beingconsidered an unworthy motive. I was glad to see that the youngEnglishman was improving himself, broadening his knowledge of life, andnot wasting the golden hours of youth. Experience is what we all need, and though love or love-making cannot be called a novelty, there issomething quite fresh about the study of it in the modern spirit. 

Mr. Lyon had made himself very agreeable to the little circle, not lessby his inquiring spirit than by his unaffected manners, by a kindof simplicity which women recognize as unconscious, the result of aninherited habit of not thinking about one's position. In excess it maybe very disagreeable, but when it is combined with genuine good-natureand no self-assertion, it is attractive. And although American womenlike a man who is aggressive towards the world and combative, there isthe delight of novelty in one who has leisure to be agreeable, leisurefor them, and who seems to their imagination to have a larger range inlife than those who are driven by business--one able to offer the peaceand security of something attained. 

There had been several little neighborhood entertainments, dinners atthe Morgans' and at Mrs. Fletcher's, and an evening cup of tea at MissForsythe's. In fact Margaret and Mr. Lyon had been thrown much together. He had accompanied her to vespers, and they had taken a wintry walkor two together before the snow came. My wife had not managed it--sheassured me of that; but she had not felt authorized to interfere; andshe had visited the public library and looked into the British Peerage. Men were so suspicious. Margaret was quite able to take care of herself. I admitted that, but I suggested that the Englishman was a stranger ina strange land, that he was far from home, and had perhaps a weakenedsense of those powerful social influences which must, after all, controlhim in the end. The only response to this was, "I think, dear, you'dbetter wrap him up in cotton and send him back to his family. "

Among her other activities Margaret was interested in a mission schoolin the city, to which she devoted an occasional evening and Sundayafternoons. This was a new surprise for Mr. Lyon. Was this also a partof the restlessness of American life? At Mrs. Howe's german the otherevening the girl had seemed wholly absorbed in dress, and the gayety ofthe serious formality of the occasion, feeling the responsibility ofit scarcely less than the "leader. " Yet her mind was evidently muchoccupied with the "condition of women, " and she taught in a publicschool. He could not at all make it out. Was she any more serious aboutthe german than about the mission school? It seemed odd at her ageto take life so seriously. And was she serious in all her variousoccupations, or only experimenting? There was a certain mocking humor inthe girl that puzzled the Englishman still more. 

"I have not seen much of your life, " he said one night to Mr. Morgan; "but aren't most American women a little restless, seeking anoccupation?"

"Perhaps they have that appearance; but about the same number find it, as formerly, in marriage. "

"But I mean, you know, do they look to marriage as an end so much?"

"I don't know that they ever did look to marriage as anything but ameans. "

"I can tell you, Mr. Lyon, " my wife interrupted, "you will get noinformation out of Mr. Morgan; he is a scoffer. "

"Not at all, I do assure you, " Morgan replied. "I am just a humbleobserver. I see that there is a change going on, but I cannot comprehendit. When I was young, girls used to go in for society; they danced theirfeet off from seventeen to twenty-one. I never heard anything about anyoccupation; they had their swing and their fling, and their flirtations;they appeared to be skimming off of those impressionable, joyous yearsthe cream of life. "

"And you think that fitted them for the seriousness of life?" asked hiswife. 

"Well, I am under the impression that very good women came out of thatsociety. I got one out of that dancing crowd who has been serious enoughfor me. "

"And little enough you have profited by it, " said Mrs. Morgan. 

"I'm content. But probably I'm old-fashioned. There is quite anotherspirit now. Girls out of pinafores must begin seriously to consider somecalling. All their flirtation from seventeen to twenty-one is with someoccupation. All their dancing days they must go to college, or in someway lay the foundation for a useful life. I suppose it's all right. Nodoubt we shall have a much higher style of women in the future than weever had in the past. "

"You allow nothing, " said Mrs. Fletcher, "for the necessity of earninga living in these days of competition. Women never will come to theirproper position in the world, even as companions of men, which youregard as their highest office, until they have the ability to beself-supporting. "

"Oh, I admitted the fact of the independence of women a long time ago. Every one does that before he comes to middle life. About the shiftingall round of this burden of earning a living, I am not so sure. It doesnot appear yet to make competition any less; perhaps competition woulddisappear if everybody did earn his own living and no more. I wonder, by-the-way, if the girls, the young women, of the class we seem to bediscussing ever do earn as much as would pay the wages of the servantswho are hired to do the housework in their places?"

"That is a most ignoble suggestion, " I could not help saying, "when youknow that the object in modern life is the cultivation of the mind, theelevation of women, and men also, in intellectual life. "

"I suppose so. I should like to have asked Abigail Adams's opinion onthe way to do it. "

"One would think, " I said, "that you didn't know that the spinning-jennyand the stocking-knitter had been invented. Given these, the women'scollege was a matter of course. "

"Oh, I'm a believer in all kinds of machinery anything to save labor. Only, I have faith that neither the jenny nor the college will changehuman nature, nor take the romance out of life. "

"So have I, " said my wife. "I've heard two things affirmed: that womenwho receive a scientific or professional education lose their faith, become usually agnostics, having lost sensitiveness to the mysteries oflife. "

"And you think, therefore, that they should not have a scientificeducation?"

"No, unless all scientific prying into things is a mistake. Women may bemore likely at first to be upset than men, but they will recover theirbalance when the novelty is worn off. No amount of science will entirelychange their emotional nature; and besides, with all our science, Idon't see that the supernatural has any less hold on this generationthan on the former. "

"Yes, and you might say the world was never before so credulous as it isnow. But what was the other thing?"

"Why, that co-education is likely to diminish marriages amongthe co-educated. Daily familiarity in the classroom at the mostimpressionable age, revelation of all the intellectual weaknesses andpetulances, absorption of mental routine on an equality, tend to destroythe sense of romance and mystery that are the most powerful attractionsbetween the sexes. It is a sort of disenchanting familiarity that rubsoff the bloom. "

"Have you any statistics on the subject?"

"No. I fancy it is only a notion of some old fogy who thinks educationin any form is dangerous for women. "

"Yes, and I fancy that co-education will have about as much effect onlife generally as that solemn meeting of a society of intelligentand fashionable women recently in one of our great cities, who met todiscuss the advisability of limiting population. "

"Great Scott!" I exclaimed, "this is an interesting age. "

I was less anxious about the vagaries of it when I saw the veryold-fashioned way in which the international drama was going on in ourneighborhood. Mr. Lyon was increasingly interested in Margaret's missionwork. Nor was there much affectation in this. Philanthropy, anxietyabout the working-classes, is nowhere more serious or in the fashionthan it is in London. Mr. Lyon, wherever he had been, had made a specialstudy of the various aid and relief societies, especially of the workfor young waifs and strays. 

One Sunday afternoon they were returning from the Bloom StreetMission. Snow covered the ground, the sky was leaden, and the air had apenetrating chill in it far more disagreeable than extreme cold. 

"We also, " Mr. Lyon was saying, in continuation of a conversation, "aremaking a great effort for the common people. "

"But we haven't any common people here, " replied Margaret, quickly. "That bright boy you noticed in my class, who was a terror six monthsago, will no doubt be in the City Council in a few years, and likelyenough mayor. "

"Oh, I know your theory. It practically comes to the same thing, whatever you call it. I couldn't see that the work in New York differedmuch from that in London. We who have leisure ought to do something forthe working-classes. "

"I sometimes doubt if it is not all a mistake most of our charitablework. The thing is to get people to do something for themselves. "

"But you cannot do away with distinctions?"

"I suppose not, so long as so many people are born vicious, orincompetent, or lazy. But, Mr. Lyon, how much good do you supposecondescending charity does?" asked Margaret, firing up in a way the girlhad at times. "I mean the sort that makes the distinctions more evident. The very fact that you have leisure to meddle in their affairs may bean annoyance to the folks you try to help by the little palliatives ofcharity. What effect upon a wretched city neighborhood do you suppose isproduced by the advent in it of a stylish carriage and a lady in silk, or even the coming of a well-dressed, prosperous woman in a horse-car, however gentle and unassuming she may be in this distribution ofsympathy and bounty? Isn't the feeling of inequality intensified? Andthe degrading part of it may be that so many are willing to accept thissort of bounty. And your men of leisure, your club men, sitting in thewindows and seeing the world go by as a spectacle-men who never did anhour's necessary work in their lives--what effect do you suppose thesight of them has upon men out of work, perhaps by their own fault, owing to the same disposition to be idle that the men in the clubwindows have?"

"And do you think it would be any better if all were poor alike?"

"I think it would be better if there were no idle people. I'm halfashamed that I have leisure to go every time I go to that mission. AndI'm almost sorry, Mr. Lyon, that I took you there. The boys knew youwere English. One of them asked me if you were a 'lord' or a 'juke'or something. I cannot tell how they will take it. They may resent thespying into their world of an 'English juke, ' and they may take it inthe light of a show. "

Mr. Lyon laughed. And then, perhaps after a little reflection upon thepossibility that the nobility was becoming a show in this world, hesaid:

"I begin to think I'm very unfortunate, Miss Debree. You seem to remindme that I am in a position in which I can do very little to help theworld along. "

"Not at all. You can do very much. "

"But how, when whatever I attempt is considered a condescension? Whatcan I do?"

"Pardon me, " and Margaret turned her eyes frankly upon him. "You can bea good earl when your time comes. "

Their way lay through the little city park. It is a pretty place insummer--a varied surface, well planted with forest and ornamental trees, intersected by a winding stream. The little river was full now, and icehad formed on it, with small openings here and there, where the darkwater, hurrying along as if in fear of arrest, had a more chillingaspect than the icy cover. The ground was white with snow, and all thetrees were bare except for a few frozen oak-leaves here and there, whichshivered in the wind and somehow added to the desolation. Leaden cloudscovered the sky, and only in the west was there a gleam of the departingwinter day. 

Upon the elevated bank of the stream, opposite to the road by which theyapproached, they saw a group of people--perhaps twenty-drawn closelytogether, either in the sympathy of segregation from an unfeeling world, or for protection from the keen wind. On the hither bank, and leaning onthe rails of the drive, had collected a motley crowd of spectators, men, women, and boys, who exhibited some impatience and much curiosity, decorous for the most part, but emphasized by occasional jocose remarksin an undertone. A serious ceremony was evidently in progress. Theseparate group had not a prosperous air. The women were thinly clad forsuch a day. Conspicuous in the little assembly was a tall, elderly manin a shabby long coat and a broad felt hat, from under which his whitehair fell upon his shoulders. He might be a prophet in Israel come outto testify to an unbelieving world, and the little group around him, shaken like reeds in the wind, had the appearance of martyrs to a cause. The light of another world shone in their thin, patient faces. Come, they seemed to say to the worldlings on the opposite bank--come and seewhat happiness it is to serve the Lord. As they waited, a faint tunewas started, a quavering hymn, whose feeble notes the wind blew away offirst, but which grew stronger. 

Before the first stanza was finished a carriage appeared in the rear ofthe group. From it descended a middle-aged man and a stout woman, andthey together helped a young girl to alight. She was clad all in white. For a moment her thin, delicate figure shrank from the cutting wind. Timid, nervous, she glanced an instant at the crowd and the dark icystream; but it was only a protest of the poor body; the face had therapt, exultant look of joyous sacrifice. 

The tall man advanced to meet her, and led her into the midst of thegroup. 

For a few moments there was prayer, inaudible at a distance. Then thetall man, taking the girl by the hand, advanced down the slope to thestream. His hat was laid aside, his venerable locks streamed in thebreeze, his eyes were turned to heaven; the girl walked as in a vision, without a tremor, her wide-opened eyes fixed upon invisible things. As they moved on, the group behind set up a joyful hymn in a kind ofmournful chant, in which the tall man joined with a strident voice. Fitfully the words came on the wind, in an almost heart-breaking wail:

 "Beyond the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon; Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Beyond the sowing and the reaping, I shall be soon. "

They were near the water now, and the tall man's voice sounded out loudand clear:

"Lord, tarry not, but come!"

They were entering the stream where there was an opening clear of ice;the footing was not very secure, and the tall man ceased singing, butthe little band sang on:

 "Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon. "

The girl grew paler and shuddered. The tall man sustained her withan attitude of infinite sympathy, and seemed to speak words ofencouragement. They were in the mid-stream; the cold flood surged abouttheir waists. The group sang on:

 "Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon. "

The strong, tender arms of the tall man gently lowered the white formunder the cruel water; he staggered a moment in the swift stream, recovered himself, raised her, white as death, and the voices of thewailing tune came:

 "Love, rest, and home Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come!"

And the tall man, as he struggled to the shore with his almostinsensible burden, could be heard above the other voices and the windand the rush of the waters:

 "Lord, tarry not, but come!"

The girl was hurried into the carriage, and the group quickly dispersed. "Well, I'll be--" The tender-hearted little wife of the rough man in thecrowd who began that sentence did not permit him to finish it. "That'llbe a case for a doctor right away, " remarked a well-known practitionerwho had been looking on. 

Margaret and Mr. Lyon walked home in silence. "I can't talk about it, "she said. "It's such a pitiful world. "

IV

In the evening, at our house, Margaret described the scene in the park. 

"It's dreadful, " was the comment of Miss Forsythe. "The authoritiesought not to permit such a thing. "

"It seemed to me as heroic as pitiful, aunt. I fear I should beincapable of making such a testimony. "

"But it was so unnecessary. "

"How do we know what is necessary to any poor soul? What impressedme most strongly was that there is in the world still this longing tosuffer physically and endure public scorn for a belief. "

"It may have been a disappointment to the little band, " said Mr. Morgan, "that there was no demonstration from the spectators, that there was noloud jeering, that no snowballs were thrown by the boys. "

"They could hardly expect that, " said I; "the world has become sotolerant that it doesn't care. "

"I rather think, " Margaret replied, "that the spectators for amoment came under the spell of the hour, and were awed by somethingsupernatural in the endurance of that frail girl. "

"No doubt, " said my wife, after a little pause. "I believe that thereis as much sense of mystery in the world as ever, and as much of whatwe call faith, only it shows itself eccentrically. Breaking away fromtraditions and not going to church have not destroyed the need in theminds of the mass of people for something outside themselves. "

"Did I tell you, " interposed Morgan--"it is almost in the line of yourthought--of a girl I met the other day on the train? I happened to beher seat-mate in the car-thin face, slight little figure--a commonplacegirl, whom I took at first to be not more than twenty, but from thelines about her large eyes she was probably nearer forty. She had inher lap a book, which she conned from time to time, and seemed to becommitting verses to memory as she looked out the window. At last Iventured to ask what literature it was that interested her so much, whenshe turned and frankly entered into conversation. It was a little Adventsong-book. She liked to read it on the train, and hum over the tunes. Yes, she was a good deal on the cars; early every morning she rodethirty miles to her work, and thirty miles back every evening. Her workwas that of clerk and copyist in a freight office, and she earned ninedollars a week, on which she supported herself and her mother. It washard work, but she did not mind it much. Her mother was quite feeble. She was an Adventist. 'And you?' I asked. 'Oh, yes; I am. I've beenan Adventist twenty years, and I've been perfectly happy ever sinceI joined--perfectly, ' she added, turning her plain face, now radiant, towards me. 'Are you one?' she asked, presently. 'Not an immediateAdventist, ' I was obliged to confess. 'I thought you might be, thereare so many now, more and more. ' I learned that in our little city therewere two Advent societies; there had been a split on account of somedifference in the meaning of original sin. 'And you are not discouragedby the repeated failure of the predictions of the end of the world?' Iasked. 'No. Why should we be? We don't fix any certain day now, butall the signs show that it is very near. We are all free to think aswe like. Most of our members now think it will be next year. '--'Ihope not!' I exclaimed. 'Why?' she asked, turning to me with a look ofsurprise. 'Are you afraid?' I evaded by saying that I supposed the goodhad nothing to fear. 'Then you must be an Adventist, you have so muchsympathy. '--'I shouldn't like to have the world come to an end nextyear, because there are so many interesting problems, and I want to seehow they will be worked out. '--'How can you want to put it off'--andthere was for the first time a little note of fanaticism in hervoice--'when there is so much poverty and hard work? It is such a hardworld, and so much suffering and sin. And it could all be ended in amoment. How can you want it to go on?' The train approached the station, and she rose to say good-by. 'You will see the truth some day, ' shesaid, and went away as cheerful as if the world was actually destroyed. She was the happiest woman I have seen in a long time. "

"Yes, " I said, "it is an age of both faith and credulity. "

"And nothing marks it more, " Morgan added, "than the popular expectationamong the scientific and the ignorant of something to come out of thedimly understood relation of body and mind. It is like the expectationof the possibilities of electricity. "

"I was going on to say, " I continued, "that wherever I walk in the cityof a Sunday afternoon, I am struck with the number of little meetingsgoing on, of the faithful and the unfaithful, Adventists, socialists, spiritualists, culturists, Sons and Daughters of Edom; from all the openwindows of the tall buildings come notes of praying, of exhortation, the melancholy wail of the inspiring Sankey tunes, total abstinencemelodies, over-the-river melodies, songs of entreaty, and songs ofpraise. There is so much going on outside of the regular churches!"

"But the churches are well attended, " suggested my wife. 

"Yes, fairly, at least once a day, and if there is sensationalpreaching, twice. But there is nothing that will so pack the biggesthall in the city as the announcement of inspirational preaching by someyoung woman who speaks at random on a text given her when she stepsupon the platform. There is something in her rhapsody, even when it isincoherent, that appeals to a prevailing spirit. "'

"How much of it is curiosity?" Morgan asked. "Isn't the hall just asjammed when the clever attorney of Nothingism, Ham Saversoul, jokesabout the mysteries of this life and the next?"

"Very likely. People like the emotional and the amusing. All the same, they are credulous, and entertain doubt and belief on the slightestevidence. "

"Isn't it natural, " spoke up Mr. Lyon, who had hitherto been silent, "that you should drift into this condition without an establishedchurch?"

"Perhaps it's natural, " Morgan retorted, "that people dissatisfied withan established religion should drift over here. Great Britain, you know, is a famous recruiting-ground for our socialistic experiments. "

"Ah, well, " said my wife, "men will have something. If what isestablished repels to the extent of getting itself disestablished, andall churches should be broken up, society would somehow precipitateitself again spiritually. I heard the other day that Boston, getting alittle weary of the Vedas, was beginning to take up the New Testament. "

"Yes, " said Morgan, "since Tolstoi mentioned it. "

After a little the talk drifted into psychic research, and got lost instories of "appearances" and "long-distance" communications. It appearedto me that intelligent people accepted this sort of story as true onevidence on which they wouldn't risk five dollars if it were a questionof money. Even scientists swallow tales of prehistoric bones ontestimony they would reject if it involved the title to a piece of realestate. 

Mr. Lyon still lingered in the lap of a New England winter as if it hadbeen Capua. He was anxious to visit Washington and study the politicsof the country, and see the sort of society produced in the freedom ofa republic, where there was no court to give the tone and there were noclass lines to determine position. He was restless under this sense ofduty. The future legislator for the British Empire must understand theConstitution of its great rival, and thus be able to appreciate thesocial currents that have so much to do with political action. 

In fact he had another reason for uneasiness. His mother had writtenhim, asking why he stayed so long in an unimportant city, he who hadbeen so active a traveler hitherto. Knowledge of the capitals was whathe needed. Agreeable people he could find at home, if his only objectwas to pass the time. What could he reply? Could he say that he hadbecome very much interested in studying a schoolteacher--a very charmingschool-teacher? He could see the vision raised in the minds of hismother and of the earl and of his elder sister as they should read thisprecious confession--a vision of a schoolma'am, of an American girl, andan American girl without any money at that, moving in the little orbitof Chisholm House. The thing was absurd. And yet why was it absurd? Whatwas English politics, what was Chisholm House, what was everybodyin England compared to this noble girl? Nay, what would the world bewithout her? He grew hot in thinking of it, indignant at his relationsand the whole artificial framework of things. 

The situation was almost humiliating. He began, to doubt the stabilityof his own position. Hitherto he had met no obstacle: whatever he haddesired he had obtained. He was a sensible fellow, and knew the worldwas not made for him; but it certainly had yielded to him in everything. Why did he doubt now? That he did doubt showed him the intensity ofhis interest in Margaret. For love is humble, and undervalues self incontrast with that which it desires. At this touchstone rank, fortune, all that go with them, seemed poor. What were all these to a woman'ssoul? But there were women enough, women enough in England, women morebeautiful than Margaret, doubtless as amiable and intellectual. Yet nowthere was for him only one woman in the world. And Margaret showed nosign. Was he about to make a fool of himself? If she should reject himhe would seem a fool to himself. If she accepted him he would seem afool to the whole circle that made his world at home. The situation wasintolerable. He would end it by going. 

But he did not go. If he went today he could not see her tomorrow. To alover anything can be borne if he knows that he shall see her tomorrow. In short, he could not go so long as there was any doubt about herdisposition towards him. 

And a man is still reduced to this in the latter part of the nineteenthcentury, notwithstanding all our science, all our analysis of thepassion, all our wise jabber about the failure of marriage, all ourcommonsense about the relation of the sexes. Love is still a personalquestion, not to be reasoned about or in any way disposed of except inthe old way. Maidens dream about it; diplomats yield to it; stolidmen are upset by it; the aged become young, the young grave, under itsinfluence; the student loses his appetite--God bless him! I like tohear the young fellows at the club rattle on bravely, indifferent tothe whole thing--skeptical, in fact, about it. And then to see them, one after another, stricken down, and looking a little sheepish andnot saying much, and by-and-by radiant. You would think they owned theworld. Heaven, I think, shows us no finer sarcasm than one of theseyoung skeptics as a meek family man. 

Margaret and Mr. Lyon were much together. 

And their talk, as always happens when two persons find themselvesmuch together, became more and more personal. It is only in books thatdialogues are abstract and impersonal. The Englishman told her abouthis family, about the set in which he moved--and he had the Englishfrankness in setting it out unreservedly--about the life he led atOxford, about his travels, and so on to what he meant to do in theworld. Margaret in return had little to tell, her own life had beenso simple--not much except the maidenly reserves, the discontents withherself, which interested him more than anything else; and of thefuture she would not speak at all. How can a woman, without beingmisunderstood? All this talk had a certain danger in it, for sympathyis unavoidable between two persons who look ever so little into eachother's hearts and compare tastes and desires. 

"I cannot quite understand your social life over here, " Mr. Lyon wassaying one day. "You seem to make distinctions, but I cannot see exactlyfor what. "

"Perhaps they make themselves. Your social orders seem able to resistDarwin's theory, but in a republic natural selection has a betterchance. "

"I was told by a Bohemian on the steamer coming over that money inAmerica takes the place of rank in England. "

"That isn't quite true. "

"And I was told in Boston by an acquaintance of very old family andlittle fortune that 'blood' is considered here as much as anywhere. "

"You see, Mr. Lyon, how difficult it is to get correct information aboutus. I think we worship wealth a good deal, and we worship family a gooddeal, but if any one presumes too much upon either, he is likely to cometo grief. I don't understand it very well myself. "

"Then it is not money that determines social position in America?"

"Not altogether; but more now than formerly. I suppose the distinctionis this: family will take a person everywhere, money will take himalmost everywhere; but money is always at this disadvantage--it takesmore and more of it to gain position. And then you will find that it isa good deal a matter of locality. For instance, in Virginia and Kentuckyfamily is still very powerful, stronger than any distinction in lettersor politics or success in business; and there is a certain diminishingnumber of people in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, who cultivate a gooddeal of exclusiveness on account of descent. "

"But I am told that this sort of aristocracy is succumbing to the newplutocracy. "

"Well, it is more and more difficult to maintain a position withoutmoney. Mr. Morgan says that it is a disheartening thing to be anaristocrat without luxury; he declares that he cannot tell whether theKnickerbockers of New York or the plutocrats are more uneasy just now. The one is hungry for social position, and is morose if he cannot buyit; and when the other is seduced by luxury and yields, he finds thathis distinction is gone. For in his heart the newly rich only respectsthe rich. A story went about of one of the Bonanza princes who had builthis palace in the city, and was sending out invitations to his firstentertainment. Somebody suggested doubts to him about the response. 'Oh, ' he said, 'the beggars will be glad enough to come!'"

"I suppose, Mr. Lyon, " said Margaret, demurely, "that this sort of thingis unknown in England?"

"Oh, I couldn't say that money is not run after there to some extent. "

"I saw a picture in Punch of an auction, intended as an awful satire onAmerican women. It struck me that it might have two interpretations. "

"Yes, Punch is as friendly to America as it is to the Englisharistocracy. "

"Well, I was only thinking that it is just an exchange of commodities. People will always give what they have for what they want. The Westernman changes his pork in New York for pictures. I suppose that--what doyou call it?--the balance of trade is against us, and we have to sendover cash and beauty. "

"I didn't know that Miss Debree was so much of a political economist. "

"We got that out of books in school. Another thing we learned is thatEngland wants raw material; I thought I might as well say it, for itwouldn't be polite for you. "

"Oh, I'm capable of saying anything, if provoked. But we have got awayfrom the point. As far as I can see, all sorts of people intermarry, andI don't see how you can discriminate socially--where the lines are. "

Mr. Lyon saw the moment that he had made it that this was a suggestionlittle likely to help him. And Margaret's reply showed that he had lostground. 

"Oh, we do not try to discriminate--except as to foreigners. There is apopular notion that Americans had better marry at home. "

"Then the best way for a foreigner to break your exclusiveness is to benaturalized. " Mr. Lyon tried to adopt her tone, and added, "Would youlike to see me an American citizen?"

"I don't believe you could be, except for a little while; you are tooBritish. "

"But the two nations are practically the same; that is, individuals ofthe nations are. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, if one of them gives up all the habits and prejudices of alifetime and of a whole social condition to the other. "

"And which would have to yield?"

"Oh, the man, of course. It has always been so. Mygreat-great-grandfather was a Frenchman, but he became, I have alwaysheard, the most docile American republican. "

"Do you think he would have been the one to give in if they had gone toFrance?"

"Perhaps not. And then the marriage would have been unhappy. Didyou never take notice that a woman's happiness, and consequently thehappiness of marriage, depends upon a woman's having her own way in allsocial matters? Before our war all the men who married down South tookthe Southern view, and all the Southern women who married up North heldtheir own, and sensibly controlled the sympathies of their husbands. "

"And how was it with the Northern women who married South, as you say?"

"Well, it must be confessed that a good many of them adapted themselves, in appearance at least. Women can do that, and never let anyone see theyare not happy and not doing it from choice. "

"And don't you think American women adapt themselves happily to Englishlife?"

"Doubtless some; I doubt if many do; but women do not confess mistakesof that kind. Woman's happiness depends so much upon the continuation ofthe surroundings and sympathies in which she is bred. There are alwaysexceptions. Do you know, Mr. Lyon, it seems to me that some people donot belong in the country where they were born. We have men who ought tohave been born in England, and who only find themselves really they gothere. There are who are ambitious, and court a career different fromany that a republic can give them. They are not satisfied here. Whetherthey are happy there I do not know; so few trees, when at all grown, will bear transplanting. "

"Then you think international marriages are a mistake?"

"Oh, I don't theorize on subjects I am ignorant of. "

"You give me very cold comfort. "

"I didn't know, " said Margaret, with a laugh that was too genuine to beconsoling, "that you were traveling for comfort; I thought it was forinformation. "

"And I am getting a great deal, " said Mr. Lyon, rather ruefully. "I'mtrying to find out where. I ought to have been born. "

"I'm not sure, " Margaret said, half seriously, "but you would have beena very good American. "

This was not much of an admission, after all, but it was the most thatMargaret had ever made, and Mr. Lyon tried to get some encouragement outof it. But he felt, as any man would feel, that this beating about thebush, this talk of nationality and all that, was nonsense; that if awoman loved a man she wouldn't care where he was born; that all theworld would be as nothing to him; that all conditions and obstaclessociety and family could raise would melt away in the glow of a realpassion. And he wondered for a moment if American girls were not"calculating"--a word to which he had learned over here to attach a newand comical meaning. 

V

The afternoon after this conversation Miss Forsythe was sitting readingin her favorite window-seat when Mr. Lyon was announced. Margaret wasat her school. There was nothing un usual in this afternoon call; Mr. Lyon's visits had become frequent and informal; but Miss Forsythe had anervous presentiment that something important was to happen, that showeditself in her greeting, and which was perhaps caught from a certain newdiffidence in his manner. 

Perhaps the maiden lady preserves more than any other thissensitiveness, inborn in women, to the approach of the critical momentin the affairs of the heart. The day may some time be past when she--issensitive for herself--philosophers say otherwise--but she is easilyput in a flutter by the affair of another. Perhaps this is because thenegative (as we say in these days) which takes impressions retains allits delicacy from the fact that none of them have ever been developed, and perhaps it is a wise provision of nature that age in a heartunsatisfied should awaken lively apprehensive curiosity and sympathyabout the manifestation of the tender passion in others. It certainlyis a note of the kindliness and charity of the maiden mind that itssympathies are so apt to be most strongly excited in the success of thewooer. This interest may be quite separable from the common femininedesire to make a match whenever there is the least chance of it. MissForsythe was not a match-maker, but Margaret herself would not have beenmore embarrassed than she was at the beginning of this interview. 

When Mr. Lyon was seated she made the book she had in her hand theexcuse for beginning a talk about the confidence young novelists seemto have in their ability to upset the Christian religion by a fictitiousrepresentation of life, but her visitor was too preoccupied to join init. He rose and stood leaning his arm upon the mantel-piece, and lookinginto the fire, and said, abruptly, at last:

"I called to see you, Miss Forsythe, to--to consult you about yourniece. "

"About her career?" asked Miss Forsythe, with a nervous consciousness offalsehood. 

"Yes, about her career; that is, in a way, " turning towards her with alittle smile. 

"Yes?"

"You must have seen my interest in her. You must have known why I stayedon and on. But it was, it is, all so uncertain. I wanted to ask yourpermission to speak my mind to her. "

"Are you quite sure you know your own mind?" asked Miss Forsythe, defensively. 

"Sure--sure; I have never had the feeling for any other woman I have forher. "

"Margaret is a noble girl; she is very independent, " suggested MissForsythe, still avoiding the point. 

"I know. I don't ask you her feeling. " Mr. Lyon was standing quietlylooking down into the coals. "She is the only woman in the world to me. I love her. Are you against me?" he asked, suddenly looking up, with aflush in his face. 

"Oh, no! no!" exclaimed Miss Forsythe, with another access of timidity. "I shouldn't take the responsibility of being against you, or--orotherwise. It is very manly in you to come to me, and I am sure I--weall wish nothing but your own happiness. And so far as I am concerned--"

"Then I have your permission?" he asked, eagerly. 

"My permission, Mr. Lyon? why, it is so new to me, I scarcely realizedthat I had any permission, " she said, with a little attempt atpleasantry. "But as her aunt--and guardian, as one may say--personallyI should have the greatest satisfaction to know that Margaret's destinywas in the hands of one we all esteem and know as we do you. "

"Thank you, thank you, " said Mr. Lyon, coming forward and seizing herhand. 

"But you must let me say, let me suggest, that there are a great manythings to be thought of. There is such a difference in education, in allthe habits of your lives, in all your relations. Margaret would never behappy in a position where less was accorded to her than she had all herlife. Nor would her pride let her take such a position. "

"But as my wife--"

"Yes, I know that is sufficient in your mind. Have you consulted yourmother, Mr. Lyon?"

"Not yet. "

"And have you written to any one at home about my niece?"

"Not yet. "

"And does it seem a little difficult to do so?" This was a probe thatwent even deeper than the questioner knew. Mr. Lyon hesitated, seeingagain as in a vision the astonishment of his family. He was conscious ofan attempt at self-deception when he replied:

"Not difficult, not at all difficult, but I thought I would wait till Ihad something definite to say. "

"Margaret is, of course, perfectly free to act for herself. She has avery ardent nature, but at the same time a great deal of what we callcommon sense. Though her heart might be very much engaged, she wouldhesitate to put herself in any society which thought itself superior toher. You see I speak with great frankness. "

It was a new position for Mr. Lyon to find his prospective rankseemingly an obstacle to anything he desired. For a moment thewhimsicality of it interrupted the current of his feeling. He thought ofthe probable comments of the men of his London club upon the drift hisconversation was taking with a New England spinster about his fitnessto marry a school-teacher. With a smile that was summoned to hidehis annoyance, he said, "I don't see how I can defend myself, MissForsythe. "

"Oh, " she replied, with an answering smile that recognized his view ofthe humor of the situation, "I was not thinking of you, Mr. Lyon, but ofthe family and the society that my niece might enter, to which rank isof the first importance. "

"I am simply John Lyon, Miss Forsythe. I may never be anything else. But if it were otherwise, I did not suppose that Americans objected torank. "

It was an unfortunate speech, felt to be so the instant it was uttered. Miss Forsythe's pride was touched, and the remark was not softened toher by the air of half banter with which the sentence concluded. Shesaid, with a little stillness and formality: "I fear, Mr. Lyon, thatyour sarcasm is too well merited. But there are Americans who make adistinction between rank and blood. Perhaps it is very undemocratic, butthere is nowhere else more pride of family, of honorable descent, thanhere. We think very much of what we call good blood. And you willpardon me for saying that we are accustomed to speak of some personsand families abroad which have the highest rank as being thoroughly badblood. If I am not mistaken, you also recognize the historic fact ofignoble blood in the owners of noble titles. I only mean, Mr. Lyon, " sheadded, with a softening of manner, "that all Americans do not think thatrank covers a multitude of sins. "

"Yes, I think I get your American point of view. But to return tomyself, if you will allow me; if I am so fortunate as to win MissDebree's love, I have no fear that she would not win the hearts of allmy family. Do you think that my--my prospective position would be anobjection to her?"

"Not your position, no; if her heart were engaged. But expatriation, involving a surrender of all the habits and traditions and associationsof a lifetime and of one's kindred, is a serious affair. One would needto be very much in love"--and Miss Forsythe blushed a little as she saidit--"to make such a surrender. "

"I know. I am sure I love her too much to wish to bring any change inher life that would ever cause her unhappiness. "

"I am glad to feel sure of that. "

"And so I have your permission?"

"Most sincerely, " said Miss Forsythe, rising and giving him her hand. "Icould wish nothing better for Margaret than union with a man like you. But whatever I wish, you two have your destiny in your own hands. " Hertone was wholly frank and cordial, but there was a wistful look inher face, as of one who knew how roughly life handles all youthfulenthusiasms. 

When John Lyon walked away from her door his feelings were very muchmixed. At one instant his pride rebelled against the attitude he hadjust assumed. But this was only a flash, which he put away as unbecominga man towards a true woman. The next thought was one of unselfishconsideration for Margaret herself. He would not subject her to anychance of social mortifications. He would wait. He would return homeand test his love by renewing his lifelong associations, and by thereception his family would give to his proposal. And the next momenthe saw Margaret as she had become to him, as she must always be to him. Should he risk the loss of her by timidity? What were all these paltryconsiderations to his love?

Was there ever a young man who could see any reasons against thepossession of the woman he loved? Was there ever any love worth the namethat could be controlled by calculations of expediency? I have no doubtthat John Lyon went through the usual process which is called weighinga thing in the mind. It is generally an amusing process, and it isconsoling to the conscience. The mind has little to do with it exceptto furnish the platform on which the scales are set up. A humorist saysthat he must have a great deal of mind, it takes him so long to makeit up. There is the same apparent deliberation where love is concerned. Everything "contra" is carefully placed in one scale of the balance, andit is always satisfactory and convincing to see how quickly it kicks thebeam when love is placed in the other scale. The lightest love in theworld, under a law as invariable as gravitation, is heavier than anyother known consideration. It is perhaps doing injustice to Mr. Lyon notto dwell upon this struggle in his mind, and to say that in all honestyhe may not have known that the result of it was predetermined. Butinteresting and commendable as are these processes of the mind, Iconfess that I should have respected him less if the result had not beenpredetermined. And this does not in any way take from him the merit of arestless night and a tasteless breakfast. 

Philosophizers on this topic say that a man ought always to be ableto tell by a woman's demeanor towards him whether she is favorablyinclined, and that he need run no risk. Little signs, the eyes alone, draw people together, and make formal language superfluous. This theoryis abundantly sustained by examples, and we might rest on it if allwomen knew their own minds, and if, on the other hand, they could alwaystell whether a man was serious before he made a definite avowal. Thereis another notion, fortunately not yet extinct, that the manliest thinga man can do is to take his life in his hand, pay the woman he lovesthe highest tribute in his power by offering her his heart and name, and giving her the definite word that may be the touchstone to reveal toherself her own feeling. In our conventional life women must move behinda mask in a world of uncertainties. What wonder that many of them learnin their defensive position to play a game, and sometimes experimentupon the honest natures of their admirers! But even this does notabsolve the chivalrous man from the duty of frankness and explicitness. Life seems ideal in that far country where the handsome youth stopshis carriage at the gate of the vineyard, and says to the laughing girlcarrying a basket of grapes on her head, "My pretty maid, will you marryme?" And the pretty maid, dropping a courtesy, says, "Thank you, sir; Iam already bespoken, " or "Thank you; I will consider of it when I knowyou better. "

Not for a moment, I suppose, is a woman ever ignorant of a man'sadmiration of her, however uncertain she may be of his intentions, andit was with an unusual flutter of the heart that Margaret receivedMr. Lyon that afternoon. If she had doubts, they were dissipated by acertain constraint in his manner, and the importance he seemed tobe attaching to his departure, and she was warned to go within herdefenses. Even the most complaisant women like at least the appearanceof a siege. 

"I'm off tomorrow, " he said, "for Washington. You know you recommendedit as necessary to my American education. "

"Yes. We send Representatives and strangers there to be educated. I havenever been there myself. "

"And do you not wish to go?"

"Very much. All Americans want to go to Washington. It is the greatsocial opportunity; everybody there is in society. You will be able tosee there, Mr. Lyon, how a republican democracy manages social life. 

"Do you mean to say there are no distinctions?"

"Oh, no; there are plenty of official distinctions, and a code that isvery curious and complicated, I believe. But still society is open. "

"It must be--pardon me--a good deal like a mob. "

"Well, our mobs of that sort are said to be very well behaved. Mr. Morgan says that Washington is the only capital in the world where theprinciple of natural selection applies to society; that it is thereshown for the first time that society is able to take care of itself inthe free play of democratic opportunities. "

"It must be very interesting to see that. "

"I hope you will find it so. The resident diplomats, I have heard, say that they find society there more agreeable than at any othercapital--at least those who have the qualities to make themselvesagreeable independent of their rank. "

"Is there nothing like a court? I cannot see who sets the mode. "

"Officially there may be something like a court, but it can be onlytemporary, for the personnel of it is dissolved every four years. Andsociety, always forming and reforming, as the voters of the republicdictate, is almost independent of the Government, and has nothing of thesocial caste of Berlin or London. "

"You make quite an ideal picture. "

"Oh, I dare say it is not at all ideal; only it is rather fluid, andinteresting, to see how society, without caste and subject to suchconstant change, can still be what is called 'society. ' And I am toldthat while it is all open in a certain way, it nevertheless selectsitself into agreeable groups, much as society does elsewhere. Yes, youought to see what a democracy can do in this way. "

"But I am told that money makes your aristocracy here. "

"Very likely rich people think they are an aristocracy. You see, Mr. Lyon, I don't know much about the great world. Mrs. Fletcher, whose latehusband was once a Representative in Washington, says that life isnot nearly so simple there as it used to be, and that rich men in theGovernment, vying with rich men who have built fine houses and who livethere permanently without any Government position, have introducedan element of expense and display that interferes very much with thenatural selection of which Mr. Morgan speaks. But you will see. We areall right sorry to have you leave us, " Margaret added, turning towardshim with frank, unclouded eyes. 

"It is very good in you to say so. I have spent here the most delightfuldays of my life. "

"Oh, that is charming flattery. You will make us all very conceited. "

"Don't mock me, Miss Debree. I hoped I had awakened something morevaluable to me than conceit, " Lyon said, with a smile. 

"You have, I assure you: gratitude. You have opened quite another worldto us. Reading about foreign life does not give one at all the sameimpression of it that seeing one who is a part of it does. "

"And don't you want to see that life for yourself? I hope some time--"

"Of course, " Margaret said, interrupting; "all Americans expect to go toEurope. I have a friend who says she should be mortified if she reachedheaven and there had to confess that she never had seen Europe. It isone of the things that is expected of a person. Though you know now thatthe embarrassing question that everybody has to answer is, 'Have youbeen to Alaska?' Have you been to Alaska, Mr. Lyon?"

This icy suggestion seemed very inopportune to Lyon. He rose and walkeda step or two, and stood by the fire facing her. He confessed, lookingdown, that he had not been in Alaska, and he had no desire to go there. "In fact, Miss Debree, " he said, with effort at speaking lightly, "Ifear I am not in a geographical mood today. I came to say good-by, and--and--"

"Shall I call my aunt?" said Margaret, rising also. 

"No, I beg; I had something to say that concerns us; that is, thatconcerns myself. I couldn't go away without knowing from you--that is, without telling you--"

The color rose in Margaret's cheek, and she made a movement ofembarrassment, and said, with haste: "Some other time; I beg you willnot say--I trust that I have done nothing that--"

"Nothing, nothing, " he went on quickly; "nothing except to be yourself;to be the one woman"--he would not heed her hand raised in a gesture ofprotest; he stood nearer her now, his face flushed and his eyes eagerwith determination--"the one woman I care for. Margaret, Miss Debree, Ilove you!"

Her hand that rested on the table trembled, and the hot blood rushed toher face, flooding her in an agony of shame, pleasure, embarrassment, and anger that her face should contradict the want of tenderness inher eyes. In an instant self-possession came back to her mind, but notstrength to her body, and she sank into the chair, and looking up, withonly pity in her eyes, said, "I am sorry. "

Lyon stopped; his heart seemed to stand still; the blood left his face;for an instant the sunshine left the world. It was a terrible blow, theworst a man can receive--a bludgeon on the head is nothing to it. Hehalf turned, he looked again for an instant at the form that was moreto him than all the world besides, unable to face the dreadful loss, andrecovering speech, falteringly said, "Is that all?"

"That is all, Mr. Lyon, " Margaret answered, not looking up, and in avoice that was perfectly steady. 

He turned to go mechanically, and passed to the door in a sort of daze, forgetful of all conventionality; but habit is strong, and he turnedalmost immediately back from the passage. Margaret was still sitting, with no recognition of his departure. 

"I beg you will make my excuses, and say good-by to Miss Forsythe. Ihad mentioned it to her. I thought perhaps she had told you, perhaps--Ishould like to know if it is anything about difference in--innationality, about family, or--"

"No, no, " said Margaret; "this could never be anything but a personalquestion with me. I--"

"But you said, 'some other time:' Might I ever expect--"

"No, no; there is no other time; do not go on. It can only be painful. "

And then, with a forced cheerfulness: "You will no doubt thank me someday. Your life must be so different from mine. And you must not doubt myesteem, my appreciation, " (her sense of justice forced this from her), "my good wishes. Good-by. " She gave him her hand. He held it for asecond, and then was gone. 

She heard his footstep, rapid and receding. So he had really gone! Shewas not sorry--no. If she could have loved him! She sank back in herchair. 

No, she could not love him. The man to command her heart must be ofanother type. But the greatest experience in a woman's life had come toher here, just now, in this commonplace room. A man had said heloved her. A thousand times as a girl she had dreamed of that, hardlyconfessing it to herself, and thought of such a scene, and feared it. And a man had said that he loved her. Her eyes grew tenderer and herface burned at the thought. Was it with pleasure? Yes, and with womanlypain. What an awful thing it was! Why couldn't he have seen? A man hadsaid he loved her. Perhaps it was not in her to love any one. Perhapsshe should live on and on like her aunt Forsythe. Well, it was over; andMargaret roused herself as her aunt entered the room. 

"Has Mr. Lyon been here?"

"Yes; he has just gone. He was so sorry not to see you and say good-by. He left ever so many messages for you. "

"And" (Margaret was moving as if to go) "did he say nothing--nothing toyou?"

"Oh yes, he said a great deal, " answered this accomplished hypocrite, looking frankly in her aunt's eyes. "He said how delightful his visithad been, and how sorry he was to go. "

"And nothing else, Margaret?"

"Oh yes; he said he was going to Washington. " And the girl was gone fromthe room. 

VI

Margaret hastened to her chamber. Was the air oppressive? She opened thewindow and sat down by it. A soft south wind was blowing, eating awaythe remaining patches of snow; the sky was full of fleecy clouds. Wheredo these days come from in January? Why should nature be in a meltingmood? Margaret instinctively would have preferred a wild storm, violence, anything but this elemental languor. Her emotion wasincredible to herself. 

It was only an incident. It had all happened in a moment, and it wasover. But it was the first of the kind in a woman's life. The thrilling, mysterious word had been dropped into a woman's heart. Hereafter shewould be changed. She never again would be as she was before. Would herheart be hardened or softened by the experience? She did not love him;that was clear. She had done right; that was clear. But he had said heloved her. Unwittingly she was following him in her thought. She hadrejected plain John Lyon, amiable, intelligent, unselfish, kindly, deferential. She had rejected also the Earl of Chisholm, a conspicuousposition, an honorable family, luxury, a great opportunity in life. Itcame to the girl in a flash. She moved nervously in her chair. She putdown the thought as unworthy of her. But she had entertained it for amoment. In that second, ambition had entered the girl's soul. She hada glimpse of her own nature that seemed new to her. Was this, then, the meaning of her restlessness, of her charitable activities, of herunconfessed dreams of some career? Ambition had entered her soul ina definite form. She expelled it. It would come again in some form orother. She was indignant at herself as she thought of it. How odd itwas! Her privacy had been invaded. The even tenor of her life had beenbroken. Henceforth would she be less or more sensitive to the suggestionof love, to the allurements of ambition? Margaret tried, in accordancewith her nature, to be sincere with herself. 

After all, what nonsense it was! Nothing really had happened. A strangerof a few weeks before had declared himself. She did not love him; hewas no more to her than any other man. It was a common occurrence. Herjudgment accorded with her feeling in what she had done. How was she toknow that she had made a mistake, if mistake it was? How was she to knowthat this hour was a crisis in her life? Surely the little tumult wouldpass; surely the little whisper of worldliness could not disturb herideals. But all the power of exclusion in her mind could not exclude thereturning thought of what might have been if she had loved him. Alas! inthat moment was born in her heart something that would make the idea oflove less simple than it had been in her mind. She was heart-free, but her nature was too deep not to be profoundly affected by thisexperience. 

Looking back upon this afternoon in the light of after-years, sheprobably could not feel--no one could say--that she had done wrong. Howwas she to tell? Why is it that to do the right thing is often to makethe mistake of a life? Nothing could have been nobler than for Margaretindignantly to put aside a temptation that her heart told her wasunworthy. And yet if she had yielded to it?

I ought to ask pardon, perhaps, for dwelling upon a thing so slight asthe entrance of a thought in a woman's life. For as to Margaret, sheseemed unchanged. She made no sign that anything unusual had occurred. We only knew that Mr. Lyon went away less cheerful than he usually was, that he said nothing of returning in response to our invitations, andthat he seemed to anticipate nothing but the fulfillment of a duty inhis visit to Washington. 

What had happened was regarded as only an episode. In fact, however, Idoubt if there are any episodes in our lives, any asides, that do notpermanently affect our entire career. Are not the episodes, the casualthoughts, the fortuitous, unplanned meetings, the brief and maybe at themoment unnoted events, those which exercise the most influence on ourdestiny? To all observation the career of Lyon, and not of Margaret, wasmost affected by their interview. But often the implanting of an ideain the mind is more potent than the frustration of a plan or thegratification of a desire, so hidden are the causes that make character. 

For some time I saw little of Margaret. Affairs in which I was not aloneor chiefly concerned took me from home. One of the most curious andinteresting places in the world is a Chamber in the business heart ofNew York--if that scene of struggle and passion can be said to have aheart--situated midway where the currents of eagerness to acquire themoney of other people, not to make it, ceaselessly meet and dash againsteach other. If we could suppose there was a web covering this region, spun by the most alert and busy of men to catch those less alert andmore productive, here in this Chamber would sit the ingenious spiders. But the analogy fails, for spiders do not prey upon each other. Scientists say that the human system has two nerve-centres--one in thebrain, to which and from which are telegraphed all movements dependingupon the will, and another in the small of the back, the centre of theinvoluntary operations of respiration, digestion, and so on. It may befanciful to suppose that in the national system Washington is the onenervous centre and New York the other. And yet it does sometimes seemthat the nerves and ganglions in the small of the back in the commercialmetropolis act automatically and without any visible intervention ofintelligence. For all that, their operations may be as essential asthe other, in which the will-power sometimes gets into a deadlock, andsometimes telegraphs the most eccentric and incomprehensible orders. Puzzled by these contradictions, some philosophers have said that theremay be somewhere outside of these two material centres another powerthat keeps affairs moving along with some steadiness. 

This noble Chamber has a large irregular area of floor space, is veryhigh, and has running round three sides a narrow elevated gallery, fromwhich spectators can look down upon the throng below. Upon a raised daisat one side sits the presiding genius of the place, who rules very muchas Jupiter was supposed to govern the earthly swarms, by letting thingsrun and occasionally launching a thunderbolt. High up on one side, inan Olympian seclusion, away from the noise and the strife, sits a Board, calm as fate, and panoplied in the responsibility of chance, whosefunction seems to be that of switch-shifters in their windowed cubby ata network of railway intersections--to prevent collisions. 

At both ends of the floor and along one side are narrow railed-offspaces full of clerks figuring at desks, of telegraph operators clickingtheir machines, of messenger-boys arriving and departing in haste, ofunprivileged operators nervously watching the scene and waiting thechance of a word with some one on the floor; through noiseless swingingdoors men are entering and departing every moment--men in a hurry, menwith anxious faces, conscious that the fate of the country is in theirhands. On the floor itself are five hundred, perhaps a thousand, men, gathered for the most part in small groups about little stands uponthe summit of which is a rallying legend, talking, laughing, screaming, good-natured, indifferent, excited, running hither and thither inresponse to changing figures in the checker-board squares on the greatwall opposite--calm, cynical one moment, the next violently agitated, shouting, gesticulating, rushing together, shaking their fists in atumult of passion which presently subsides. 

The swarms ebb and flow about these little stands--bees, not bringingany honey, but attracted to the hive where it is rumored most honey isto be had. By habit some always stand or sit about a particular hive, waiting for the show of comb. By-and-by there is a stir; the crowdthickens; one beardless youth shouts out the figure "one-half"; anotherhowls, "three-eighths. " The first one nods. It is done. The electricwire running up the stand quivers and takes the figure, passes it to allthe other wires, transmits it to every office and hotel in the city, toall the "tickers" in ten thousand chambers and "bucketshops" andoffices in the republic. Suddenly on the bulletin-boards in New Orleans, Chicago, San Francisco, Podunk, Liverpool, appear the mysterious"three-eighths, " electrifying the watchers of these boards, who begin tojabber and gesticulate and "transact business. " It is wonderful. 

What induced the beardless young man to make this "investment" in"three-eighths"--who can tell? Perhaps he had heard, as he came intothe room, that the Secretary of the Treasury was going to make a call ofFives; perhaps he had heard that Bismarck had said that the French bloodwas too thin and needed a little more iron; perhaps he had heard that anorther in Texas had killed a herd of cattle, or that two grasshoppershad been seen in the neighborhood of Fargo, or that Jay Hawker had beenobserved that morning hurrying to his brokers with a scowl on his faceand his hat pulled over his eyes. The young man sold what he did nothave, and the other young man bought what he will never get. 

This is business of the higher and almost immaterial sort, and hasan element of faith in it, and, as one may say, belief in the unseen, whence it is characterized by an expression--"dealing in futures. " Itis not gambling, for there are no "chips" used, and there is noroulette-table in sight, and there are no piles of money or piles ofanything else. It is not a lottery, for there is no wheel at whichimpartial men preside to insure honest drawings, and there are nopredestined blanks and prizes, and the man who buys and the man whosells can do something, either in the newspapers or elsewhere, to affectthe worth of the investment, whereas in a lottery everything dependsupon the turn of the blind wheel. It is not necessary, however, toattempt a defense of the Chamber. It is one of the recognized ways ofbecoming important and powerful in this world. The privilege of thefloor--a seat, as it is called--in this temple of the god Chance to beRich is worth more than a seat in the Cabinet. It is not only true thata fortune may be made here in a day or lost here in a day, but that anod and a wink here enable people all over the land to ruin othersor ruin themselves with celerity. The relation of the Chamber to thebusiness of the country is therefore evident. If an earthquake shouldsuddenly sink this temple and all its votaries into the bowels of theearth, with all its nervousness and all its electricity, it is appallingto think what would become of the business of the country. 

Not far from this vast Chamber, where great financial operations areconducted on the highest principles of honor, and with the strictestregard to the Marquis of Dusenbury's rules, there is another lesspretentious Chamber, known as "open, " a sort of overflow meeting. Thosewho have not quite left hope behind can go in here. Here are the tickerscommunicating with the Chamber, tended by lads, who transfer the figuresto big blackboards on the wall. In front of these boards sit, frommorning to night, rows, perhaps relays, of men intently or listlesslywatching the figures. Many of them, who seldom make a sign, come herefrom habit; they have nowhere else to go. Some of them were once lordsin the great Chamber, who have been, as the phrase is, "cleaned out. "There is a gray-bearded veteran in seedy clothes, with sunken fieryeyes, who was once many times a millionaire, was a power in the Board, followed by reporters, had a palace in the Avenue, and drove to hisoffice with coachman and footman in livery, and his wife headed the listof charities. Now he spends his old age watching this blackboard, andconsiders it a good day that brings him five dollars and his car-fare. At one end of the low-ceiled apartment are busy clerks behind a counter, alert and cheerful. If one should go through a side door and down apassage he might encounter the smell of rum. Smart young men, clad inthe choicest raiment from the misfit counters, with greed stampedon their astute faces, bustle about, watch the blackboards, and makeinvestments with each other. Middle-aged men in slouch hats loungearound with hungry eyes. The place is feverish rather than exciting. Atall fellow, whose gait and clothes proclaim him English, with a hardface and lack-lustre eyes, saunters about; his friends at home supposehe is making his fortune in America. A dapper young gentleman, quite inthe mode, and with the quick air of prosperity, rapidly enters the roomand confers with a clerk at the counter. He has the run of the Chamber, and is from the great house of Flamm and Slamm. Perhaps he is taking a"flier" on his own account, perhaps he represents his house in a sidetransaction; there are so many ways open to enterprising young men in thecity; at any rate, his entrance is regarded as significant: This is nota hospital for the broken down and "cleaned out" of the Chamber, butit is a place of business, which is created and fed by the incessant"ticker. " How men existed or did any business at all before the adventof the "ticker" is a wonder. 

But the Chamber, the creator of low-pressure and high-pressure, theinspirer of the "ticker, " is the great generator of business. Here Ifound Henderson in the morning hour, and he came up to me on the call ofa messenger. He approached, nonchalant and smiling as usual. "Do you seethat man, " he said, as we stood a moment looking down, "sitting thereon a side bench--big body, small head, hair grayish, long beardparted--apparently taking no interest in anything?

"That's Flink, who made the corner in O. B. --one of the longest-headedoperators in the Chamber. He is about the only man who dare try ahold with Jay Hawker. And for some reason or another, though they haveapparent tussles, Hawker rather favors him. Five years ago he couldjust raise money enough to get into the Chamber. Now he is reckoned atanywhere from five to ten millions. I was at his home the other night. Everybody was there. I had a queer feeling, in all the magnificence, that the sheriff might be in there in ten days. Yet he may own a goodslice of the island in ten years. His wife, whom I complimented, and whothanked me for coming, said she had invited none but the reshershy. "

"He looks like a rascal, " I ventured to remark. 

"Oh, that is not a word used in the Chamber. He is called a 'daisy. 'I was put into his pew in church the other Sunday, and the preacherdescribed him and his methods so exactly that I didn't dare look at him. When we came out he whispered, 'That was rather hard on Slack; he musthave felt it. ' These men rather like that sort of preaching. "

"I don't come here often, " Henderson resumed, as we walked away. "Themarket is flat today. There promised to be a little flurry in L. And P. , and I looked in for a customer. "

We walked to his down-town club to lunch. Everybody, I noticed, seemedto know Henderson, and his presence was hailed with a cordial smile, a good-humored nod, or a hearty grasp of the hand. I never knew a moreprepossessing man; his bonhomie was infectious. Though his demeanor wasperfectly quiet and modest, he carried the air of good-fellowship. Hewas entirely frank, cordial, and had that sort of sincerity which onecan afford to have who does not take life too seriously. Tall--at leastsix feet-with a well-shaped head set on square shoulders, brown hairinclined to curl, large blue eyes which could be merry or exceedinglygrave, I thought him a picture of manly beauty. Good-natured, clever, prosperous, and not yet thirty. What a dower!

After we had disposed of our little matter of business, which I confesswas not exactly satisfactory to me, although when I was told that "thefirst bondholders will be obliged to come in, " he added that "of coursewe shall take care of our friends, " we went to his bachelor quartersuptown. "I want you to see, " he said, "how a hermit lives. "

The apartments were not my idea of a hermitage--except in the city. A charming library, spacious, but so full as to be cozy, with an openfire; chamber, dressing-room, and bathroom connecting, furnished witheverything that a luxurious habit could suggest and good taste would notrefuse, made a retreat that could almost reconcile a sinner to solitude. There were a few good paintings, many rare engravings, on the walls, anotable absence, even in the sleeping-room, of photographs of actressesand professional beauties, but here and there souvenirs of traveland evidences that the gentler sex had contributed the skill of theirslender fingers to the cheerfulness of the bachelor's home. Scatteredabout were the daily and monthly products of the press, the newestsensations, the things talked about at dinners, but the walls forthe most part were lined with books that are recognized as the properpossessions of the lover of books, and most of them in exquisitebindings. Less care, I thought, had been given in the collection to"sets" of "standards" than to those that are rare, or for some reason, either from distinguished ownership or autograph notes, have a peculiarvalue. 

In this atmosphere, when we were prepared to take our ease, the talk wasno longer of stocks, or railways, or schemes, but of books. Whether ornot Henderson loved literature I did not then make up my mind, but hehad a passion for books, especially for rare and first editions; andthe delight with which he exhibited his library, the manner in which hehandled the books that he took down one after the other, the sparklein his eyes over a "find" or a bargain, gave me a side of his characterquite different from that I should have gained by seeing him "in thestreet" only. He had that genuine respect and affection for a "book"which has become almost traditional in these days of cheap and flimsypublications, a taste held by scholars and collectors, and quite beyondthe popular comprehension. The respect for a book is essential to thedignity and consideration of the place of literature in the world, andwhen books are treated with no more regard than the newspaper, it is asign that literature is losing its power. Even the collector, who mayread little and care more for the externals than for the soul of hisfavorites, by the honor he pays them, by the solicitude he expendsupon their preservation without spot, by the lavishness of expense uponbinding, contributes much to the dignity of that art which preservesfor the race the continuity of its thought and development. If Hendersonloved books merely as a collector whose taste for luxury and expensetakes this direction, his indulgence could not but have a certainrefining influence. I could not see that he cultivated any decidedspecialty, but he had many rare copies which had cost fabulous prices, the possession of which gives a reputation to any owner. "My shelvesof Americana, " he said, "are nothing like Goodloe's, who has a lot ofscarce things that I am hoping to get hold of some day. But there's alittle thing" (it was a small coffee-colored tract of six leaves, uponwhich the binder of the city had exercised his utmost skill) "whichGoodloe offered me five hundred dollars for the other day. I picked itup in a New Hampshire garret. " Not the least interesting part of thecollection was first editions of American authors--a person's value toa collector is often in proportion to his obscurity--and what mostdelighted him among them were certain thin volumes of poetry, whichthe authors since becoming famous had gone to a good deal of time andexpense to suppress. The world seems to experience a lively pleasure inholding a man to his early follies. There were many examples of superbbinding, especially of exquisite tooling on hog-skin covers--theappreciation of which has lately greatly revived. The recent rage forbindings has been a sore trouble to students and collectors in speciallines, raising the prices of books far beyond their intrinsic value. Ihad a charming afternoon in Henderson's library, an enjoyment not muchlessened at the time by experiencing in it, with him, rather a sense ofluxury than of learning. It is true, one might pass an hour altogetherdifferent in the garret of a student, and come away with quite otherimpressions of the pageant of life. 

At five o'clock his stylish trap was sent around from the boardingstable, and we drove in the Park till twilight. Henderson handlingthe reins, and making a part of that daily display which is tooheterogeneous to have distinction, reverted quite naturally to thetone of worldliness and tolerant cynicism which had characterized hisconversation in the morning. If the Park and the moving assemblage hadnot the air of distinction, it had that of expense, which is quite asattractive to many. Here, as downtown, my companion seemed to know andbe known by everybody, returning the familiar salutes of brokers andclub men, receiving gracious bows from stout matrons, smiles and nodsfrom pretty women, and more formal recognition from stately and stiffelderly men, who sat bolt-upright beside their wives and tried to looklike millionaires. For every passerby Henderson had a quick word ofcharacterization sufficiently amusing, and about many a story whichilluminated the social life of the day. It was wonderful how many ofthis chance company had little "histories"--comic, tragic, pitiful, interesting enough for the pages of a novel. 

"There is a young lady"--Henderson touched his hat, and I caughta glimpse of golden hair and a flash of dark eyes out of a mass offurs--"who has no history: the world is all before her. "

"Who is that?"

"The daughter of old Eschelle--Carmen Eschelle--the banker andpolitician, you remember; had a diplomatic position abroad, and the girlwas educated in Europe. She is very clever. She and her mother have moremoney than they ought to know what to do with. "

"That was the celebrated Jay Hawker" ( a moment after), "in the modestcoupe--not much display about him. "

"Is he recognized by respectable people?"

"Recognized?" Henderson laughed. "He's a power. There are plenty ofpeople who live by trying to guess what he is going to do. Hawker isn'tsuch a bad fellow. Other people have used the means he used to getrich and haven't succeeded. They are not held up to point a moral. Thetrouble is that Hawker succeeded. Of course, it's a game. He plays asfair as anybody. "

"Yes, " Henderson resumed, walking his horses in sight of the obelisk, which suggested the long continuance of the human race, "it is the sameold game, and it is very interesting to those who are in it. Outsidersthink it is all greed. In the Chamber it is a good deal the love of thegame, to watch each other, to find out a man's plans, to circumvent him, to thwart him, to start a scheme and manipulate it, to catch somebody, to escape somebody; it is a perpetual excitement. "

"The machine in the Chamber appears to run very smoothly, " I said. "Oh, that is a public register and indicator. The system back of itis comprehensive, and appears to be complicated, but it is really verysimple. Spend an hour some day in the office of Flamm and Slamm, andyou will see a part of the system. There are, always a number of menwatching the blackboard, figures on which are changed every minute bythe attendants. Telegrams are constantly arriving from every part ofthe Union, from all over the continent, from all the centres in Europe, which are read by some one connected with the firm, and then displayedfor the guidance of the watchers of the blackboard. Upon this news oneor another says, 'I think I'll buy, ' or 'I think I'll sell, ' so and so. His order is transmitted instantly to the Chamber. In two minutes theresult comes back and appears upon the blackboard. "

"But where does the news come from?"

"From the men whose special business it is to pick it up or make it. They are inside of politics, of the railways, of the weather bureau, everywhere. The other day in Chicago I sat some time in a broker'soffice with others watching the market, and dropped into conversationwith a bright young fellow, at whose right hand, across the rail, wasa telegraph operator at the end of a private wire. Soon a man came inquietly, and whispered in the ear of my neighbor and went out. The youngfellow instantly wrote a despatch and handed it to the operator, andturning to me, said, 'Now watch the blackboard. '

"In an incredibly short space of time a fall in a leading railwayshowed on the blackboard. 'What was it?' I asked. 'Why, that man was thegeneral freight manager of the A. B. Road. He told me that they wereto cut rates. I sent it to New York by a private wire. ' I learned byfurther conversation that my young gentleman was a Manufacturer of News, and that such was his address and intelligence that though he was nota member of the broker's firm, he made ten thousand a year in thebusiness. Soon another man came in, whispered his news, and went away. Another despatch--another responsive change in the figures. 'That, 'explained my companion, 'was a man connected with the weather bureau. Hetold me that there would be a heavy frost tonight in the Northwest. '"

"Do they sell the weather?" I asked, very much amused. 

"Yes, twice; once over a private wire, and then to the public, after thevalue of it has been squeezed out, in the shape of predictions. Oh, theweather bureau is worth all the money it costs, for business purposes. It is a great auxiliary. "

Dining that evening with Henderson at his club, I had furtheropportunity to study a representative man. He was of a good NewHampshire family, exceedingly respectable without being distinguished. Over the chimney-place in the old farmhouse hung a rusty Queen Anne thathad been at the taking of Louisburg. His grandfather shouldered a musketat Bunker Hill; his father, the youngest son, had been a judge aswell as a farmer, and noted for his shrewdness and reticence. Rodney, inheriting the thrift of his ancestors, had pushed out from his home, adapting this thrift to the modern methods of turning it to account. Hehad brought also to the city the stamina of three generations of plainliving--a splendid capital, by which the city is constantly reinforced, and which one generation does not exhaust, except by the aid of extremedissipation. With sound health, good ability, and fair education, he hadthe cheerful temperament which makes friends, and does not allow theirmisfortunes to injure his career. Generous by impulse, he would ratherdo a favor than not, and yet he would be likely to let nothing interferewith any object he had in view for himself. Inheriting a conventionalrespect for religion and morality, he was not so bigoted as to rebukethe gayety of a convivial company, nor so intractable as to make him anuncomfortable associate in any scheme, according to the modern notionsof business, that promised profit. His engaging manner made him popular, and his good-natured adroitness made him successful. If his earlyexperience of life caused him to be cynical, he was not bitterly so; hiscynicism was of the tolerant sort that does not condemn the world andwithdraw from it, but courts it and makes the most of it, lowering hisprivate opinion of men in proportion as he is successful in the game heplays with them. At this period I could see that he had determined to besuccessful, and that he had not determined to be unscrupulous. He wouldonly drift with the tide that made for fortune. He enjoyed the world--asufficient reason why the world should like him. His business moralitywas gauged by what other people do in similar circumstances. In short, he was a product of the period since the civil war closed, that greatupheaval of patriotic feeling and sacrifice, which ended in so muchexpansion and so many opportunities. If he had remained in New Hampshirehe would probably have been a successful politician, successful not onlyin keeping in place, but in teaching younger aspirants that servingthe country is a very good way to the attainment of luxury and theconsideration that money brings. But having chosen the law as astepping-stone to the lobby, to speculation, and the manipulation ofchances, he had a poor opinion of politics and of politicians. Hissuccess thus far, though considerable, had not been sufficient to createfor him powerful enemies, so that he may be said to be admired by alland feared by none. In the general opinion he was a downright goodfellow and amazingly clever. 

VII

In youth, as at the opera, everything seems possible. Surely it is notnecessary to choose between love and riches. One may have both, andthe one all the more easily for having attained the other. It must be afiction of the moralists who construct the dramas that the god of loveand the god of money each claims an undivided allegiance. It was insome wholly legendary, perhaps spiritual, world that it was necessary torenounce love to gain the Rhine gold. The boxes at the Metropolitan didnot believe this. The spectators of the boxes could believe it stillless. For was not beauty there seen shining in jewels that have a marketvalue, and did not love visibly preside over the union, and make itknown that his sweetest favors go with a prosperous world? And yet, isthe charm of life somewhat depending upon a sense of its fleetingness, of its phantasmagorial character, a note of coming disaster, maybe, inthe midst of its most seductive pageantry, in the whirl and glitter andhurry of it? Is there some subtle sense of exquisite satisfaction insnatching the sweet moments of life out of the very delirium of it, thatmust soon end in an awakening to bankruptcy of the affections, and thedreadful loss of illusions? Else why do we take pleasure--a pleasure sodeep that it touches the heart like melancholy--in the common dramaof the opera? How gay and joyous is the beginning! Mirth, hilarity, entrancing sound, brilliant color, the note of a trumpet calling toheroism, the beseeching of the concordant strings, and the soft fluteinviting to pleasure; scenes placid, pastoral, innocent; light-heartedlove, the dance on the green, the stately pageant in the sunlit streets, the court, the ball, the mad splendor of life. And then love becomespassion, and passion thwarted hurries on to sin, and sin lifts to theheights of the immortal, sweetly smiling gods, and plunges to the depthsof despair. In vain the orchestra, the inevitable accompaniment of life, warns and pleads and admonishes; calm has gone, and gayety has gone;there is no sweetness now but in the wildness of surrender and ofsacrifice. How sad are the remembered strains that aforetime wereincentives to love and promises of happiness! Gloom settles upon thescene; Mephisto, the only radiant one, flits across it, and mocksthe poor broken-hearted girl clinging to the church door. There isa dungeon, the chanting of the procession of tonsured priests, thepassing-bell. Seldom appears the golden bridge over which the baffledand tired pass into Valhalla. 

Do we like this because it is life, or because there is a certainsatisfaction in seeing the tragedy which impends over all, pervadesthe atmosphere, as it were, and adds something of zest to the mildestenjoyment? Should we go away from the mimic stage any, better andstronger if the drama began in the dungeon and ended on the greensward, with innocent love and resplendent beauty in possession of the Rhinegold?

How simple, after all, was the created world on the stage to the realworld in the auditorium, with its thousand complexities and dramaticsituations, and if the little knot of players of parts for an hourcould have had leisure to be spectators of the audience, what a deeperrevelation of life would they not have seen! For the world has neverassembled such an epitome of itself, in its passion for pleasure and itspassion for display, as in the modern opera, with its ranks and tiersof votaries from the pit to the dome. I fancy that even Margaret, whoselove for music was genuine, was almost as much fascinated by the greaterspectacle as by the less. 

It was a crowded night, for the opera was one that appealed to thesenses and stimulated them to activity, and left the mind free to pursueits own schemes; in a word, orchestra and the scenes formed a sort ofaccompaniment and interpreter to the private dramas in the boxes. Theopera was made for society, and not society for the opera. We occupied abox in the second tier--the Morgans, Margaret, and my wife. Morgan saidthat the glasses were raised to us from the parquet and leveled at usfrom the loges because we were a country party, but he well enough knewwhose fresh beauty and enthusiastic young face it was that drew the firewhen the curtain fell on the first act, and there was for a moment alittle lull in the hum of conversation. 

"I had heard, " Morgan was saying, "that the opera was not acclimated inNew York; but it is nearly so. The audience do not jabber so loud norso incessantly as at San Carlo, and they do not hum the airs with thesingers--"

"Perhaps, " said my wife, "that is because they do not know the airs. "

"But they are getting on in cultivation, and learning how to assert thesocial side of the opera, which is not to be seriously interfered withby the music on the stage. "

"But the music, the scenery, were never before so good, " I replied tothese cynical observations. 

"That is true. And the social side has risen with it. Do you know whatan impudent thing the managers did the other night in protesting againstthe raising of the lights by which the house was made brilliant and thecheap illusions of the stage were destroyed? They wanted to make thehouse positively gloomy for the sake of a little artificial moonlight onthe painted towers and the canvas lakes. "

As the world goes, the scene was brilliant, of course with republicansimplicity. The imagination was helped by no titled names any more thanthe eye was by the insignia of rank, but there was a certain glow offeeling, as the glass swept the circle, to know that there were tenmillions in this box, and twenty in the next, and fifty in the next, attested well enough by the flash of jewels and the splendor of attire, and one might indulge a genuine pride in the prosperity of the republic. As for beauty, the world, surely, in this later time, had floweredhere--flowered with something of Aspasia's grace and something of thehaughty coldness of Agrippina. And yet it was American. Here and therein the boxes was a thoroughbred portrait by Copley--the long shapelyneck, the sloping shoulders, the drooping eyelids, even to the gown inwhich the great-grandmother danced with the French officers. 

"Who is that lovely creature?" asked Margaret, indicating a boxopposite. 

I did not know. There were two ladies, and behind them I had nodifficulty in making out Henderson and--Margaret evidently had not seenhim Mr. Lyon. Almost at the same moment Henderson recognized me, andsignaled for me to come to his box. As I rose to do so, Mrs. Morganexclaimed: "Why, there is Mr. Lyon! Do tell him we are here. " I sawMargaret's color rise, but she did not speak. 

I was presented to Mrs. Eschelle and her daughter; in the latter Irecognized the beauty who had flashed by us in the Park. The elder ladyinclined to stoutness, and her too youthful apparel could not misleadone as to the length of her pilgrimage in this world, nor soften thehard lines of her worldly face-lines acquired, one could see, by asocial struggle, and not drawn there by an innate patrician insolence. 

"We are glad to see a friend of Mr. Henderson's, " she said, "and of Mr. Lyon's also. Mr. Lyon has told us much of your charming country home. Who is that pretty girl in your box, Mr. Fairchild?"

Miss Eschelle had her glass pointed at Margaret as I gave the desiredinformation. 

"How innocent!" she murmured. "And she's quite in the style--isn't she, Mr. Lyon?" she asked, turning about, her sweet mobile face quite thepicture of what she was describing. "We are all innocent in these days. "

"It is a very good style, " I said. 

"Isn't it becoming?" asked the girl, making her dark eyes at once merryand demure. 

Mr. Lyon was looking intently at the opposite box, and a slight shadecame over his fine face. "Ah, I see!"

"I beg your pardon, Miss Eschelle, " he said, after a second, "I hardlyknow which to admire most, the beauty, or the wit, or the innocence ofthe American women. "

"There is nothing so confusing, though, as the country innocence, " thegirl said, with the most natural air; "it never knows where to stop. "

"You are too absurd, Carmen, " her mother interposed; "as if the towngirl did!"

"Well, mamma, there is authority for saying that there is a time foreverything, only one must be in the fashion, you know. "

Mr. Lyon looked a little dubious at this turn of the talk; Mr. Hendersonwas as evidently amused at the girl's acting. I said I was glad to seethat goodness was in fashion. 

"Oh, it often is. You know we were promised a knowledge of good aswell as evil. It depends upon the point of view. I fancy, now, thatMr. Henderson tolerates the good--that is the reason we get on so welltogether; and Mr. Lyon tolerates the evil--that's the reason he likesNew York. I have almost promised him that I will have a mission school. "

The girl looked quite capable of it, or of any other form of devotion. Notwithstanding her persistent banter, she had a most inviting innocenceof manner, almost an ingenuousness, that well became her exquisitebeauty. And but for a tentative daring in her talk, as if the gentlecreature were experimenting as to how far one could safely go, herinnocence might have seemed that of ignorance. 

It came out in the talk that Mr. Lyon had been in Washington for a week, and would return there later on. 

"We had a claim on him, " said Mrs. Eschelle, "for his kindness to usin London, and we are trying to convince him that New York is the realcapital. "

"Unfortunately, " added Miss Eschelle, looking up in Mr. Lyon's face, "he visited Brandon first, and you seem to have bewitched him with yoursimple country ways. I can get him to talk of nothing else. "

"You mean to say, " Mr. Lyon replied, with the air of retorting, "thatyou have asked me about nothing else. "

"Oh, you know we felt a little responsible for you; and there is noplace so dangerous as the country. Now here you are protected--we putall the wickedness on the stage, and learn to recognize and shun it. "

"It may be wicked, " said her mother, "but it is dull. Don't you find itso, Mr. Henderson? I am passionately fond of Wagner, but it is too noisyfor anything tonight. "

"I notice, dear, " the dutiful daughter replied for all of us, "that youhave to raise your voice. But there is the ballet. Let us all listennow. "

Mr. Lyon excused himself from going with me, saying that he would callat our hotel, and I took Henderson. "I shall count the minutes you aregoing to lose, " the girl said as we went out-to our box. The lobbiesin the interact were thronged with men--for the most part the youngspeculators of the Chamber turned into loungers in the foyer--knowing, alert, attitudinizing in the extreme of the mode, unable even in thishour to give beauty the preference to business, well knowing, perhaps, that beauty itself in these days has a fine eye for business. 

I liked Henderson better in our box than in his own. Was it becausethe atmosphere was more natural and genuine? Or was it Margaret'stransparent nature, her sincere enjoyment of the scene, her evidentpleasure in the music, the color, the gayety of the house, that madehim drop the slight cynical air of the world which had fitted him soadmirably a moment before? He already knew my wife and the Morgans, and, after the greetings were made, he took a seat by Margaret, quite contentwhile the act was going on to watch its progress in the play of herresponsive features. How quickly she felt, how the frown followed thesmile, how, she seemed to weigh and try to apprehend the meaning of whatwent on--how her every sense enjoyed life!

"It is absurd, " she said, turning her bright face to him when thecurtain dropped, "to be so interested in fictitious trouble. "

"I'm not so sure that it is, " he replied, in her own tone; "the opera isa sort of pulpit, and not seldom preaches an awful sermon--more plainlythan the preacher dares to make it. "

"But not in nomine Dei. "

"No. But who can say what is most effective? I often wonder, as I watchthe congregations coming from the churches on the Avenue, if they areany more solemnized than the audiences that pour out of this house. Iconfess that I cannot shake off 'Lohengrin' in a good while after I hearit. "

"And so you think the theatres have a moral influence?"

"Honestly"--and I heard his good-natured laugh--"I couldn't swear tothat. But then we don't know what New York might be without them. "

"I don't know, " said Margaret, reflectively, "that my own good impulses, such as I have, are excited by anything I see on the stage; perhaps Iam more tolerant, and maybe toleration is not good. I wonder if I shouldgrow worldly, seeing more of it?"

"Perhaps it is not the stage so much as the house, " Henderson replied, beginning to read the girl's mind. 

"Yes, it would be different if one came alone and saw the play, unconscious of the house, as if it were a picture. I think it is thehouse that disturbs one, makes one restless and discontented. "

"I never analyzed my emotions, " said Henderson, "but when I was a boyand came to the theatre I well remember that it made me ambitious; everysort of thing seemed possible of attainment in the excitement of thecrowded house, the music, the lights, the easy successes on the stage;nothing else is more stimulating to a lad; nothing else makes the worldmore attractive. "

"And does it continue to have the same effect, Mr. Henderson?"

"Hardly, " and he smiled; "the illusion goes, and the stage is about asreal as the house--usually less interesting. It can hardly compete withthe comedy in the boxes. "

"Perhaps it is lack of experience, but I like the play for itself. "

"Oh yes; desire for the dramatic is natural. People will have itsomehow. In the country village where there are no theatres the peoplemake dramas out of each other's lives; the most trivial incidents aremagnified and talked about--dramatized, in short. "

"You mean gossiped about?"

"Well, you may call it gossip--nothing can be concealed; everybody knowsabout everybody else; there is no privacy; everything is used to createthat illusory spectacle which the stage tries to give. I think thatin the country village a good theatre would be a wholesome influence, satisfy a natural appetite indicated by the inquisition into the affairsof neighbors, and by the petty scandal. "

"We are on the way to it, " said Mr. Morgan, who sat behind them; "wehave theatricals in the church parlors, which may grow into a nineteenthcentury substitute for the miracle-plays. You mustn't, Margaret, let Mr. Henderson prejudice you against the country. "

"No, " said the latter, quickly; "I was only trying to defend the city. We country people always do that. We must base our theatrical life onsomething in nature. "

"What is the difference, Mr. Henderson, " asked Margaret, "between thegossip in the boxes and the country gossip you spoke of?"

"In toleration mainly, and lack of exact knowledge. It is here rathercynical persiflage, not concentrated public opinion. "

"I don't follow you, " said Morgan. "It seems to me that in the cityyou've got gossip plus the stage. "

"That is to say, we have the world. "

"I don't like to believe that, " said Margaret, seriously--"yourdefinition of the world. "

"You make me see that it was a poor jest, " he said, rising to go. "By-the-way, we have a friend of yours in our box tonight--a youngEnglishman. "

"Oh, Mr. Lyon. We were all delighted with him. Such a transparent, genuine nature!"

"Tell him, " said my wife, "that we should be happy to see him at ourhotel. "

When Henderson came back to his box Carmen did not look up, but shesaid, indifferently: "What, so soon? But your absence has made oneperson thoroughly miserable. Mr. Lyon has not taken his eyes off you. Inever saw such an international attachment. "

"What more could I do for Miss Eschelle than to leave her in suchcompany?"

"I beg your pardon, " said Lyon. "Miss Eschelle must believe that Ithoroughly appreciate Mr. Henderson's self-sacrifice. If I occasionallylooked over where he was, I assure you it was in pity. "

"You are both altogether too self-sacrificing, " the beauty replied, turning to Henderson a look that was sweetly forgiving. "They who sinmuch shall be forgiven much, you know. "

"That leaves me, " Mr. Lyon answered, with a laugh, "as you say overhere, out in the cold, for I have passed a too happy evening to feellike a transgressor. "

"The sins of omission are the worst sort, " she retorted. 

"You see what you must do to be forgiven, " Henderson said to Lyon, withthat good-natured smile that was so potent to smooth away sharpness. 

"I fear I can never do enough to qualify myself. " And he also laughed. 

"You never will, " Carmen answered, but she accompanied the doubt with awitching smile that denied it. 

"What is all this about forgiveness?" asked Mrs. Eschelle, turning tothem from regarding the stage. 

"Oh, we were having an experience meeting behind your back, mamma, onlyMr. Henderson won't tell his experience. "

"Miss Eschelle is in such a forgiving humor tonight that she absolvesbefore any one has a chance to confess, " he replied. 

"Don't you think I am always so, Mr. Lyon?"

Mr. Lyon bowed. "I think that an opera-box with Miss Eschelle is theeasiest confessional in the world. "

"That's something like a compliment. You see" (to Henderson) "how muchyou Americans have to learn. "

"Will you be my teacher?"

"Or your pupil, " the girl said, in a low voice, standing near him as sherose. 

The play was over. In the robing and descending through the corridorsthere were the usual chatter, meaning looks, confidential asides. It isalways at the last moment, in the hurry, as in a postscript, that womansays what she means, or what for the moment she wishes to be thought tomean. In the crowd on the main stairway the two parties saw each otherat a distance, but without speaking. 

"Is it true that Lyon is 'epris' there?" Carmen whispered to Hendersonwhen she had scanned and thoroughly inventoried Margaret. 

"You know as much as I do. "

"Well, you did stay a long time, " she said, in a lower tone. 

As Margaret's party waited for their carriage she saw Mrs. Eschelle andher daughter enter a shining coach, with footman and coachman in livery. Henderson stood raising his hat. A little white hand was shaken to himfrom the window, and a sweet, innocent face leaned forward--a face withdark, eyes and golden hair, lit up with a radiant smile. That face forthe moment was New York to Margaret, and New York seemed a vain show. 

Carmen threw herself back in her seat as if weary. Mrs. Eschelle satbolt-upright. 

"What in the world, child, made you go on so tonight?"

"I don't know. "

"What made you snub Mr. Lyon so often?"

"Did I? He won't mind much. Didn't you see, mother, that he was distraitthe moment he espied that girl? I'm not going to waste my time. I knowthe signs. No fisheries imbroglio for me, thank you. "

"Fish? Who said anything about fish?"

"Oh, the international business. Ask Mr. Henderson to explain it. TheEnglish want to fish in our waters, I believe. I think Mr. Lyon has hada nibble from a fresh-water fish. Perhaps it's the other way, and he'shooked. There be fishers of men, you know, mother. "

"You are a strange child, Carmen. I hope you will be civil to both ofthem. " And they rode on in silence. 

VIII

In real life the opera or the theatre is only the prologue to theevening. Our little party supped at Delgardo's. The play then begins. New York is quite awake by that time, and ready to amuse itself. Afterthe public duty, the public attitudinizing, after assisting at theartificial comedy and tragedy which imitate life under a mask, andsuggest without satisfying, comes the actual experience. My gentlegirl--God bless your sweet face and pure heart!--who looked down fromthe sky-parlor at the Metropolitan upon the legendary splendor of thestage, and the alluring beauty and wealth of the boxes, and went hometo create in dreams the dearest romance in a maiden's life, you did notknow that for many the romance of the night just began when the curtainfell. 

The streets were as light as day. At no other hour were the pavements sothronged, was there such a crush of carriages, such a blockade of cars, such running, and shouting, greetings and decorous laughter, such aswirl of pleasurable excitement. Never were the fashionable cafes andrestaurants so crowded and brilliant. It is not a carnival time; it isjust the flow and ebb of a night's pleasure, an electric night which hasall of the morning except its peace, a night of the gayest opportunityand unlimited possibility. 

At each little table was a drama in progress, light or serious--all themore serious for being light at the moment and unconsidered. Morgan, whowas so well informed in the gossip of society and so little involved init--some men have this faculty, which makes them much more entertainingthan the daily newspaper--knew the histories of half the people in theroom. There were an Italian marquis and his wife supping together likelovers, so strong is the force of habit that makes this public lifenecessary even when the domestic life is established. There is a manwho shot himself rather seriously on the doorsteps of the beauty whorejected him, and in a year married the handsome and more wealthywoman who sits opposite him in that convivial party. There is aRussian princess, a fair woman with cool observant eyes, making herselfagreeable to a mixed company in three languages. In this brilliant lightis it not wonderful how dazzlingly beautiful the women are--brunettes inyellow and diamonds, blondes in elaborately simple toilets, with onlya bunch of roses for ornament, in the flush of the midnight hour, ina radiant glow that even the excitement and the lifted glass cannotheighten? That pretty girl yonder--is she wife or widow?--slight andfresh and fair, they say has an ambition to extend her notoriety bygoing upon the stage; the young lady with her, who does not seem to feara public place, may be helping her on the road. The two young gentlemen, their attendants, have the air of taking life more seriously than thegirls, but regard with respectful interest the mounting vivacity oftheir companions, which rises and sparkles like the bubbles in theslender glasses which they raise to their lips with the dainty grace ofpractice. The staid family parties who are supping at adjoining tablesnotice this group with curiosity, and express their opinion by elevatedeyebrows. 

Margaret leaned back in her chair and regarded the whole in a musing'frame of mind. I think she apprehended nothing of it except the light, the color, the beauty, the movement of gayety. For her the notes of theorchestra sounded through it all--the voices of the singers, the hum ofthe house; it was all a spectacle and a play. Why should she not enjoyit? There was something in the nature of the girl that responded tothis form of pleasure--the legitimate pleasure the senses take in beinggratified. "It is so different, " she said to me, "from the pleasureone has in an evening by the fire. Do you know, even Mr. Morgan seemsworldly here. "

It was a deeper matter than she thought, this about worldliness, whichhad been raised in Margaret's mind. Have we all double natures, and dowe simply conform to whatever surrounds us? Is there any difference inkind between the country worldliness and the city worldliness? I donot suppose that Margaret formulated any of these ideas in words. Herknowledge of the city had hitherto been superficial. It was a placefor shopping, for a day in a picture exhibition, for an evening inthe theatre, no more a part of her existence than a novel or a book oftravels: of the life of the town she knew nothing. That night in herroom she became aware for the first time of another world, restless, fascinating, striving, full of opportunities. What must London be?

If we could only note the first coming into the mind of a thought thatchanges life and re-forms character--supposing that every act and everynew departure has this subtle beginning--we might be less the sport ofcircumstances than we seem to be. Unnoted, the desire so swiftly followsthe thought and juggles with the will. 

The next day Mr. Henderson left his card and a basket of roses. Mr. Lyoncalled. It was a constrained visit. Margaret was cordially civil, and Ifancied that Mr. Lyon would have been more content if she had been lessso. If he were a lover, there was little to please him in the exchangeof the commonplaces of the day. 

"Yes, " he was saying to my wife, "perhaps I shall have to change my mindabout the simplicity of your American life. It is much the same in NewYork and London. It is only a question of more or less sophistication. "

"Mr. Henderson tells us, " said my wife, "that you knew the Eschelles inLondon. "

"Yes. Miss Eschelle almost had a career there last season. "

"Why almost?"

"Well--you will pardon me--one needs for success in these days to be notonly very clever, but equally daring. It is every day more difficult tomake a sensation. "

"I thought her, across the house, " Margaret said, "very pretty andattractive. I did not know you were so satirical, Mr. Lyon. Do you meanthat one must be more daring, as you call it, in London than in NewYork?"

"I hope it will not hurt your national pride, Miss Debree, if I say thatthere is always the greater competition in the larger market. "

"Oh, my pride, " Margaret answered, "does not lie in that direction. "

"And to do her justice, I don't think Miss Eschelle's does, either. Sheappears to be more interested now in New York than in London. "

He laughed as he said this, and Margaret laughed also, and then stoppedsuddenly, thinking of the roses that came that morning. Could she becomparing the Londoner with the handsome American who sat by her side atthe opera last night? She was half annoyed with herself at the thought. 

"And are not you also interested in New York, Mr. Lyon?" my wife asked. 

"Yes, moderately so, if you will permit me to say it. " It was aneffort on his part to keep up the conversation, Margaret was so whollyunresponsive; and afterwards, knowing how affairs stood with them, Icould understand his well-bred misery. The hardest thing in the worldis to suffer decorously and make no sign in the midst of a society whichinsists on stoicism, no matter how badly one is hurt. The Society forFirst Aid to the Injured hardens its heart in these cases. "I havenever seen another place, " he continued, "where the women are so busyin improving themselves. Societies, clubs, parlor lectures, readings, recitations, musicales, classes--it fatigues one to keep in sight ofthem. Every afternoon, every evening, something. I doubt if men arecapable of such incessant energy, Mrs. Fairchild. "

"And you find they have no time to be agreeable?"

"Quite the contrary. There is nothing they are not interesting in, nothing about which they cannot talk, and talk intensely. They absorbeverything, and have the gift of acquiring intelligence without, asone of them told me, having to waste time in reading. Yes, it is a mostinteresting city. "

The coming in of Mr. Morgan gave another turn to the talk. He hadbeen to see a rural American play, an exhibition of country life andcharacter, constructed in absolute disregard of any traditions of thestage. 

"I don't suppose, " Mr. Morgan said, "a foreigner would understand it; itwould be impossible in Paris, incomprehensible in London. "

"Yes, I saw it, " said Mr. Lyon, thus appealed to. "It was very odd, andseemed to amuse the audience immensely. I suppose one must be familiarwith American farm life to see the points of it. I confess that while Isat there, in an audience so keenly in sympathy with the play--almost apart of it, one might say--I doubted if I understood your people as wellas I thought I did when I had been here a week only. Perhaps this is thebeginning of an American drama. "

"Some people say that it is. "

"But it is so local!"

"Anything that is true must be true to local conditions, to begin with. The only question is, is it true to human nature? What puzzled me inthis American play was its raising the old question of nature and art. You've seen Coquelin? Well, that is acting, as artificial as a sonnet, the perfection of training, skill in an art. You never doubt that he isperforming in a play for the entertainment of an audience. You have thesame enjoyment of it that you have of a picture--a picture, I mean, full of character and sentiment, not a photograph. But I don't think ofDenman Thompson as an actor trained to perfection in a dramatic school, but as a New Hampshire farmer. I don't admire his skill; I admire him. There is plenty that is artificial, vulgarly conventional, in his play, plenty of imitation of the rustic that shows it is imitation, but he isthe natural man. If he is a stage illusion, he does not seem so to me. ""Probably to an American audience only he does not, " Mr. Lyon remarked. 

"Well, that is getting to be a tolerably large audience. "

"I doubt if you will change the laws of art, " said Mr. Lyon, rising togo. 

"We shall hope to see you again at our house, " my wife said. 

"You are very good. I should like it; but my time is running out. "

"If you cannot come, you may leave your adieus with Miss Debree, who isstaying some time in the city, " my wife said, evidently to Margaret'sannoyance. But she could do no less than give him her city address, though the information was not accompanied by any invitation in hermanner. 

Margaret was to stay some time with two maiden ladies, old friends ofher mother, the Misses Arbuser. The Arbusers were people of consequencein their day, with a certain social prestige; in fact, the excellentladies were two generations removed from successful mercantile life, which in the remote prospective took on an old-family solidity. Nowhereelse in the city could Margaret have come closer in contact with acertain phase of New York life in which women are the chief actors--aphase which may be a transition, and may be only a craze. It is not somuch a condescension of society to literature as it is a discovery thatliterature and art, in the persons of those who produce both, may besources of amusement, or perhaps, to be just, of the enlargement ofthe horizon and the improvement of the mind. The society mind was neverbefore so hospitable to new ideas and new sensations. Charities, boardsof managers, missions, hospitals, news-rooms, and lodging-houses for theilliterate and the homeless--these are not sufficient, even withballs, dancing classes, and teas, for the superfluous energies ofthis restless, improving generation; there must be also radical clubs, reading classes, study classes, ethical, historical, scientific, literary lectures, the reading of papers by ladies of distinction andgentlemen of special attainments--an unremitting pursuit of culture andinformation. Curiosity is awake. The extreme of social refinement anda mild Bohemianism almost touch. It passes beyond the affectation ofknowing persons who write books and write for the press, artists inpaint and artists in music. "You cannot be sure in the most exclusivecircle"--it was Carmen Eschelle who said this--"that you will not meetan author or even a journalist. " Not all the women, however, adoreletters or affect enthusiasm at drawing-room lectures; there are somebright and cynical ones who do not, who write papers themselves, andhave an air of being behind the scenes. 

Margaret had thought that she was fully occupied in the country, withher teaching, her reading, her literature and historical clubs, butshe had never known before what it was to be busy and not have time foranything, always in pursuit of some new thing, and getting a fragmenthere and there; life was a good deal like reading the dictionary andremembering none of the words. And it was all so cosmopolitan andall-embracingly sympathetic. One day it was a paper by a Serviancountess on the social life of the Servians, absorbingly interestingboth in itself and because it was a countess who read it; and this wasfollowed by the singing of an Icelandic tenor and a Swedish soprano, anda recital on the violin by a slight, red-haired, middle-aged woman fromLondon. All the talents seem to be afloat and at the service of thestrenuous ones who are cultivating themselves. 

The first function at which Margaret assisted in the long drawing-roomsof the Arbusers was a serious one--one that combined the charm ofculture with the temptations of benevolence. The rooms were crowdedwith the fashion of the town, with a sprinkling of clergymen and of thinphilanthropic gentlemen in advanced years. It was a four-o'clock, andthe assembly had the cheerfulness of a reception, only that the displayof toilets was felt to be sanctified by a purpose. The performanceopened with a tremendous prelude on the piano by Herr Bloomgarten, whohad been Liszt's favorite pupil; indeed, it was whispered that Liszt hadsaid that, old as he was, he never heard Bloomgarten without learningsomething. There was a good deal of subdued conversation while thepianist was in his extreme agony of execution, and a hush of extremeadmiration--it was divine, divine, ravishing--when he had finished. Thespeaker was a learned female pundit from India, and her object was tointerest the women of America in the condition of their unfortunateHindoo sisters. It appeared that thousands and tens of thousands of themwere doomed to early and lifelong widowhood, owing to the operationof cruel caste laws, which condemned even girls betrothed to deceasedBrahmins to perpetual celibacy. This fate could only be alleviated bythe education and elevation of women. And money was needed for schools, especially for medical schools, which would break down the walls ofprejudice and enfranchise the sex. The appeal was so charmingly madethat every one was moved by it, especially the maiden ladies present, who might be supposed to enter into the feelings of their dusky sistersbeyond the seas. The speaker said, with a touch of humor that alwaysintensifies a serious discourse, that she had been told that in one ofthe New England States there was a superfluity of unmarried women; butthis was an entirely different affair; it was a matter of choice withthese highly educated and accomplished women. And the day had comewhen woman could make her choice! At this there was a great clappingof hands. It was one thing to be free to lead a life of singleself-culture, and quite another to be compelled to lead a singlefife without self-culture. The address was a great success, and muchenthusiasm spread abroad for the cause of the unmarried women of India. 

In the audience were Mrs. Eschelle and her daughter. Margaret and Carmenwere made acquainted, and were drawn together by curiosity, and perhapsby a secret feeling of repulsion. Carmen was all candor and sweetness, and absorbingly interested in the women of India, she said. WithMargaret's permission she would come and see her, for she believed theyhad common friends. 

It would seem that there could not be much sympathy between natures soopposed, persons who looked at life from such different points of view, but undeniably Carmen had a certain attraction for Margaret. The NewEnglander, whose climate is at once his enemy and his tonic, alwayslongs for the tropics, which to him are a region of romance, as Italy isto the German. In his nature, also, there is something easily awakenedto the allurements of a sensuous existence, and to a desire for a freerexperience of life than custom has allowed him. Carmen, who showed toMargaret only her best side--she would have been wise to exhibitno other to Henderson, but women of her nature are apt to cheapenthemselves with men--seemed an embodiment of that graceful gayety andfascinating worldliness which make the world agreeable. 

One morning, a few days after the Indian function, Margaret was alone inher own cozy sitting-room. Nothing was wanting that luxury could suggestto make it in harmony with a beautiful woman, nothing that did notflatter and please, or nurse, perhaps, a personal sense of beauty, and impart that glow of satisfaction which comes when the senses areadroitly ministered to. Margaret had been in a mood that morning topay extreme attention to her toilet. The result was the perfection ofsimplicity, of freshness, of maiden purity, enhanced by the touch ofart. As she surveyed herself in the pier-glass, and noted the refinedlines of the morning-gown which draped but did not conceal the moreexquisite lines of her figure, and adjusted a rose in her bosom, she didnot feel like a Puritan, and, although she may not have noted the fact, she did not look like one. It was not a look of vanity that she threwinto the mirror, or of special self-consciousness; in her toilet shehad obeyed only her instinct (that infallible guide in a woman ofrefinement), and if she was conscious of any emotion, it was of thestirring within her of the deepest womanly nature. 

In fact, she was restless. She flung herself into an easy-chair beforethe fire, and took up a novel. It was a novel with a religious problem. In vain she tried to be interested in it. At home she would haveabsorbed it eagerly; they would have discussed it; the doubts andsuggestions in it would have assumed the deepest personal importance. Itmight have made an era in her thoughtful country life. Here it did notso appeal to her; it seemed unreal and shadowy in a life that had somuch more of action than of reflection in it. It was a life fascinatingand exciting, and profoundly unsatisfactory. Yet, after all, it was morereally life than that placid vegetation in the country. She felt that inthe whirl of only a few days of it--operas, receptions, teas, readings, dances, dinners, where everybody sparkled with a bewildering brilliancy, and yet from which one brought away nothing but a sense of strain; suchgallantry, such compliments, such an easy tossing about of every topicunder heaven; such an air of knowing everything, and not caring aboutanything very much; so much mutual admiration and personal satisfaction!She liked it, and perhaps was restless because she liked it. To beadmired, to be deferred to--was there any harm in that? Only, if onesuffers admiration today, it becomes a necessity tomorrow. She began tofeel the influence of that life which will not let one stand still fora moment. If it is not the opera, it is a charity; if it is not a lover, it is some endowed cot in a hospital. There must be something going onevery day, every hour. 

Yes, she was restless, and could not read. She thought of Mr. Henderson. He had called formally. She had seen him, here and there, again andagain. He had sought her out in all companies; his face had broken intoa smile when he met her; he had talked with her lightly, gayly; sheremembered the sound of his voice; she had learned to know his figure ina room among a hundred; and she blushed as she remembered that she hadonce or twice followed him with her eyes in a throng. He was, tobe sure, nothing to her; but he was friendly; he was certainlyentertaining; he was a part, somehow, of this easy-flowing life. 

Miss Eschelle was announced. Margaret begged that she would comeupstairs without ceremony. The mutual taking-in of the pretty streetcostume and the pretty morning toilet was the work of a moment--thephotographer has invented no machine that equals a woman's eyes for sucha purpose. 

"How delightful it is! how altogether charming!" and Margaret felt thatshe was included with the room in this admiration. "I told mamma thatI was coming to see you this morning, even if I missed the Nestors'luncheon. I like to please myself sometimes. Mamma says I'm frivolous, but do you know"--the girls were comfortably seated by the fire, andCarmen turned her sweet face and candid eyes to her companion--"I getdreadfully tired of all this going round and round. No, I don't evengo to the Indigent Mothers' Home; it's part of the same thing, but Ihaven't any gift that way. Ah, you were reading--that novel. "

"Yes; I was trying to read it; I intend to read it. "

"Oh, we have had it! It's a little past now, but it has been all therage. Everybody has read it; that is, I don't know that anybody has readit, but everybody has been talking about it. Of course somebody musthave read it, to set the thing agoing. And it has been discussed todeath. I sometimes feel as if I had changed my religion half a dozentimes in a fortnight. But I haven't heard anything about it for a week. We have taken up the Hindoo widows now, you know. " And the girl laughed, as if she knew she were talking nonsense. 

"And you do not read much in the city?" Margaret asked, with ananswering smile. 

"Yes; in the summer. That is, some do. There is a reading set. I don'tknow that they read much, but there is a reading set. You know, Miss Debree, that when a book is published--really published, as Mr. Henderson says--you don't need to read it. Somehow it gets into the airand becomes common property. Everybody hears the whole thing. You cantalk about it from a notice. Of course there are some novels that onemust read in order to understand human nature. Do you read French?"

"Yes; but not many French novels; I cannot. "

"Nor can I, " said Carmen, with a sincere face. "They are too realisticfor me. " She was at the moment running over in her mind a "situation" ina paper-covered novel turned down on her nightstand. "Mr. Henderson saysthat everybody condemns the French novels, and that people praise thenovels they don't read. "

"You know Mr. Henderson very well?"

"Yes; we've known him a long time. He is the only man I'm afraid of. "

"Afraid of?"

"Well, you know he is a sort of Club man; that style of man provokesyour curiosity, for you never can tell how much such men know. It makesyou a little uneasy. "

Carmen was looking into the fire, as if abstractedly reflecting uponthe nature of men in general, but she did not fail to notice a slightexpression of pain on Margaret's face. 

"But there is your Mr. Lyon--"

Margaret laughed. "You do me too much honor. I think you discovered himfirst. "

"Well, our Mr. Lyon. " Carmen was still looking into the fire. "He issuch a good young man!"

Margaret did not exactly fancy this sort of commendation, and shereplied, with somewhat the tone of defending him, "We all have thehighest regard for Mr. Lyon. "

"Yes, and he is quite gone on Brandon, I assure you. He intends to do agreat deal of good in the world. I think he spends half his time inNew York studying, he calls it, our charitable institutions. Mammareproaches me that I don't take more interest in philanthropy. That isher worldly side. Everybody has a worldly side. I'm as worldly as I canbe"--this with a look of innocence that denied the self-accusation--"butI haven't any call to marry into Exeter Hall and that sort of thing. That is what she means--dear mamma. Are you High-Church or evangelical?"she asked, after a moment, turning to Margaret?

Margaret explained that she was neither. 

"Well, I am High-Church, and Mr. Lyon is evangelical-Church evangelical. There couldn't be any happiness, you know, without harmony in religiousbelief. "

"I should think not, " said Margaret, now quite recovering herself. "Itmust be a matter of great anxiety to you here. "

Carmen was quick to note the change of tone, and her face beamed withmerriment as she rose. 

"What nonsense I've been talking! I did not intend to go into such deepthings. You must not mind what I said about Mr. --(a little pause toread Margaret's face)--Mr. Lyon. We esteem him as much as you do. Howcharming you are looking this morning! I wish I had your secret ofnot letting this life tell on one. " And she was gone in a shower ofcompliments and smiles and caressing ways. She had found out what shecame to find out. Mr. Henderson needs watching, she said to herself. 

The interview, as Margaret thought it over, was amusing, but it did notraise her spirits. Was everybody worldly and shallow? Was this the sortof woman whom Mr. Henderson fancied? Was Mr. Henderson the sort of manto whom such a woman would be attracted?

IX

It was a dinner party in one of the up-town houses--palaces--thatbegin to repeat in size, spaciousness of apartments, and decoration thesplendor of the Medicean merchant princes. It is the penalty that we payfor the freedom of republican opportunity that some must be very rich. This is the logical outcome of the open chance for everybody to berich--and it is the surest way to distinction. In a free country thecourse must be run, and it is by the accumulation of great wealth thatone can get beyond anxiety, and be at liberty to indulge in republicansimplicity. 

Margaret and Miss Arbuser were ushered in through a double row ofservants in livery--shortclothes and stockings--in decorous vacuity--anarray necessary to bring into relief the naturalness and simplicity ofthe entertainers. Vulgarity, one can see, consists in making one's selfa part of the display of wealth: the thing to be attained is personalsimplicity on a background of the richest ostentation. It is difficultto attain this, and theory says that it takes three generations for aman to separate himself thus from his display. It was the tattle of thetown that the first owner of the pictures in the gallery of the Stottmansion used to tell the prices to his visitors; the third owner isquite beyond remembering them. He might mention, laughingly, that theornamented shovel in the great fireplace in the library was decorated byVavani--it was his wife's fancy. But he did not say that the ceilingin the music-room was painted by Pontifex Lodge, or that six Italianartists had worked four years making the Corean room, every inch ofit exquisite as an intaglio--indeed, the reporters had made the townfamiliar with the costly facts. 

The present occupants understood quite well the value of a background:the house swarmed with servants--retainers, one might say. Margaret, whowas fresh from her history class, recalled the days of Elizabeth, whena man's importance was gauged by the retinue of servitors and men andwomen in waiting. And this is, after all, a better test of wealth thana mere accumulation of things and cost of decoration; for though men andwomen do not cost so much originally as good pictures--that is, good menand women--everybody knows that it needs more revenue to maintainthem. Though the dinner party was not large, there was to be a danceafterwards, and for every guest was provided a special attendant. 

The dinner was served in the state dining-room, to which Mr. Hendersonhad the honor of conducting Margaret. Here prevailed also the samestudied simplicity. The seats were for sixteen. The table went to theextremity of elegant plainness, no crowding, no confusion of colorsunder the soft lights; if there was ostentation anywhere, it was in thedazzling fineness of the expanse of table-linen, not in the few rareflowers, or the crystal, or the plate, which was of solid gold, simplymodest. The eye is pleased by this chastity--pure whiteness, the glow ofyellow, the slight touch of sensuous warmth in the rose. The dinnerwas in keeping, short, noiselessly served under the eye of the maitred'hotel, few courses, few wines; no anxiety on the part of the host andhostess--perhaps just a little consciousness that everything was simpleand elegant, a little consciousness of the background; but anothergeneration will remove that. 

If to Margaret's country apprehension the conversation was not quite upto the level of the dinner and the house--what except that of a circleof wits, who would be out of place there, could be?--the presence of Mr. Henderson, who devoted himself to her, made the lack unnoticed. Thetalk ran, as usual, on the opera, Wagner, a Christmas party at Lenox, at Tuxedo, somebody's engagement, some lucky hit in the Exchange, theirritating personalities of the newspapers, the last English season, themarriage of the Duchess of Bolinbroke, a confidential disclosure of whowould be in the Cabinet and who would have missions, a jocular remarkacross the table about a "corner" (it is impossible absolutely here, aswell as at a literary dinner, to sink the shop), the Sunday opening ofgalleries--anything to pass the hour, the ladies contributing most ofthe vivacity and persiflage. 

"I saw you, Mr. Henderson"--it was Mrs. Laflamme raising her voice--"theother night in a box with a very pretty woman. "

"Yes--Miss Eschelle. "

"I don't know them. We used to hear of them in Naples, Venice, variousplaces; they were in Europe some time; I believe. She was said to bevery entertaining--and enterprising. "

"Well, I suppose they have seen something of the world. The other ladywas her mother. And the man with us--that might interest you more, Mrs. Laflamme, was Mr. Lyon, who will be the Earl of Chisholm. "

"Ah! Then I suppose she has money?"

"I never saw any painful evidence of poverty. But I don't think Mr. Lyonis fortune-hunting. He seems to be after information and--goodness. "

Margaret flushed a little, but apparently Henderson did not notice it. Then she said (after Mrs. Laflamme had dropped the subject with theremark that he had come to the right place), "Miss Eschelle called on meyesterday. "

"And was, no doubt, agreeable. "

"She was, as Mrs. Laflamme says, entertaining. She quoted you a gooddeal. "

"Quoted me? For what?"

"As one would a book, as a familiar authority. "

"I suppose I ought to be flattered, if you will excuse the streetexpression, to have my stock quotable. Perhaps you couldn't tell whetherMiss Eschelle was a bull or a bear in this case?"

"I don't clearly know what that is. She didn't offer me any, " saidMargaret, in a tone of carrying on the figure without any personalmeaning. 

"Well, she is a bit of an operator. A good many women here amusethemselves a little in stocks. "

"It doesn't seem to me very feminine. "

"No? But women generally like to' take risks and chances. In countrieswhere lotteries are established they always buy tickets. "

"Ah! then they only risk what they have. I think women are more prudentand conservative than men. "

"No doubt. They are conservatives usually. But when they do go in forradical measures and risks, they leave us quite behind. " Mr. Hendersondid not care to extend the conversation in this direction, and he asked, abruptly, "Are you finding New York agreeable, Miss Debree?"

"Yes. Yes and no. One has no time to one's self. Do you understandwhy it is, Mr. Henderson, that one can enjoy the whole day and then bethoroughly dissatisfied with it?"

"Perfectly; when the excitement is over. "

"And then I don't seem to be myself here. I have a feeling of havinglost myself. "

"Because the world is so big?"

"Not that. Do you know, the world seems much smaller here than at home. "

"And the city appears narrow and provincial?"

"I cannot quite explain it. The interests of life don't seem solarge--the questions, I mean, what is going on in Europe, theliterature, the reforms, the politics. I get a wider view when I standoff--at home. I suppose it is more concentrated here. And, oh dear, I'mso stupid! Everybody is so alert in little things, so quick to turn acompliment, and say a bright thing. While I am getting ready to saywhat I really think about Browning, for instance, he is disposed of in asentence. "

"That is because you try to say what you really think. "

"If one don't, what's the use of talk?"

"Oh, to pass the time. "

Margaret looked up to see if Henderson was serious. There was a smile ofamusement on his face, but not at all offensive, because the woman sawthat it was a look of interest also. 

"Then I sha'n't be serious any more, " she said, as there was a movementto quit the table. 

"That lays the responsibility on me of being serious, " he replied, inthe same light tone. 

Later they were wandering through the picture-gallery together. A gallery of modern pictures appeals for the most part to thesenses--represents the pomps, the color, the allurements of life. It struck Henderson forcibly that this gallery, which he knew well, appeared very different looking at it with Miss Debree from what itwould if he had been looking at it with Miss Eschelle. There were somepictures that he hurried past, some technical excellences only used forsensuous effects--that he did not call attention to as he might havedone with another. Curiously enough, he found himself seeking sentiment, purity. If the drawing was bad, Margaret knew it; if a false note wasstruck, she saw it. But she was not educated up to a good many of thesuggestions of the gallery. Henderson perceived this, and his mannerto her became more deferential and protective. It was a manner to whichevery true woman responds, and Margaret was happy, more herself, andtalked with a freedom and gayety, a spice of satire, and a note ofreality that made her every moment more attractive to her companion. In her, animation the charm of her unworn beauty blazed upon him with adirect personal appeal. He hardly cared to conceal his frank admiration. She, on her part, was thinking, what could Miss Eschelle mean by sayingthat she was afraid of him?

"Does the world seem any larger here, Miss Debree?" he asked, as theyhad lingeringly made the circuit of the room and passed out through thetropical conservatory to join the rest of the company. 

"Yes--away from people. "

"Then it is not numbers, I am glad to know, that make a world. "

She did not reply. But when he encountered her, robed for departure, atthe foot of the stairway, she gave him her hand in good-night, and theireyes met for a moment. 

I wonder if that was the time? Probably not. I fancy that when the rightday came she confessed that the moment was when she first saw him entertheir box at the opera. 

Henderson walked down the avenue slowly, hearing the echo of his ownsteps in the deserted street. He was in no haste to reach home. Itwas such a delightful evening-snowing a little, and cold, but soexhilarating. He remembered just how she turned her head as she got intothe carriage. She had touched his arm lightly once in the gallery tocall his attention to a picture. Yes, the world was larger, larger, byone, and it would seem large--her image came to him distinctly--if shewere the only one. 

Henderson was under the spell of this evening when the next, in responseto a note asking him to call for a moment on business, he was shown intothe Eschelle drawing-room. It was dimly lighted, but familiarity withthe place enabled him without difficulty to find his way down thelong suite, rather overcrowded with luxurious furniture, statuary, andpictures on easels, to the little library at the far end glowing in arosy light. 

There, ensconced in a big chair, a book in her hand, one pretty foot onthe fender, sat Carmen, in a grayish, vaporous toilet, which took a warmhue from the color of the spreading lamp-shades. On the carved tablenear was a litter of books and of nameless little articles, costly andcoquettish, which assert femininity, even in a literary atmosphere. Over the fireplace hung a picture of spring--a budding girl, smiling andwinning, in a semi-transparent raiment, advancing with swift steps tobring in the season of flowers and of love. The hand that held the bookrested upon the arm of the chair, a finger inserted in the place whereshe had been reading, her rounded white arm visible to the elbow, andCarmen was looking into the fire in the attitude of reflection upon asuggestive passage. 

Women have so many forms of attraction, different women are attractivein so many different ways, moods are so changing, beauty is soundefinable, and has so many weapons. And yet men are called inconstant!

It was not until Henderson had time to take in the warmth of thisdomestic picture that Carmen rose. 

"It is so good of you to come, with all your engagements. Mamma isexcused with a headache, but she has left me power of attorney to askquestions about our little venture. "

"I hope the attorney will not put me through a cross-examination. "

"That depends upon how you have been behaving, Mr. Henderson. I'm notvery cross yet. Now, sit there so that I can look at you and see howhonest you are. "

"Do you want me to put on my business or my evening expression?"

"Oh, the first, if you mean business. "

"Well, your stocks are going up. "

"That's nice. You are so lucky! Everything goes up with you. Do you knowwhat they say of you. 

"Nothing bad, I hope. "

"That everything you touch turns to gold. That you will be one of thenabobs of New York in ten years. "

"That's a startling destiny. "

"Isn't it? I don't like it. " The girl seemed very serious. "I'd likeyou to be distinguished. To be in the Cabinet. To be minister--go toEngland. But one needs a great deal of money for that, to go as oneought to go. What a career is open to a man in this country if he hasmoney!"

"But I don't care for politics. "

"Who does? But position. You can afford that if you have money enough. Do you know, Mr. Henderson, I think you are dull. "

"Thank you. I reckoned you'd find it out. "

"The other night at the Nestor ball a lady--no, I won't tell you who sheis--asked me if I knew who that man was across the room; such an airof distinction; might be the new British Minister. You know, I almostblushed when I said I did know him. "

"Well?"

"You see what people expect of you. When a man looks distinguished andis clever, and knows how to please if he likes, he cannot help having acareer, unless he is afraid to take the chances. "

Henderson was not conscious of ever being wanting in this direction. The picture conjured up by the ingenious girl was not unfamiliar to hismind, and he understood quite well the relation to it that Carmen had inher mind; but he did not take the lead offered. Instead, he took refugein the usual commonplace, and asked, "Wouldn't you like to have been aman?"

"Heaven forbid! I should be too wicked. It is responsibility enough tobe a woman. I did not expect such a banality from you. Do you think, Mr. Henderson, we had better sell?"

"Sell what?"

"Our stocks. You are so occupied that I thought they might fall when youare up in the clouds somewhere. "

"No, I shall not forget. "

"Well, such things happen. I might forget you if it were not for thestocks. "

"Then I shall keep the stocks, even if they fall. "

"And we should both fall together. That would be some compensation. Notmuch. Going to smash with you would be something like going to churchwith Mr. Lyon. It might have a steadying effect. "

"What has come over you tonight, Carmen?" Henderson asked, leaningforward with an expression of half amusement, half curiosity. 

"I've been thinking--doesn't that astonish you?--about life. It isvery serious. I got some new views talking with that Miss Debree fromBrandon. Chiefly from what she didn't say. She is such a lovely girl, and just as unsophisticated--well, as we are. I fear I shocked her bytelling her your opinion of French novels. "

"You didn't tell her that I approved of all the French novels you read?"

"Oh no! I didn't say you approved of any. It sort of came out that youknew about them. She is so downright and conscientious. I declare I feltvirtuous shivers running all over me all the time I was with her. I'mconscientious myself. I want everybody to know the worst of me. I wishI could practice some concealment. But she rather discourages me. Shewould take the color out of a career. She somehow doesn't allow forcolor, I could see. Duty, duty--that is the way she looks at life. She'dtry to keep me up to it; no playing by the way. I liked her very much. Ilike people not to have too much toleration. She would be just the wifefor some nice country rector. "

"Perhaps I ought to tell her your plan for her? I dined with her lastnight at the Stotts'. "

"Yes?" Carmen had been wondering if he would tell her of that. "Was itvery dull?"

"Not very. There was music, distant enough not to interfere withconversation, and the gallery afterwards. "

"It must have been very exhilarating. You talked about the Duchess ofBolinbroke, and the opera, and Prince Talleyrand, and the corner inwheat--dear me, I know, so decorous! And you said Miss Debree wasthere?"

"I had the honor of taking her out. "

"Mr. Henderson"--the girl had risen to adjust the lamp-shade, andnow stood behind his chair with her arm resting on it, so that he wasobliged to turn his head backward to see her--"Mr. Henderson, do youknow you are getting to be a desperate flirt?" The laughing eyes lookinginto his said that was not such a desperate thing to do if he chose theright object. 

"Who taught me?" He raised his left hand. She did not respond to theoverture, except to snap the hand with her index-finger, and was back inher chair again, regarding him demurely. 

"I think we shall go abroad soon. " The little foot was on the fenderagain, and the face had the look of melancholy resolution. 

"And leave Mr. Lyon without any protection here?" The remark was made ina tone of good-humored raillery, but for some reason it seemed to stingthe girl. 

"Pshaw!" she said. "How can you talk such nonsense? You, " and she roseto her feet in indignation--"you to advise an American girl to sellherself for a title--the chance of a title. I'm ashamed of you!"

"Why, Carmen, " he replied, flushing, "I advised nothing of the sort. Ihadn't the least idea. I don't care a straw for Mr. Lyon. "

"That's just it; you don't care, " sinking into her seat, stillunappeased. "I think I'll tell Mr. Lyon that he will have occupationenough to keep him in this country if he puts his money into that schemeyou were talking over the other night. "

Henderson was in turn annoyed. "You can tell him anything you like. I'm no more responsible for his speculations than for his domesticconcerns. "

"Now you are offended. It's not nice of you to put me in the wrong whenyou know how impulsive I am. I wish I didn't let my feelings run awaywith me. " This said reflectively, and looking away from him. Andthen, turning towards him with wistful, pleading eyes: "Do you know, Isometimes wish I had never seen you. You have so much power to make aperson very bad or very good. "

"Come, come, " said Henderson, rising, "we mustn't quarrel about anEnglishman--such old friends. "

"Yes, we are very old friends. " The girl rose also, and gave him herhand. "Perhaps that's the worst of it. If I should lose your esteem Ishould go into a convent. " She dropped his hand, and snatching a bunchof violets from the table, fixed them in his button-hole, looking up inhis face with vestal sweetness. "You are not offended?"

"Not a bit; not the least in the world, " said Henderson, heartily, patting the hand that still lingered upon his lapel. 

When he had gone, Carmen sank into her chair with a gesture of vexation, and there were hard lines in her sweet face. "What an insensible stick!"Then she ran up-stairs to her mother, who sat in her room reading one ofthe town-weeklies, into which some elderly ladies look for something tocondemn. 

"Well?"

"Such a stupid evening! He is just absorbed in that girl from Brandon. Itold him we were going abroad. "

"Going abroad! You are crazy, child. New York is forty times asamusing. "

"And forty times as tiresome. I'm sick of it. Mamma, don't you think itwould be only civil to ask Mr. Lyon to a quiet dinner before he goes?"

"Certainly. That is what I said the other day. I thought you--"

"Yes, I was ill-natured then. But I want to please you. And we reallyought to be civil. "

One day is so like another in the city. Every day something new, and, the new the same thing over again. And always the expectation that itwill be different tomorrow. Nothing is so tiresome as a kaleidoscope, though it never repeats itself. 

Fortunately there are two pursuits that never pall--making money andmaking love. 

Henderson had a new object in life, though the new one did not sensiblydivert him from the old; it rather threw a charming light over it, andmade the possibilities of it more attractive. In all his schemes hefound the thought of Margaret entering. Why should it not have beenCarmen? he sometimes thought. She thoroughly understood him. She wouldnever stand in the way of his most daring ambitions with any scruples. Her conscience would never nag his. She would be ambitious for a careerfor him. Would she care for him or the career? How clever she was! Andaffectionate? She would be if she had a heart. 

He was not balancing the two. What man ever does, in fact? It wassimply because Margaret had a heart that he loved her, that she seemednecessary to him. He was quite capable of making a match for hisadvancement, but he felt strong enough to make one for his own pleasure. And if there are men so worldly as not to be attracted to unworldlinessin a woman, Henderson was not one of them. If his heart had notdictated, his brain would have told him the value of the sympathy of agood woman. 

He was a very busy man, in the thick of the struggle for a greatfortune. It did not occur to him to reflect whether she would approveall the methods he resorted to, but all the women he knew liked success, and the thought of her invigorated him. If she once loved him, she wouldapprove what he did. 

He saw much of her in those passing days--days that went like a dreamto one of them at least. He was a welcome guest at the Arbusers', buthe saw little of Margaret alone. It did not matter. A chance look is avolume; a word is a library. They saw each other; they heard each other. And then passion grows almost as well in the absence as in the presenceof the object. Imagination then has free play. A little separationsometimes will fan it into a flame. 

The days went by, and Margaret's visit was over. I am obliged to saythat the leave-taking was a gay one, as full of laughter as it was ofhope. Brandon was such a little way off. Henderson often had businessthere. The Misses Arbuser said, "Of course. " And Margaret said he mustnot forget that she lived there. Even when she bade her entertainers anaffectionate good-by, she could not look very unhappy. 

Spring was coming. That day in the cars there were few signs of iton the roadside to be seen, but the buds were swelling. And Margaret, neglecting the book which lay on her lap, and looking out the window, felt it in all her veins. 

X

It is said that the world is created anew for every person who is inlove. There is therefore this constant miracle of a new heavens and anew earth. It does not depend upon the seasons. The subtle force whichis in every human being, more or less active, has this power, as iflove were somehow a principle pervading nature itself, and capable oftransforming it. Is this a divine gift? Can it be used more than once?Once spent, does the world to each succeeding experimenter in it becomeold and stale? We say the world is old. In one sense, the real senseto every person, it is no older than the lives lived in it at any giventime. If it is always passing away, it is always being renewed. Everytime a youth looks love in a maiden's eyes, and sees the timid appealingreturn of the universal passion, the world for those two is just ascertainly created as it was on the first morning, in all its color, odor, song, freshness, promise. This is the central mystery of life. 

Unconsciously to herself, Margaret had worked this miracle. Never beforedid the little town look so bright; never before was there exactly sucha color on the hills-sentiment is so pale compared with love; neverbefore did her home appear so sweet; never before was there such a fineecstasy in the coming of spring. 

For all this, home-coming, after the first excitement of arrival isover, is apt to be dull. The mind is so occupied with other emotionsthat the friends even seem a little commonplace and unresponsive, andthe routine is tame. Out of such a whirl of new experiences toreturn and find that nothing has happened; that the old duties andresponsibilities are waiting! Margaret had eagerly leaped from thecarriage to throw herself into her aunt's arms-what a sweet welcome itis, that of kin!--and yet almost before the greeting was over she feltalone. There was that in the affectionate calmness of Miss Forsythe thatseemed to chill the glow and fever of passion in her new world. And shehad nothing to tell. Everything had changed, and she must behave as ifnothing had happened. She must take up her old life--the interests ofthe neighborhood. Even the little circle of people she loved appeareddistant from her at the moment; impossible it seemed to bring them intothe rushing current of her life. Their joy in getting her back again shecould not doubt, nor the personal affection with which she was welcomed. But was the New England atmosphere a little cold? What was the flavorshe missed in it all? The next day a letter came. The excuse for it wasthe return of a fan which Mr. Henderson had carried off in his pocketfrom the opera. What a wonderful letter it was--his handwriting, thefirst note from him! Miss Forsythe saw in it only politeness. ForMargaret it outweighed the town of Brandon. It lay in her lap as shesat at her chamber window looking out over the landscape, which wasbeginning to be flushed with a pale green. There was a robin on thelawn, and a blackbird singing in the pine. "Go not, happy day, " shesaid, with tears in her eyes. She took up the brief letter and read itagain. Was he really hers, "truly"? And she answered the letter, swiftlyand with no hesitation, but with a throbbing heart. It was a civilacknowledgment; that was all. Henderson might have lead it aloud in theExchange. But what color, what charming turns of expression, whatof herself, had the girl put into it, that gave him such a thrill ofpleasure when he read it? What secret power has a woman to make a commonphrase so glow with her very self?

Here was something in her life that was her own, a secret, a hope, and yet a tremulous anticipation to be guarded almost from herself. Itcolored everything; it was always, whatever she was doing or saying, present, like an air that one unconsciously hums for days after it hascaught his fancy. Blessed be the capacity of being fond and foolish! Ifthat letter was under her pillow at night, if this new revelation waslast in her thought as she fell asleep, if it mingled with the song ofthe birds in the spring morning, as some great good pervading the world, is there anything distinguishing in such an experience that it should bedwelt on? And if there were questionings and little panics of doubt, didnot these moments also reveal Margaret to herself more certainly thanthe hours of happy dreaming?

Questionings no doubt there were, and, later, serious questionings;for habit is almost as strong as love, and the old ways of life and ofthought will reassert themselves in a thoughtful mind, and reason willinsist on analyzing passion and even hope. 

Gradually the home life and every-day interests began to assume theirnatural aspect and proportions. It was so sweet and sane, this homelife, interesting and not feverish. There was time for reading, time forturning over things in the mind, time for those interchanges of feelingand of ideas, by the fireside; she was not required to be always ondress parade, in mind or person, always keyed up to make an impressionor receive one; how much wider and sounder was Morgan's view of theworld, allowing for his kindly cynicism, than that prevalent in thetalk where she had lately been! How sincere and hearty and free ran thepersonal currents in this little neighborhood! In the very fact thatthe daily love and affection for her and interest in her were taken forgranted she realized the difference between her position here and thatamong newer friends who showed more open admiration. 

Little by little there was a readjustment. In comparison, the city life, with its intensity of action and feeling, began to appear distant, notso real, mixed, turbid, even frivolous. And was Henderson a vanishingpart of this pageant? Was his figure less distinct as the days went by?It could not be affirmed. Love is such a little juggler, and likes, nowand again, to pretend to be so reasonable and judicious. There were nomore letters. If there had been a letter now and then, on any excuse, the nexus would have been more distinct: nothing feeds the flame exactlylike a letter; it has intention, personality, secrecy. And the littleexcitement of it grows. Once a week gets to be twice a week, threetimes, four times, and then daily. And then a day without a letter issuch a blank, and so full of fear! What can have happened? Is he ill?Has he changed? The opium habit is nothing to the letter habit-betweenlovers. Not that Margaret expected a letter. Indeed, reason told herthat it had not gone so far as that. But she should see him. She feltsure of that. And the thought filled all the vacant places in herimagination of the future. 

And yet she thought she was seeing him more clearly than when he waswith her. Oh wise young woman! She fancied she was deliberating, lookingat life with great prudence. It must be one's own fault if one makes aradical mistake in marriage. She was watching the married people abouther with more interest-the Morgans, our own household, Mrs. Fletcher;and besides, her aunt, whose even and cheerful life lacked thisexperience. It is so wise to do this, to keep one's feelings in control, not to be too hasty! Everybody has these intervals of prudence. That isthe reason there are so few mistakes. 

I dare say that all these reflections and deliberations in the maidenlymind were almost unconscious to herself; certainly unacknowledged. Itwas her imagination that she was following, and scarcely a distinctreality or intention. She thought of Henderson, and he gave a certainpersonality, vivid maybe, to that dream of the future which we allin youth indulge; but she would have shrunk from owning this even toherself. We deceive ourselves as often as we deceive others. Margaretwould have repudiated with some warmth any intimation that she had losther heart, and was really predicting the practical possibilities of thatloss, and she would have been quite honest with herself in thinking thatshe was still mistress of her own feeling. Later on she would know, anddelight to confess, that her destiny was fixed at a certain hour, ata certain moment, in New York, for subsequent events would run back tothat like links in a chain. And she would have been right and also wrongin that; for but for those subsequent events the first impression wouldhave faded, and been taken little account of in her life. I am more andmore convinced that men and women act more upon impulse and less upondeep reflection and self-examination than the analytic novelists wouldhave us believe, duly weighing motives and balancing considerations;and that men and women know themselves much less thoroughly than theysuppose they do. There is a great deal of exaggeration, I am convinced, about the inward struggles and self-conflicts. The reader may know thatMargaret was hopelessly in love, because he knows everything; but thatcharming girl would have been shocked and wounded to the most indignanthumiliation if she had fancied that her friends thought that. Nay, more, if Henderson had at this moment made by letter a proposal for her hand, her impulse would have been to repudiate the offer as unjustified byanything that had taken place, and she would no doubt have obeyed thatimpulse. 

But something occurred, while she was in this mood, that did not shockher maidenly self-consciousness, nor throw her into antagonism, butwhich did bring her face to face with a possible reality. And this wassimply the receipt of a letter from Henderson; not a love-letter--farenough from that--but one in which there was a certain tone andintention that the most inexperienced would recognize as possiblyserious. Aside from the announcement in the letter, the very fact ofwriting it was significant, conveying an intimation that the readermight be interested in what concerned the writer. The letter was longerthan it need have been, for one thing, as if the pen, once startedon its errand, ran on con amore. The writer was coming to Brandon;business, to be sure, was the excuse; but why should it have beennecessary to announce to her a business visit? There crept into theletter somehow a good deal about his daily life, linked, to be sure, with mention of places and people in which she had recently an interest. He had been in Washington, and there were slight sketches of well-knowncharacters in Congress and in the Government; he had been in Chicago, and even as far as Denver, and there were little pictures of scenes thatmight amuse her. There was no special mystery about all this travel andhurrying from place to place, but it gave Margaret a sense of varied andlarge occupations that she did not understand. Through it all there wasthe personality that had been recently so much in her thoughts. He wascoming. That was a very solid fact that she must meet. And she did notdoubt that he was coming to see her, and soon. That was a definite andvery different idea from the dim belief that he would come some time. Hehad signed himself hers "faithfully. "

It was a letter that could not be answered like the other one; for itraised questions and prospects, and the thousand doubts that make onehesitate in any definite step; and, besides, she pleased herself tothink that she did not know her own mind. He had not asked if he mightcome; he had said he was coming, and really there was no answer to that. Therefore she put it out of her mind-another curious mental process wehave in dealing with a matter that is all the time the substratum of ourexistence. And she was actually serious; if she was reflective, she wasconscious of being judicially reflective. 

But in this period of calm and reflection it was impossible that a womanof Margaret's habits and temperament should not attempt to settle in hermind what that life was yonder of which she had a little taste; whatwas the career that Henderson had marked out for himself; what were hisprinciples; what were the methods and reasons of his evident success. Endeavoring in her clear mind to separate the person, about whosepersonality she was so fondly foolish, from his schemes, which she sodimly comprehended, and applying to his somewhat hazy occupations hersimple moral test, were the schemes quite legitimate? Perhaps shedid not go so far as this; but what she read in the newspapers ofmoneymaking in these days made her secretly uneasy, and she foundherself wishing that he were definitely practicing some profession, orengaged in some one solid occupation. 

In the little parliament at our house, where everything, first and last, was overhauled and brought to judgment, without, it must be confessed, any visible effect on anything, one evening a common "incident" of theday started the conversation. It was an admiring account in a newspaperof a brilliant operation by which three or four men had suddenly becomemillionaires. 

"I don't see, " said my wife, "any mention in this account of thethousands who have been reduced to poverty by this operation. "

"No, " said Morgan; "that is not interesting. "

"But it would be very interesting to me, " Mrs. Fletcher remarked. "Isthere any protection, Mr. Morgan, for people who have invested theirlittle property?"

"Yes; the law. "

"But suppose your money is all invested, say in a railway, and somethinggoes wrong, where are you to get the money to pay for the law that willgive you restitution? Is there anything in the State, or public opinion, or anywhere, that will protect your interests against clever swindling?"

"Not that I know of, " Morgan admitted. "You take your chance when youlet your money go out of your stocking. You see there are so many peoplewho want it. You can put it in the ground. "

"But if I own the ground I put it in, the voters who have no ground willtax it till there is nothing left for me. "

"That is equality. "

"But it isn't equality, for somebody gets very rich in railways orlands, while we lose our little all. Don't you think there ought to bea public official whose duty it is to enforce the law gratis which Icannot afford to enforce when I am wronged?"

"The difficulty is to discover whether you are wronged or onlyunfortunate. It needs a lawyer to find that out. And very likely if youare wronged, the wrongdoer has so cleverly gone round the law that itneeds legislation to set you straight, and that needs a lobbyist, whomthe lawyer must hire, or he must turn lobbyist himself. Now, a lawyercosts money, and a lobbyist is one of the most expensive of modernluxuries; but when you have a lawyer and lobbyist in one, you will findit economical to let him take your claim and all that can be made outof it, and not bother you any more about it. But there is no doubt aboutthe law, as I said. You can get just as much law as you can pay for. Itis like any other commodity. "

"You mean to say, " I asked, "that the lawyer takes what the operatorleaves?"

"Not exactly. There is a great deal of unreasonable prejudice againstlawyers. They must live. There is no nobler occupation than theapplication of the principle of justice in human affairs. The troubleis that public opinion sustains the operator in his smartness, andestimates the lawyer according to his adroitness. If we only evoked theaid of a lawyer in a just cause, the lawyers would have less to do. 

"Usually and naturally the best talent goes with the biggest fees. "

"It seems to me, " said my wife, musing along, in her way, on parallellines, "that there ought to be a limit to the amount of property one mancan get into his absolute possession, to say nothing of the methods bywhich he gets it. "

"That never yet could be set, " Morgan replied. "It is impossible forany number of men to agree on it. I don't see any line between absolutefreedom of acquisition, trusting to circumstances, misfortune, and deathto knock things to pieces, and absolute slavery, which is communism. "

"Do you believe, Mr. Morgan, that any vast fortune was ever honestlycome by?"

"That is another question. Honesty is such a flexible word. If you meana process the law cannot touch, yes. If you mean moral consideration forothers, I doubt. But property accumulates by itself almost. Many aman who has got a start by an operation he would not like to haveinvestigated, and which he tries to forget, goes on to be very rich, andhas a daily feeling of being more and more honorable and respectable, using only means which all the world calls fair and shrewd. "

"Mr. Morgan, " suddenly asked Margaret, who had been all the time anuneasy listener to the turn the talk had taken, "what is railroadwrecking?"

"Oh, it is very simple, at least in some of its forms. The 'wreckers, 'as they are called, fasten upon some railway that is prosperous, paysdividends, pays a liberal interest on its bonds, and has a surplus. Theycontrive to buy, no matter of what cost, a controlling interest in it, either in its stock or its management. Then they absorb its surplus;they let it run down so that it pays no dividends, and by-and-by cannoteven pay its interest; then they squeeze the bondholders, who may beglad to accept anything that is offered out of the wreck, andperhaps then they throw the property into the hands of a receiver, orconsolidate it with some other road at a value enormously greater thanthe cost to them in stealing it. Having in one way or another sucked itdry, they look round for another road. "

"And all the people who first invested lose their money, or the most ofit?"

"Naturally, the little fish get swallowed. "

"It is infamous, " said Margaret--"infamous! And men go to work to dothis, to get other people's property, in cool blood?"

"I don't know how cool, but it is in the way of business. "

"What is the difference between that and getting possession of a bankand robbing it?" she asked, hot with indignation. 

"Oh, one is an operation, and the other is embezzlement. "

"It is a shame. How can people permit it? Suppose, Mrs. Fletcher, awrecker should steal your money that way?"

"I was thinking of that. "

I never saw Margaret more disturbed--out of all proportion, I thought, to the cause; for we had talked a hundred times about such things. 

"Do you think all men who are what you call operating around are likethat?" she asked. 

"Oh, no, " I said. "Probably most men who are engaged in what isgenerally called speculation are doing what seems to them a perfectlylegitimate business. It is a common way of making a fortune. "

"You see, Margaret, " Morgan explained, "when people in trade buyanything, they expect to sell it for more than they gave for it. "

"It seems to me, " Margaret replied, more calmly, "that a great deal ofwhat you men call business is just trying to get other people's money, and doesn't help anybody or produce anything. "

"Oh, that is keeping up the circulation, preventing stagnation. "

"And that is the use of brokers in grain and stocks?"

"Partly. They are commonly the agents that others use to keep themselvesfrom stagnation. "

"I cannot see any good in it, " Margaret persisted. "No one seems to havethe things he buys or sells. I don't understand it. "

"That is because you are a woman, if you will pardon me for saying it. Men don't need to have things in hand; business is done on faith andcredit, and when a transaction is over, they settle up and pay thedifference, without the trouble of transporting things back and forth. "

"I know you are chaffing me, Mr. Morgan. But I should call thatbetting. "

"Oh, there is a risk in everything you do. But you see it is reallypaying for a difference of knowledge or opinion. "

"Would you buy stocks that way?"

"What way?"

"Why, agreeing to pay for your difference of opinion, as you call it, not really having any stock at all. "

"I never did. But I have bought stocks and sold them pretty soon, if Icould make anything by the sale. All merchants act on that principle. "

"Well, " said Margaret, dimly seeing the sophistry of this, "I don'tunderstand business morality. "

"Nobody does, Margaret. Most men go by the law. The Golden Rule seems tobe suspended by a more than two-thirds vote. "

It was by such inquiries, leading to many talks of this sort, thatMargaret was groping in her mind for the solution of what might becometo her a personal question. Consciously she did not doubt Henderson'sintegrity or his honor, but she was perplexed about the world of whichshe had recently had a glimpse, and it was impossible to separate himfrom it. Subjected to an absolutely new experience, stirred as her hearthad never been before by any man--a fact which at once irritated andpleased her--she was following the law of her own nature, while she wasstill her own mistress, to ponder these things and to bring her reasonto the guidance of her feeling. And it is probable that she did not atall know the strength of her feeling, or have any conception of the realpower of love, and how little the head has to do with the great passionof life, the intensity of which the poets have never in the leastexaggerated. If she thought of Mr. Lyon occasionally, of his white faceand pitiful look of suffering that day, she could not, after all, makeit real or permanently serious. Indeed, she was sure that no emotioncould so master her. And yet she looked forward to Henderson's comingwith a sort of nervous apprehension, amounting almost to dread. 

XI

It was the susceptible time of the year for plants, for birds, formaids: all innocent natural impulses respond to the subtle influence ofspring. One may well gauge his advance in selfishness, worldliness, andsin by his loss of this annual susceptibility, by the failure of thissweet appeal to touch his heart. One must be very far gone if some noteof it does not for a moment bring back the tenderest recollections ofthe days of joyous innocence. 

Even the city, with its mass of stone and brick, rectangles, straightlines, dust, noise, and fever of activity, is penetrated by this divinesuggestion of the renewal of life. You can scarcely open a windowwithout letting in a breath of it; the south wind, the twitter of asparrow, the rustle of leaves in the squares, the smell of the earth andof some struggling plant in the area, the note of a distant hand-organsoftened by distance, are begetting a longing for youth, for greenfields, for love. As Carmen walked down the avenue with Mr. Lyon on aspring morning she almost made herself believe that an unworldly lifewith this simple-hearted gentleman--when he should come into his titleand estate--would be more to her liking than the most brilliant successin place and power with Henderson. Unfortunately the spring influencealso suggested the superior attractiveness of the only man who hadever taken her shallow fancy. And unfortunately the same note ofnature suggested to Mr. Lyon the contrast of this artificial piece ofloveliness with the domestic life of which he dreamed. 

As for Margaret, she opened her heart to the spring without reserve. Itwas May. The soft maples had a purple tinge, the chestnuts showed color, the apple-trees were in bloom (all the air was full of their perfume), the blackbirds were chattering in convention in the tall oaks, thebright leaves and the flowering shrubs were alive with the twitteringand singing of darting birds. The soft, fleecy clouds, hovering as overa world just created, seemed to make near and participant in the scenethe delicate blue of the sky. Margaret--I remember the morning--wasstanding on her piazza, as I passed through the neighborhood drive, with a spray of apple-blossoms in her hand. For the moment she seemedto embody all the maiden purity of the scene, all its promise. I said, laughing:

"We shall have to have you painted as spring. "

"But spring isn't painted at all, " she replied, holding up theapple--blossoms, and coming down the piazza with a dancing step. 

"And so it won't last. We want something permanent, " I was beginning tosay, when a carriage passed, going to our house. "I think that must beHenderson. "

"Ah!" she exclaimed. Her sunny face clouded at once, and she turned togo in as I hurried away. 

It was Mr. Henderson, and there was at least pretense enough of businessto occupy us, with Mr. Morgan, the greater part of the day. It was nottill late in the afternoon that Henderson appeared to remember thatMargaret was in the neighborhood, and spoke of his intention of calling. My wife pointed out the way to him across the grounds, and watched himleisurely walking among the trees till he was out of sight. 

"What an agreeable man Mr. Henderson is!" she said, turning to me; "mostcompanionable; and yet--and yet, my dear, I'm glad he is not my husband. You suit me very well. " There was an air of conviction about thisremark, as if it were the result of deep reflection and comparison, and it was emphasized by the little possessory act of readjusting mynecktie--one of the most subtle of female flatteries. 

"But who wanted him to be your husband?" I asked. "Married women havethe oddest habit of going about the world picking out the men theywould not like to have married. Do they need continually to justifythemselves?"

"No; they congratulate themselves. You never can understand. "

"I confess I cannot. My first thought about an attractive woman whoseacquaintance I make is not that I am glad I did not marry her. "

"I dare say not. You are all inconsistent, you men. But you are theleast so of any man in the world, I do believe. "

It would be difficult to say whether the spring morning seemed more orless glorious to Margaret when she went indoors, but its serenity wasgone. 

It was like the premonition in nature of a change. She put the appleblossoms in water and placed the jug on the table, turning it about halfa dozen times, moving her head from side to side to get the effect. When it was exactly right, she said to her aunt, who sat sewing in thebay-window, in a perfectly indifferent tone, "Mr. Fairchild just passedhere, and said that Mr. Henderson had come. "

"Ah!" Her aunt did not lift her eyes from her work, or appear to attachthe least importance to this tremendous piece of news. Margaret wasannoyed at what seemed to her an assumed indifference. Her nerves werequivering with the knowledge that he had arrived, that he was in thenext house, that he might be here any moment--the man who had enteredinto her whole life--and the announcement was no more to her aunt thanif she had said it rained. She was provoked at herself that she shouldbe so disturbed, yes, annoyed, at his proximity. She wished he had notcome--not today, at any rate. She looked about for something to do, andbegan to rearrange this and that trifle in the sitting-room, which shehad perfectly arranged once before in the morning, moving about here andthere in a rather purposeless manner, until her aunt looked up and fora moment followed her movements till Margaret left the room. In herown chamber she sat by the window and tried to think, but there was noorderly mental process; in vain she tried to run over in her mind thepast month and all her reflections and wise resolves. She heard the callof the birds, she inhaled the odor of the new year, she was consciousof all that was gracious and inviting in the fresh scene, but in hersub-consciousness there was only one thought--he was there, he wascoming. She took up her sewing, but the needle paused in the stitch, andshe found herself looking away across the lawn to the hills; she took upa book, but the words had no meaning, read and reread them as shewould. He is there, he is coming. And what of it? Why should she be sodisturbed? She was uncommitted, she was mistress of her own actions. Hadshe not been coolly judging his conduct? She despised herself for beingso nervous and unsettled. If he was coming, why did he not come? Why washe waiting so long? She arose impatiently and went down-stairs. Therewas a necessity of doing something. 

"Is there anything that you want from town, auntie?"

"Nothing that I know of. Are you going in?"

"No, unless you have an errand. It is such a fine day that it seems apity to stay indoors. "

"Well, I would walk if I were you. " But she did not go; she went insteadto her room. He might come any moment. She ought not to run away; andyet she wished she were away. He said he was coming on business. Was itnot, then, a pretense? She felt humiliated in the idea of waiting forhim if the business were not a pretense. 

How insensible men are! What a mere subordinate thing to them in life isthe love of a woman! Yes, evidently business was more important to himthan anything else. He must know that she was waiting; and she blushedto herself at the very possibility that he should think such a thing. She was not waiting. It was lunch-time. She excused herself. In the nextmoment she was angry that she had not gone down as usual. It was timefor him to come. He would certainly come immediately after lunch. Shewould not see him. She hoped never to see him. She rose in haste, puton her hat, put it on carefully, turning and returning before the glass, selected fresh gloves, and ran down-stairs. 

"I'm going, auntie, for a walk to town. "

The walk was a long one. She came back tired. It was late in theafternoon. Her aunt was quietly reading. She needed to ask her nothing:Mr. Henderson had not been there. Why had he written to her?

"Oh, the Fairchilds want us to come over to dinner, " said Miss Forsythe, without looking up. 

"I hope you will go, auntie. I sha'n't mind being alone. "

"Why? It's perfectly informal. Mr. Henderson happens to be there. "

"I'm too stupid. But you must go. Mr. Henderson, in New York, expressedthe greatest desire to make your acquaintance. "

Miss Forsythe smiled. "I suppose he has come up on purpose. But, dear, you must go to chaperon me. It would hardly be civil not to go, whenyou knew Mr. Henderson in New York, and the Fairchilds want to make itagreeable for him. "

"Why, auntie, it is just a business visit. I'm too tired to make theeffort. It must be this spring weather. "

Perhaps it was. It is so unfortunate that the spring, which begets somany desires, brings the languor that defeats their execution. But thereis a limit to the responsibility even of spring for a woman's moods. Just as Margaret spoke she saw, through the open window, Hendersoncoming across the lawn, walking briskly, but evidently not inattentiveto the charm of the landscape. It was his springy step, his athleticfigure, and, as he came nearer, the joyous anticipation in his face. Andit was so sudden, so unexpected--the vision so long looked for! Therewas no time for flight, had she wanted to avoid him; he was on thepiazza; he was at the open door. Her hand went quickly to her heartto still the rapid flutter, which might be from pain and might be fromjoy--she could not tell. She had imagined their possible meeting so manytimes, and it was not at all like this. She ought to receive him coldly, she ought to receive him kindly, she ought to receive him indifferently. But how real he was, how handsome he was! If she could have obeyed theimpulse of the moment I am not sure but she would have fled, and castherself face downward somewhere, and cried a little and thanked God forhim. He was in the room. In his manner there was no hesitation, in hisexpression no uncertainty. His face beamed with pleasure, and there wasso much open admiration in his eyes that Margaret, conscious of it toher heart's core, feared that her aunt would notice it. And she met himcalmly enough, frankly enough. The quickness with which a woman can pullherself together under such circumstances is testimony to her superiorfibre. 

"I've been looking across here ever since morning, " he said, as soon asthe hand-shaking and introduction were over, "and I've only this minutebeen released. " There was no air of apology in this, but a delicateintimation of impatience at the delay. And still, what an unconsciousbrute a man is!

"I thought perhaps you had returned, " said Margaret, "until my aunt wasjust telling me we were asked to dine with you. "

Henderson gave her a quick glance. Was it possible she thought he couldgo away without seeing her?

"Yes, and I was commissioned to bring you over when you are ready. ""I will not keep you waiting long, Mr. Henderson, " interposed MissForsythe, out of the goodness of her heart. "My niece has been taking along walk, and this debilitating spring weather--"

"Oh, since the sun has gone away, I think I'm quite up to the exertion, since you wish it, auntie, " a speech that made Henderson stare again, wholly unable to comprehend the reason of an indirection which he couldfeel--he who had been all day impatient for this moment. There wasa little talk about the country and the city at this season, mainlysustained by Miss Forsythe and Henderson, and then he was left alone. "Of course you should go, Margaret, " said her aunt, as they wentupstairs; "it would not be at all the thing for me to leave you here. And what a fine, manly, engaging fellow Mr. Henderson is!"

"Yes, he acts very much like a man;" and Margaret was gone into herroom. 

Go? There was not force enough in the commonwealth, without calling outthe militia, to keep Margaret from going to the dinner. She stopped amoment in the middle of her chamber to think. She had almost forgottenhow he looked--his eyes, his smile. Dear me! how the birds were singingoutside, and how fresh the world was! And she would not hurry. He couldwait. No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her. He was inthe house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhapsreading, perhaps spying about at her knick-knacks--she would like tolook in at the door a moment to see what he was doing. Of course he washere to see her, and all the business was a pretext. As she sat a momentupon the edge of her bed reflecting what to put on, she had a littlepang that she had been doing him injustice in her thought. But it wasonly for an instant. He was here. She was not in the least flurried. Indeed, her mental processes were never clearer than when she settledupon her simple toilet, made as it was in every detail with the sureinstinct of a woman who dresses for her lover. Heavens! what a miserableday it had been, what a rebellious day! He ought to be punished forit somehow. Perhaps the rose she put in her hair was part of thepunishment. But he should not see how happy she was; she would be civil, and just a little reserved; it was so like a man to make a woman waitall day and then think he could smooth it all over simply by appearing. 

But somehow in Henderson's presence these little theories of conduct didnot apply. He was too natural, direct, unaffected, his pleasure in beingwith her was so evident! He seemed to brush aside the little defensesand subterfuges. There was this about him that appeared to heradmirable, and in contrast with her own hesitating indirection, thatwhatever he wanted--money, or position, or the love of woman--he wentstraight to his object with unconsciousness that failure was possible. Even in walking across the grounds in the soft sunset light, andchatting easily, their relations seemed established on a most naturalbasis, and Margaret found herself giving way to the simple enjoyment ofthe hour. She was not only happy, but her spirits rose to inexpressiblegayety, which ran into the humor of badinage and a sort of spiritualelation, in which all things seemed possible. Perhaps she recognized inherself, what Henderson saw in her. And with it all there was an accessof tenderness for her aunt, the dear thing whose gentle life appeared socolorless. 

I had never seen Margaret so radiant as at the dinner; her high spiritsinfected the table, and the listening and the talking were of thebest that the company could give. I remembered it afterwards, notfrom anything special that was said, but from its flow of high animalspirits, and the electric responsive mood everyone was in; no topiccarried too far, and the chance seriousness setting off the sparklingcomments on affairs. Henderson's talk had the notable flavor of directcontact with life, and very little of the speculative and reflectivetone of Morgan's, who was always generalizing and theorizing about it. He had just come from the West, and his off-hand sketches of men hada special cynicism, not in the least condemnatory, mere good-naturedacceptance, and in contrast to Morgan's moralizing and rather pityingcynicism. It struck me that he did not believe in his fellows as muchas Morgan did; but I fancied that Margaret only saw in his attitude atolerant knowledge of the world. 

"Are the people on the border as bad as they are represented?" sheasked. 

"Certainly not much worse than they represent themselves, " he replied;"I suppose the difference is that men feel less restraint there. "

"It is something more than that, " added Morgan. "There is a sort ofdrift-wood of adventure and devil-may-care-ism that civilization throwsin advance of itself; but that isn't so bad as the slag it manufacturesin the cities. "

"I remember you said, Mr. Morgan, that men go West to get rid of theirpast, " said Margaret. 

"As New Yorkers go to Europe to get rid of their future?" Hendersoninquired, catching the phrase. 

"Yes"--Morgan turned to Margaret--"doubtless there is a satisfactionsometimes in placing the width of a continent between a man and whathe has done. I've thought that one of the most popular verses in thePsalter, on the border, must be the one that says--you will know if Iquote it right 'Look how wide also the East is from the West; so farhath He set our sins from us. '"

"That is dreadful, " exclaimed Margaret. "To think of you spending yourtime in the service picking out passages to fit other people!"

"It sounds as if you had manufactured it, " was Henderson's comment. 

"No; that quiet Mr. Lyon pointed it out to me when we were talking aboutMontana. He had been there. "

"By-the-way, Mr. Henderson, " my wife asked, "do you know what has becomeof Mr. Lyon?"

"I believe he is about to go home. "

"I fancied Miss Eschelle might have something to say about that, " Morganremarked. 

"Perhaps, if she were asked. But Mr. Lyon appeared rather indifferent toAmerican attractions. "

Margaret looked quickly at Henderson as he said this, and then ventured, a little slyly, "She seemed to appreciate his goodness. "

"Yes; Miss Eschelle has an eye for goodness. "

This was said without change of countenance, but it convinced thelistener that Carmen was understood. 

"And yet, " said Margaret, with a little air of temerity, "you seem to bevery good friends. "

"Oh, she is very charitable; she sees, I suppose, what is good in me;and I'll spare you the trouble of remarking that she must necessarily bevery sharp-sighted. "

"And I'm not going to destroy your illusion by telling you her realopinion of you, " Margaret retorted. 

Henderson begged to know what it was, but Margaret evaded the questionby new raillery. What did she care at the moment what Carmen thought ofHenderson? What--did either of them care what they were saying, so longas there was some personal flavor in the talk! Was it not enough to talkto each other, to see each other?

As we sat afterwards upon the piazza with our cigars, inhaling the odorof the apple blossoms, and yielding ourselves, according to our age, tothe influence of the mild night, Margaret was in the high spirits whichaccompany the expectation of bliss, without the sobering effect of itsresponsibility. Love itself is very serious, but the overture is fullof freakish gayety. And it was all gayety that night. We all constitutedourselves a guard of honor to Miss Forsythe and Margaret when they wentto their cottage, and there was a merry leave-taking in the moonlight. To be sure, Margaret walked with Henderson, and they lagged a littlebehind, but I had no reason to suppose that they were speaking ofthe stars, or that they raised the ordinary question of their beinginhabited. I doubt if they saw the stars at all. How one rememberslittle trifles, that recur like the gay bird notes of the opening scenesthat are repeated in the tragedy of the opera! I can see Margaret now, on some bantering pretext, running back, after we had said good-night, to give Henderson the blush-rose she had worn in her hair. How charmingthe girl was in this freakish action!

"Do you think he is good enough for her?" asked my wife, when we werealone. 

"Who is good enough for whom?" I said, a yawn revealing my want ofsentiment. 

"Don't be stupid. You are not so blind as you pretend. "

"Well, if I am not so blind as I pretend, though I did not pretend to beblind, I suppose that is mainly her concern. "

"But I wish she had cared for Lyon. "

"Perhaps Lyon did not care for her, " I suggested. 

"You never see anything. Lyon was a noble fellow. "

"I didn't deny that. But how was I to know about Lyon, my dear? I neverheard you say that you were glad he wasn't your husband. "

"Don't be silly. I think Henderson has very serious intentions. "

"I hope he isn't frivolous, " I said. 

"Well, you are. It isn't a joking matter--and you pretend to be so fondof Margaret!"

"So that is another thing I pretend? What do you want me to do? Whichone do you want me to make my enemy by telling him or her that the otherisn't good enough?"

"I don't want you to do anything, except to be reasonable, andsympathize. "

"Oh, I sympathize all round. I assure you I've no doubt you are quiteright. " And in this way I crawled out of the discussion, as usual. 

What a pretty simile it is, comparing life to a river, because riversare so different! There are the calm streams that flow eagerly from theyouthful sources, join a kindred flood, and go placidly to the sea, onlybroadening and deepening and getting very muddy at times, but withouta rapid or a fall. There are others that flow carelessly in the uppersunshine, begin to ripple and dance, then run swiftly, and rush intorapids in which there is no escape (though friends stand weeping andimploring on the banks) from the awful plunge of the cataract. Thenthere is the tumult and the seething, the exciting race and rage throughthe canon, the whirlpools and the passions of love and revelations ofcharacter, and finally, let us hope, the happy emergence into the lakeof a serene life. And the more interesting rivers are those that havetumults and experiences. 

I knew well enough before the next day was over that it was too late forthe rescue of Margaret or Henderson. They were in the rapids, andwould have rejected any friendly rope thrown to draw them ashore. Andnotwithstanding the doubts of my wife, I confess that I had so muchsympathy with the genuineness of it that I enjoyed this shock of twostrong natures rushing to their fate. Was it too sudden? Do two livingstreams hesitate when they come together? When they join they join, andmingle and reconcile themselves afterwards. It is only canals thatflow languidly in parallel lines, and meet, if they meet at all, by theorderly contrivance of a lock. 

In the morning the two were off for a stroll. There is a hill from whicha most extensive prospect is had of the city, the teeming valley, witha score of villages and innumerable white spires, of forests and meadowsand broken mountain ranges. It was a view that Margaret the night beforehad promised to show Henderson, that he might see what to her was theloveliest landscape in the world. Whether they saw the view I do notknow. But I know the rock from which it is best seen, and could fancyMargaret sitting there, with her face turned towards it and her handsfolded in her lap, and Henderson sitting, half turned away from it, looking in her face. There is an apple orchard just below. It was inbloom, and all the invitation of spring was in the air. That he saw allthe glorious prospect reflected in her mobile face I do not doubt--allthe nobility and tenderness of it. If I knew the faltering talk inthat hour of growing confidence and expectation, I would not repeat it. Henderson lunched at the Forsythe's, and after lunch he had some talkwith Miss Forsythe. It must have been of an exciting nature to her, for, immediately after, that good woman came over in a great flutter, andwas closeted with my wife, who at the end of the interview had an air ofmysterious importance. It was evidently a woman's day, and my advice wasnot wanted, even if my presence was tolerated. All I heard my wife saythrough the opening door, as the consultation ended, was, "I hope sheknows her own mind fully before anything is decided. "

As to the objects of this anxiety, they were upon the veranda of thecottage, quite unconscious of the necessity of digging into their ownminds. He was seated, and she was leaning against the railing on whichthe honeysuckle climbed, pulling a flower in pieces. 

"It is such a short time I have known you, " she was saying, as if inapology for her own feeling. 

"Yes, in one way;" and he leaned forward, and broke his sentence witha little laugh. "I think I must have known you in some pre-existentstate. "

"Perhaps. And yet, in another way, it seems long--a whole month, youknow. " And the girl laughed a little in her turn. 

"It was the longest month I ever knew, after you left the city. "

"Was it? I oughtn't to have said that first. But do you know, Mr. Henderson, you seem totally different from any other man I ever knew. "

That this was a profound and original discovery there could be no doubt, from the conviction with which it was announced. "I felt from the firstthat I could trust you. "

"I wish"--and there was genuine feeling in the tone--"I were worthier ofsuch a generous trust. "

There was a wistful look in her face--timidity, self-depreciation, worship--as Henderson rose and stood near her, and she looked up whilehe took the broken flower from her hand. There was but one answerto this, and in spite of the open piazza and the all-observant, all-revealing day, it might have been given; but at the moment MissForsythe was seen hurrying towards them through the shrubbery. She camestraight to where they stood, with an air of New England directness anddetermination. One hand she gave to Henderson, the other to Margaret. She essayed to speak, but tears were in her eyes, and her lips trembled;the words would not come. She regarded them for an instant with all theoverflowing affection of a quarter of a century of repression, and thenquickly turned and went in. In a moment they followed her. Heaven gowith them!

After Henderson had made his hasty adieus at our house and gone, beforethe sun was down, Margaret came over. She came swiftly into the room, gave me a kiss as I rose to greet her, with a delightful impersonality, as if she owed a debt somewhere and must pay it at once--we men who areso much left out of these affairs have occasionally to thank Heaven fora merciful moment--seized my wife, and dragged her to her room. 

"I couldn't wait another moment, " she said, as she threw herself on mywife's bosom in a passion of tears. "I am so happy! he is so noble, andI love him so!" And she sobbed as if it were the greatest calamity inthe world. And then, after a little, in reply to a question--for womenare never more practical than in such a crisis: "Oh, no--not for a long, long, long time. Not before autumn. "

And the girl looked, through her glad tears, as if she expected to beadmired for this heroism. And I have no doubt she was. 

XII

Well, that was another success. The world is round, and like a ballseems swinging in the air, and swinging very pleasantly, thoughtHenderson, as he stepped on board the train that evening. The worldis truly what you make it, and Henderson was determined to make itagreeable. His philosophy was concise, and might be hung up, as a motto:Get all you can, and don't fret about what you cannot get. 

He went into the smoking compartment, and sat musing by the window forsome time before he lit his cigar, feeling a glow of happiness that wasnew in his experience. The country was charming at twilight, but he waslittle conscious of that. What he saw distinctly was Margaret's face, trustful and wistful, looking up into his as she bade him goodby. Whathe was vividly conscious of was being followed, enveloped, by a woman'slove. 

"You will write, dear, the moment you get there, will you not? I am soafraid of accidents, " she had said. 

"Why, I will telegraph, sweet, " he had replied, quite gayly. 

"Will you? Telegraph? I never had that sort of a message. " It seemeda very wonderful thing that he should use the public wire for thispurpose, and she looked at him with new admiration. 

"Are you timid about the train?" he asked. 

"No. I never think of it. I never thought of it for myself; but this isdifferent. "

"Oh, I see. " He put his arm round her and looked down into her eyes. This was a humorous suggestion to him, who spent half his time on thetrains. "I think I'll take out an accident policy. "

"Don't say that. But you men are so reckless. Promise you won't standon the platform, and won't get off while the train is in motion, and allthe rest of the directions, " she said, laughing a little with him; "andyou will be careful?"

"I'll take such care of myself as I never did before, I promise. I neverfelt of so much consequence in my life. "

"You'll think me silly. But you know, don't you, dear?" She put a handon each shoulder, and pushing him back, studied his face. "You are allthe world. And only to think, day before yesterday, I didn't think ofthe trains at all. "

To have one look like that from a woman! To carry it with him! Hendersonstill forgot to light his cigar. 

"Hello, Rodney!"

"Ah, Hollowell! I thought you were in Kansas City. "

The new-comer was a man of middle age, thick set, with roundedshoulders, deep chest, heavy neck, iron-gray hair close cut, graywhiskers cropped so as to show his strong jaw, blue eyes that expressedat once resolution and good-nature. 

"Well, how's things? Been up to fix the Legislature?"

"No; Perkins is attending to that, " said Henderson, ratherindifferently, like a man awakened out of a pleasant dream. "Don't seemto need much fixing. The public are fond of parallels. "

Hollowell laughed. "I guess that's so--till they get 'em. "

"Or don't get them, " Henderson added. And then both laughed. 

"It looks as if it would go through this time. Bemis says the C. D. 'sbadly scared. They'll have to come down lively. "

"I shouldn't wonder. By-the-way, look in tomorrow. I've got something toshow you. "

Henderson lit his cigar, and they both puffed in silence for somemoments. 

"By-the-way, did I ever show you this?" Hollowell took from hisbreast-pocket a handsome morocco case, and handed it to his companion. "I never travel without that. It's better than an accident policy. "

Henderson unfolded the case, and saw seven photographs--a showy-lookinghandsome woman in lace and jewels, and six children, handsome like theirmother, the whole group with the photographic look of prosperity. 

Henderson looked at it as if it had been a mirror of his own destiny, and expressed his admiration. 

"Yes, it's hard to beat, " Hollowell confessed, with a soft look in hisface. "It's not for sale. Seven figures wouldn't touch it. " He looked atit lovingly before he put it up, and then added: "Well, there's a figurefor each, Rodney, and a big nest-egg for the old woman besides. There'snothing like it, old man. You'd better come in. " And he put his handaffectionately on Henderson's knee. 

Jeremiah Hollowell--commonly known as Jerry--was a remarkable man. Thirty years ago he had come to the city from Maine as a "hand" ona coast schooner, obtained employment in a railroad yard, then as afreight conductor, gone West, become a contractor, in which positiona lucky hit set him on the road of the unscrupulous accumulation ofproperty. He was now a railway magnate, the president of a system, amanipulator of dexterity and courage. All this would not have come aboutif his big head had not been packed with common-sense brains, and he hadnot had uncommon will and force of character. Success had developed thebest side of him, the family side; and the worst side of him--a brutaldetermination to increase his big fortune. He was not hampered by anyscruples in business, but he had the good-sense to deal squarely withhis friends when he had distinctly agreed to do so. 

Henderson did not respond to the matrimonial suggestion; it was notpossible for him to vulgarize his own affair by hinting it to such aman as Hollowell; but they soon fell into serious talk about schemes inwhich they were both interested. This talk so absorbed Henderson thatafter they had reached the city he had walked some blocks towards hislodging before he recalled his promise about the message. On histable he found a note from Carmen bidding him to dinner informally--aninvitation which he had no difficulty in declining on account of aprevious engagement. And then he went to his club, and passed a cheerfulevening. Why not? There was nothing melancholy about the young fellowsin the smoking-room, who liked a good story and the latest gossip, andwere attracted to the society of Henderson, who was open-handed and fullof animal spirits, and above all had a reputation for success, and forbeing on the inside of affairs. There is nowhere else so much wisdom andsuch understanding of life as in a city club of young fellows, who havetheir experience still, for the most part, before them. Henderson wasthat night in great "force"--as the phrase is. His companions thought hehad made a lucky turn, and he did not tell them that he had won the loveof the finest girl in the world, who was at that moment thinking of himas fondly as he was thinking of her--but this was the subconsciousnessof his gayety. Late at night he wrote her a long letter--an honestletter of love and admiration, which warmed into the tenderness ofdevotion as it went on; a letter that she never parted with all her lifelong; but he left a description of the loneliness of his evening withouther to her imagination. 

It was for Margaret also a happy evening, but not a calm one, and notgay. She was swept away by a flood of emotions. She wanted to be alone, to think it over, every item of the short visit, every look, every tone. Was it all true? The great change made her tremble: of the future shedared scarcely think. She was restless, but not restless as before; shecould not be calm in such a great happiness. And then the wonder of it, that he should choose her of all others--he who knew the world so well, and must have known so many women. She followed him on his journey, thinking what he was doing now, and now, and now. She would have giventhe world to see him just for a moment, to look in his eyes and be sureagain, to have him say that little word once more: there was a kind ofpain in her heart, the separation was so cruel; it had been overtwo hours now. More than once in the evening she ran down to thesitting-room, where her aunt was pretending to be absorbed in a book, tokiss her, to pet her, to smooth her grayish hair and pat her cheek, andget her to talk about her girlhood days. She was so happy that tearswere in her eyes half the time. At nine o'clock there was a pull at thebell that threatened to drag the wire out, and an insignificant littleurchin appeared with a telegram, which frightened Miss Forsythe, andseemed to Margaret to drop out of heaven. Such an absurd thing to doat night, said the aunt, and then she kissed Margaret, and laughed alittle, and declared that things had come to a queer pass when peoplemade love by telegraph. There wasn't any love in the telegram, Margaretsaid; but she knew better--the sending word of his arrival was amarvelous exhibition of thoughtfulness and constancy. 

And then she led her aunt on to talk of Mr. Henderson, to give herimpression, how he looked, what she really thought of him, and so on, and so on. 

There was not much to say, but it could be said over and over again invarious ways. It was the one night of the world, and her overwroughtfeeling sought relief. It would not be so again. She would be morereticent and more coquettish about her lover, but now it was all so newand strange. 

That night when the girl went to sleep the telegram was under herpillow, and it seemed to throb with a thousand messages, as if it feltthe pulsation of the current that sent it. 

The prospective marriage of the budding millionaire Rodney Hendersonwas a society paper item in less than a week--the modern method ofpublishing the banns. This was accompanied by a patronizing reference tothe pretty school-ma'am, who was complimented upon her good-fortune inphrases so neatly turned as to give Henderson the greatest offense, andleave him no remedy, since nothing could have better suited the journalthan further notoriety. He could not remember that he had spoken ofit to any one except the Eschelles, to whom his relations made thecommunication a necessity, and he suspected Carmen, without, however, guessing that she was a habitual purveyor of the town gossiper. 

"It is a shameful impertinence, " she burst out, introducing the subjectherself, when he called to see her. "I would horsewhip the editor. " Herindignation was so genuine, and she took his side with such warm goodcomradeship, that his suspicions vanished for a moment. 

"What good?" he answered, cooling down at the sight of her rage. "It istrue, we are to be married, and she has taught school. I can't drag hername into a row about it. Perhaps she never will see it. "

"Oh dear! dear me! what have I done?" the girl cried, with an accent ofcontrition. "I never thought of that. I was so angry that I cut itout and put it in the letter that was to contain nothing butcongratulations, and told her how perfectly outrageous I thought it. Howstupid!" and there was a world of trouble in her big dark eyes, whileshe looked up penitently, as if to ask his forgiveness for a greatcrime. 

"Well, it cannot be helped, " Henderson said, with a little touch ofsympathy for Carmen's grief. "Those who know her will think it simplymalicious, and the others will not think of it a second time. "

"But I cannot forgive myself for my stupidity. I'm not sure but I'drather you'd think me wicked than stupid, " she continued, with the smilein her eyes that most men found attractive. "I confess--is that verybad?--that I feel it more for you than for her. But" ( she thought shesaw a shade in his face) "I warn you, if you are not very nice, I shalltransfer my affections to her. "

The girl was in her best mood, with the manner of a confiding, intimatefriend. She talked about Margaret, but not too much, and a good dealmore about Henderson and his future, not laying too great stress uponthe marriage, as if it were, in fact, only an incident in his career, contriving always to make herself appear as a friend, who hadn't manyillusions or much romance, to be sure, but who could always be relied onin any mood or any perplexity, and wouldn't be frightened or very severeat any confidences. She posed as a woman who could make allowances, andwhose friendship would be no check or hinderance. This was conveyed inmanner as much as in words, and put Henderson quite at his ease. He wasnot above the weakness of liking the comradeship of a woman of whom hewas not afraid, a woman to whom he could say anything, a woman who couldmake allowances. Perhaps he was hardly conscious of this. He knew Carmenbetter than she thought he knew her, and he couldn't approve of her as awife; and yet the fact was that she never gave him any moral worries. 

"Yes, " she said, when the talk drifted that way, "the chrysalis earlhas gone. I think that mamma is quite inconsolable. She says she doesn'tunderstand girls, or men, or anything, these days. "

"Do you?" asked Henderson, lightly. 

"I? No. I'm an agnostic--except in religion. Have you got it into yourhead, my friend, that I ever fancied Mr. Lyon?"

"Not for himself--" began Henderson, mischievously. 

"That will do. " She stopped him. "Or that he ever had any intention--"

"I don't see how he could resist such--"

"Stuff! See here, Mr. Rodney!" The girl sprang up, seized a plaque fromthe table, held it aloft in one hand, took half a dozen fascinating, languid steps, advancing and retreating with the grace of a Nautch girl, holding her dress with the other hand so as to allow a free movement. "Do you think I'd ever do that for John the Lyon's head on a charger?"

Then her mood changed to the domestic, as she threw herself into aneasy-chair and said: "After all, I'm rather sorry he has gone. He was aman you could trust; that is, if you wanted to trust anybody--I wish Ihad been made good. "

When Henderson bade her good-night it was with the renewed impressionthat she was a very diverting comrade. 

"I'm sort of sorry for you, " she said, and her eyes were not so seriousas to offend, as she gave him her hand, "for when you are married, youknow, as the saying is, you'll want some place to spend your evenings. "The audacity of the remark was quite obscured in the innocent franknessand sweetness of her manner. 

What Henderson had to show Hollowell in his office had been of a naturegreatly to interest that able financier. It was a project that wouldhave excited the sympathy of Carmen, but Henderson did not speak ofit to her--though he had found that she was a safe deposit of daringschemes in general--on account of a feeling of loyalty to Margaret, towhom he had never mentioned it in any of his daily letters. The schememade a great deal of noise, later on, when it came to the light ofconsummation in legislatures and in courts, both civil and criminal; butits magnitude and success added greatly to Henderson's reputation asa bold and fortunate operator, and gave him that consideration whichalways attaches to those who command millions of money, and have thenerve to go undaunted through the most trying crises. I am anticipatingby saying that it absolutely ruined thousands of innocent people, causedwidespread strikes and practical business paralysis over a large region;but those things were regarded as only incidental to a certain sort ofdevelopment, and did not impair the business standing, and rather helpedthe social position, of the two or three men who counted their gains bymillions in the operation. It furnished occupation and gave good fees toa multitude of lawyers, and was dignified by the anxious consultation ofmany learned judges. A moralist, if he were poor and pessimistic, might have put the case in a line, and taken that line from the Mosaicdecalogue (which was not intended for this new dispensation); but it wasinvolved in such a cloud of legal technicalities, and took on such anaspect of enterprise and development of resources, and what not, that the general public mind was completely befogged about it. I amcharitable enough to suppose that if the scheme had failed, the publicconscience is so tender that there would have been a question ofHenderson's honesty. But it did not fail. 

Of this scheme, however, we knew nothing at the time in Brandon. Henderson was never in better spirits, never more agreeable, and it didnot need inquiry to convince one that he was never so prosperous. He wasoften with us, in flying visits, and I can well remember that his comingand the expectation of it gave a kind of elation to the summer--that andMargaret's supreme and sunny happiness. Even my wife admitted that itwas on both sides a love-match, and could urge nothing against itexcept the woman's instinct that made her shrink from the point of everthinking of him as a husband for herself, which seemed to me a perfectlyreasonable feeling under all the circumstances. 

The summer--or what we call summer in the North, which is usuallya preparation for warm weather, ending in a preparation for coldweather--seemed to me very short--but I have noticed that each summer isa little shorter than the preceding one. If Henderson had wanted to gainthe confidence of my wife he could not have done so more effectuallythan he did in making us the confidants of a little plan he had in thecity, which was a profound secret to the party most concerned. This wasthe purchase and furnishing of a house, and we made many clandestinevisits with him to town in the early autumn in furtherance of his plan. He was intent on a little surprise, and when I once hinted to him thatwomen liked to have a hand in making the home they were to occupy, hesaid he thought that my wife knew Margaret's taste--and besides, headded, with a smile, "it will be only temporary; I should like her, ifshe chooses, to build and furnish a house to suit herself. " In any oneelse this would have seemed like assumption, but with Henderson it wasonly the simple belief in his career. 

We were still more surprised when we came to see the temporary home thatHenderson had selected, the place where the bride was to alight, and look about her for such a home as would suit her growing idea ofexpanding fortune and position. It was one of the old-fashionedmansions on Washington Square, built at a time when people attached moreimportance to room and comfort than to outside display--a house thatseemed to have traditions of hospitality and of serene family life. Itwas being thoroughly renovated and furnished, with as little help fromthe decorative artist and the splendid upholsterer as consisted withsome regard to public opinion; in fact the expenditure showed in soliddignity and luxurious ease, and not in the construction of a museum inwhich one could only move about with the constant fear of destroyingsomething. My wife was given almost carte blanche in the indulgence ofher taste, and she confessed her delight in being able for once to dealwith a house without the feeling that she was ruining me. Only in thesuite designed for Margaret did Henderson seriously interfere, andinsist upon a luxury that almost took my wife's breath away. She opposedit on moral grounds. She said that no true woman could stand suchpampering of her senses without destruction of her moral fibre. ButHenderson had his way, as he always had it. What pleased her most inthe house was the conservatory, opening out from the drawing-room--aspacious place with a fountain and cool vines and flowering plants, nota tropical hothouse in a stifling atmosphere, in which nothing couldlive except orchids and flowers born near the equator, but a garden witha temperature adapted to human lungs, where one could sit and enjoy thesunshine, and the odor of flowers, and the clear and not too incessantnotes of Mexican birds. But when it was all done, undoubtedly the mostagreeable room in the house was that to which least thought had beengiven, the room to which any odds and ends could be sent, the roomto which everybody gravitated when rest and simple enjoyment withoutrestraint were the object Henderson's own library, with its big openfire, and the books and belongings of his bachelor days. Man is usuallynot credited with much taste or ability to take care of himself in thematter of comfortable living, but it is frequently noticed that whenwoman has made a dainty paradise of every other portion of the house, the room she most enjoys, that from which it is difficult to keep outthe family, is the one that the man is permitted to call his own, inwhich he retains some of the comforts and can indulge some of the habitsof his bachelor days. There is an important truth in this fact withregard to the sexes, but I do not know what it is. 

They were married in October, and went at once to their own house. Isuppose all other days were but a preparation for this golden autumn dayon which we went to church and returned to the wedding-breakfast. I amsure everybody was happy. Miss Forsythe was so happy that tears werein her eyes half the time, and she bustled about with an affectation ofcheerfulness that was almost contagious. Poor, dear, gentle lady! I canimagine the sensations of a peach-tree, in an orchard of trees whichbud and bloom and by-and-by are weighty with yellow fruit, year afteryear--a peach-tree that blooms, also, but never comes to fruition, onlywastes its delicate sweetness on the air, and finally blooms less andless, but feels nevertheless in each returning spring the stir of thesap and the longing for that fuller life, while all the orchard burstsinto flower, and the bees swarm about the pink promises, and the fruitsets and slowly matures to lusciousness in the sun of July. I fancy thewedding, which robbed us all, was hardest for her, for it was in onesense a finality of her life. Whereas if Margaret had regrets--and deepsorrow she had in wrenching herself from the little neighborhood, thoughshe never could have guessed the vacancy she caused by the withdrawalof her loved presence--her own life was only just beginning, and she wassustained by the longing which every human soul has for a new career, bythe curiosity and imagination which the traveler feels when he departsfor a land which he desires, and yet dreads to see lest his illusionsshould vanish. Margaret was about to take that journey in the worldwhich Miss Forsythe had dreamed of in her youth, but had never set outon. There are some who say that those are happiest who keep at home andcontent themselves with reading about the lands of the imagination. But happily the world does not believe this, and indeed would be veryunhappy if it could not try and prove all the possibilities of humannature, to suffer as well as to enjoy. 

I do not know how we fell into the feeling that this marriage wassomehow exceptional and important, since marriages take place every day, and are so common and ordinarily so commonplace, when the first flutteris over. Even Morgan said, in his wife's presence, that he thought therehad been weddings enough; at least he would interdict those that upsetthings like this one. For one thing, it brought about the house-keepingunion of Mrs. Fletcher and Miss Forsythe in the tatter's cottage--asort of closing up of the ranks that happens on the field during a fatalengagement. As we go on, it becomes more and more difficult to fill upthe gaps. 

We were very unwilling to feel that Margaret had gone out of our life. "But you cannot, " Morgan used to say, "be friends with the rich, andthat is what makes the position of the very rich so pitiful, for therich get so tired of each other. "

"But Margaret, " my wife urged, "will never be of that sort: money willnot change either her habits or her affections. "

"Perhaps. You can never trust to inherited poverty. I have no doubt thatshe will resist the world, if anybody can, but my advice is that if youwant to keep along with Margaret, you'd better urge your husband to makemoney. Experience seems to teach that while they cannot come to us, wemay sometimes go to them. "

My wife and Mrs. Fletcher were both indignant at this banter, andaccused Morgan of want of faith, and even lack of affection forMargaret; in short, of worldly-mindedness himself. 

"Perhaps I am rather shop-worn, " he confessed. "It's not distrust ofMargaret's intentions, but knowledge of the strength of the current onwhich she has embarked. Henderson will not stop in his career short ofsome overwhelming disaster or of death. "

"I thought you liked him? At any rate, Margaret will make a good use ofhis money. "

"It isn't a question, my dear Mrs. Fairchild, of the use of money, butof the use money makes of you. Yes, I do like Henderson, but I can'tgive up my philosophy of life for the sake of one good fellow. "

"Philosophy of fudge!" exclaimed my wife. And there really was no answerto this. 

After six weeks had passed, my wife paid a visit to Margaret. Nothingcould exceed the affectionate cordiality of her welcome. Margaret wasoverjoyed to see her, to show the house, to have her know her husbandbetter, to take her into her new life. She was hardly yet over the naivesurprises of her lovely surroundings. Or if it is too mach to say thather surprise had lasted six weeks--for it is marvelous how soon womenadapt themselves to new conditions if they are agreeable--she was ina glow of wonder at her husband's goodness, at his love, which hadprocured all this happiness for her. 

"You have no idea, " she said, "how thoughtful he is abouteverything--and he makes so little of it all. I am to thank you, hetells me always, for whatever pleases my taste in the house, and indeedI think I should have known you had been here if he had not told me. There are so many little touches that remind me of home. I am glad ofthat, for it is the more likely to make you feel that it is your homealso. "

She clung to this idea in the whirl of the new life. In the first daysshe dwelt much on this theme; indeed it was hardly second in her talkto her worship--I can call it nothing less--of her husband. She likedto talk of Brandon and the dear life there and the dearer friends--thismuch talk about it showed that it was another life, already of the past, and beginning to be distant in the mind. My wife had a feeling thatMargaret, thus early, was conscious of a drift, of a widening space, andwas making an effort to pull the two parts of her life together, thatthere should be no break, as one carried away to sea by a resistlesstide grasps the straining rope that still maintains his slenderconnection with the shore. 

But it was all so different: the luxurious house, the carriage atcall, the box at the opera, the social duties inevitable with her ownacquaintances and the friends of her husband. She spoke of this inmoments of confidence, and when she was tired, with a consciousness thatit was a different life, but in no tone of regret, and I fancy that theFrench blood in her veins, which had so long run decorously in Puritanchannels, leaped at its return into new gayety. Years ago Margaret hadthought that she might some time be a missionary, at least that sheshould like to devote her life to useful labors among the poor and theunfortunate. If conscience ever reminded her of this, conscience wasquieted by the suggestion that now she was in a position to be moreliberal than she ever expected to be; that is, to give everything exceptthe essential thing--herself. Henderson liked a gay house, brightness, dinners, entertainment, and that his wife should be seen and admired. Proof of his love she found in all this, and she entered into itwith spirit, and an enjoyment increased by the thought that she waslightening the burden of his business, which she could see pressedmore and more. Not that Henderson made any account of his growingoccupations, or that any preoccupation was visible except to the eyeof love, which is quick to see all moods. These were indeed happydays, full of the brightness of an expanding prosperity and unlimitedpossibilities of the enjoyment of life. It was in obedience toher natural instinct, and not yet a feeling of compensation andpropitiation, that enlisted Margaret in the city charities, connectionwith which was a fashionable self-entertainment with some, and a meansof social promotion with others. My wife came home a little weary withso much of the world, but, on the whole, impressed with Margaret'sgood-fortune. Henderson in his own house was the soul of considerationand hospitality, and Margaret was blooming in the beauty that shines insatisfied desire. 

XIII

It is so painful to shrink, and so delightful to grow! Every one knowsthe renovation of feeling--often mistaken for a moral renewal--when theworn dress of the day is exchanged for the fresh evening toilet. Theexpansiveness of prosperity has a like effect, though the moralist isalways piping about the beneficent uses of adversity. The moralist is, of course, right, time enough given; but what does the tree, putting outits tender green leaves to the wooing of the south wind, care for themoralist? How charming the world is when you go with it, and not againstit!

It was better than Margaret had thought. When she came to Washington inthe winter season the beautiful city seemed to welcome her and respondto the gayety of her spirit. It was so open, cheerful, hospitable, inthe appearance of its smooth, broad avenues and pretty little parks, with the bronze statues which all looked noble--in the moonlight; itwas such a combination and piquant contrast of shabby ease and statelyelegance--negro cabins and stone mansions, picket-fences and sheds, andflower-banked terraces before rows of residences which bespoke wealthand refinement. The very aspect of the street population was novel;compared to New York, the city was as silent as a country village, andthe passers, who have the fashion of walking in the middle of the streetupon the asphalt as freely as upon the sidewalks, had a sort of busyleisureliness, the natural air of thousands of officials hived inoffices for a few hours and then left in irresponsible idleness. Butwhat most distinguished the town, after all, in Margaret's first glimpseof it, was the swarming negro population pervading every part of it--theslouching plantation negro, the smart mulatto girl with gay raiment andmincing step, the old-time auntie, the brisk waiter-boy with uncertaineye, the washerwoman, the hawkers and fruiterers, the loafingstrollers of both sexes--carrying everywhere color, abandon, a certainpicturesqueness and irresponsibility and good-nature, and a sense ofmoral relaxation in a too strict and duty-ridden world. 

In the morning, when Margaret looked from the windows of the hotel, thesky was gray and yielding, and all the outlines of the looming buildingswere softened in the hazy air. The dome of the Capitol seemed to floatlike a bubble, and to be as unsubstantial as the genii edifices in theArabian tale. The Monument, the slim white shaft as tall as the GreatPyramid, was still more a dream creation, not really made of hardmarble, but of something as soft as vapor, almost melting into thesky, and yet distinct, unwavering, its point piercing the upper air, threatening every instant to dissolve, as if it were truly the baselessfabric of a vision--light, unreal, ghost-like, spotless, pure as anunsullied thought; it might vanish in a breath; and yet, no; it issolid: in the mist of doubt, in the assault of storms, smitten by thesun, beaten by the tempests, it stands there, springing, graceful, immovable--emblem, let us say, of the purity and permanence of therepublic. 

"You never half told me, Rodney, how beautiful it all is!" Margaretexclaimed, in a glow of delight. 

"Yes, " said Henderson, "the Monument is behaving very well this morning. I never saw it before look so little like a factory chimney. "

"That is, you never looked at it with my eyes before, cynic. But it isall so lovely, everywhere. "

"Of course it is, dear. " They were standing together at the window, andhis arm was where it should have been. "What did you expect? There areconcentrated here the taste and virtue of sixty millions of people. "

"But you always said the Washington hotels were so bad. These apartmentsare charming. "

"Yes"--and he drew her closer to him--"there is no denying that. Butpresently I shall have to explain to you an odd phenomenon. Virginia, you know, used to be famous for its good living, and Maryland was simplyunapproachable for good cooking. It was expected when the Districtwas made out of these two that the result would be something quiteextraordinary in the places of public entertainment. But, by a processwhich nobody can explain, in the union the art of cooking in hotels gotmislaid. "

"Well, " she said, with winning illogicality, "you've got me. "

"If you could only eat the breakfasts for me, as you can see theMonument for me!"

"Dear, I could eat the Monument for you, if it would do you any good. "And neither of them was ashamed of this nonsense, for both knew thatmarried people indulge in it when they are happy. 

Although Henderson came to Washington on business, this was Margaret'swedding journey. There is no other city in the world where a weddingjourney can better be combined with such business as is transacted here, for in both is a certain element of mystery. Washington is gracious toa bride, if she is pretty and agreeable--devotion to governing, orto legislation, or to diplomacy, does not render a man insensible tofeminine attractions; and if in addition to beauty a woman has thereputation of wealth, she is as nearly irresistible here as anywhere. ToMargaret, who was able to return the hospitality she received, andwhose equipage was almost as much admired as her toilets, all doors wereopen--a very natural thing, surely, in a good-natured, give-and-takeworld. The colonel--Margaret had laughed till she cried when firstshe heard her husband saluted by this title in Washington by his NewHampshire acquaintances, but he explained to her that he had justly wonit years ago by undergoing the hardship of receptions as a member of theGovernor's staff--the colonel had brought on his horses and carriages, not at all by way of ostentation, but simply out of regard to whatwas due her as his wife, and because a carriage at call is a constantnecessity in this city, whose dignity is equal to the square of itsdistances, and because there is something incongruous in sending a brideabout in a herdic. Margaret's unworldly simplicity had received a littleshock when she first saw her servants in livery, but she was not slowto see the propriety and even necessity of it in a republican society, since elegance cannot be a patchwork, but must be harmonious, andthere is no harmony between a stylish turnout--noble horses noblycaparisoned--and a coachman and footman on the box dressed according totheir own vulgar taste. Given a certain position, one's sense of fitnessand taste mast be maintained. And there is so much kindliness andconsideration in human nature--Margaret's gorgeous coachman and footmannever by a look revealed their knowledge that she was new to thesituation, and I dare say that their respectful demeanor contributedto raise her in her own esteem as one of the select and favored in thisprosperous world. The most self-poised and genuine are not insensible tothe tribute of this personal consideration. My lady giving orders toher respectful servitors, and driving down the avenue in her luxuriousturnout, is not at all the same person in feeling that she would be ifdragged about in a dissolute-looking hack whose driver has the air ofthe stable. We take kindly to this transformation, and perhaps it isonly the vulgar in soul who become snobbish in it. Little by little, under this genial consideration, Margaret advanced in the pleasant pathof worldliness; and we heard, by the newspapers and otherwise--indeed, Mr. And Mrs. Morgan were there for a couple of weeks in the winter--thatshe was never more sweet and gracious and lovely than in this firstseason at the capital. I don't know that the town was raving, as theysaid, about her beauty and wit--there is nothing like the wit of ahandsome woman--and amiability and unostentatious little charities, but she was a great favorite. We used to talk about it by the fire inBrandon, where everything reminded us of the girl we loved, and rejoicein her good-fortune and happiness, and get rather heavy-hearted inthinking that she had gone away from us into such splendor. 

"I wish you were here, " she wrote to my wife. "I am sure you would enjoyit. There are so many distinguished people and brilliant people--thoughthe distinguished are not always brilliant nor the brilliantdistinguished--and everybody is so kind and hospitable, and Rodney issuch a favorite. We go everywhere, literally, and all the time. You mustnot scold, but I haven't opened a book, except my prayerbook, in sixweeks--it is such a whirl. And it is so amusing. I didn't know therewere so many kinds of people and so many sorts of provincialism in theworld. The other night, at the British Minister's, a French attache, whocomplimented my awful French--I told him that I inherited all but thevocabulary and the accent--said that if specimens of the different kindsof women evolved in all out-of-the-way places who come to Washingtoncould be exhibited, nobody would doubt any more that America is aninteresting country. Wasn't it an impudent speech? I tried to tell him, in French, how grateful American women are for any little attentionfrom foreigners who have centuries of politeness behind them. Ah me! Isometimes long for one of the old-fashioned talks before your smolderinglogs! What we talk about here, Heaven only knows. I sometimes tellRodney at night--it is usually morning--that I feel like an extinctpiece of fireworks. But next day it is all delightful again; and, dearfriend, I don't know but that I like being fireworks. "

Among the men who came oftenest to see Henderson was Jerry Hollowell. It seemed to Margaret an odd sort of companionship; it could not beany similarity of tastes that drew them together, and she could notunderstand the nature of the business transacted in their mysteriousconferences. Social life had few attractions for Hollowell, for hisfamily were in the West; he appeared to have no relations with anybranch of government; he wanted no office, though his influence was muchsought by those who did want it. 

"You spend a good deal of time here, Mr. Hollowell, " Margaret said oneday when he called in Henderson's absence. 

"Yes, ma'am, considerable. Things need a good deal of fixing up. Washington is a curious place. It's a sort of exchange for the wholecountry: you can see everybody here, and it is a good place to arrangematters. "

"With Congress, do you mean?" Margaret had heard much of the corruptionof Congress. 

"No, not Congress particularly. Congressmen are just about like otherpeople. It's all nonsense, this talk about buying Congressmen. Youcannot buy them any more than you can buy other people, but you can sortof work together with some of them. We don't want anything of Congress, except to be let alone. If we are doing something to develop the tradein the Southwest, build it up, some member who thinks he is smart willjust as likely as not try to put in a block somewhere, or investigate, or something, in order to show his independence, and then he has tobe seen, and shown that he is going against the interests of hisconstituents. It is just as it is everywhere: men have to be shown whattheir real interest is. No; most Congressmen are poor, and they staypoor. It is a good deal easier to deal with those among them who arerich and have some idea about the prosperity of the country. It is justso in the departments. You've got to watch things, if you expect themto go smooth. You've got to get acquainted with the men. Most men arereasonable when you get well acquainted with them. I tell your husbandthat people are about as reasonable in Washington as you'll find themanywhere. "

"Washington is certainly very pleasant. "

"Yes, that's so; it is pleasant. Where most everybody wants something, they are bound to be accommodating. That's my idea. I reckon you don'tfind Jerry Hollowell trying to pull a cat by its tail, " he added, dropping into his native manner. 

"Well, I must go and hunt up the old man. Glad to have made youracquaintance, Mrs. Henderson. " And then, with a sly look, "If I knewyou better, ma'am, I should take the liberty of congratulating you thatHenderson has come round so handsomely. "

"Come round?" asked Margaret, in amused wonder. 

"Well, I took the liberty of giving him a hint that he wasn'tcut-out for a single man. I showed him that, " and he lugged out hisphotograph-case from a mass of papers in his breast-pocket and handed itto her. 

"Ah, I see, " said Margaret, studying the photographs with a peculiarsmile. 

"Oh, Henderson knows a good thing when he sees it, " said Hollowell, complacently. 

It was not easy to be offended with Hollowell's kind-heartedboorishness, and after he had gone, Margaret sat a long time reflectingupon this new specimen of man in her experience. She was getting manynew ideas in these days, the moral lines were not as clearly drawn asshe had thought; it was impossible to ticket men off into good and bad. In Hollowell she had a glimpse of a world low-toned and vulgar; she hadheard that he was absolutely unscrupulous, and she had supposed that hewould appear to be a very wicked man. But he seemed to be good-heartedand tolerant and friendly. How fond he was of his family, and howcharitable about Congress! And she wondered if the world was generallyon Hollowell's level. She met many men more cultivated than he, gentlemen in manner and in the first social position, who took, afterall, about his tone in regard to the world, very agreeable peopleusually, easy to get on with, not exacting, or professing much faith inanybody, and mildly cynical--only bitterly cynical when they failed toget what they wanted, and felt the good things of life slipping awayfrom them. It was to take her some time to learn that some of the mostagreeable people are those who have succeeded by the most questionablemeans; and when she came to this knowledge, what would be her power ofjudgment as to these means?

"Mr. Hollowell has been here, " she said, when Henderson returned. 

"Old Jerry? He is a character. "

"Do you trust him?"

"It never occurred to me. Yes, I suppose so, as far as his interests go. He isn't a bad sort of fellow--very long-headed. "

"Dear, " said Margaret, with hesitation, "I wish you didn't have anythingto do with such men. "

"Why, dearest?"

"Oh, I don't know. You needn't laugh. It rather lets one down; and itisn't like you. "

Henderson laughed aloud now. "But you needn't associate with Hollowell. We men cannot pick our companions in business and politics. It needs allsorts to keep the world going. "

"Then I'd rather let it stop, " Margaret said. 

"And sell out at auction?" he cried, with a look of amusement. 

"But aren't Mr. Morgan and Mr. Fairchild business men?"

"Yes--of the old-fashioned sort. The fact--is, Margaret, you've got asort of preserve up in Brandon, and you fancy that the world is dividedinto sheep and goats. It's a great mistake. There is no such division. Every man almost is both a sheep and a goat. "

"I don't believe it, Rodney. You are neither. " She came close to him, and taking the collar of his coat in each hand, gave him a little shake, and looking up into his face with quizzical affection, asked, "What isyour business here?"

Henderson stooped down and kissed her forehead, and tenderly liftedthe locks of her brown hair. "You wouldn't understand, sweet, if I toldyou. "

"You might try. "

"Well, there's a man here from Fort Worth who wants us to buy a piece ofrailroad, and extend it, and join it with Hollowell's system, and openup a lot of new country. "

"And isn't it a good piece of road?"

"Yes; that's the trouble. The owners want to keep it to themselves, andprevent the general development. But we shall get it. "

"It isn't anything like wrecking, is it, dear?"

"Do you think we would want to wreck our own property?"

"But what has Congress to do with it?"

"Oh, there's a land grant. But some of the members who were not in theCongress that voted it say that it is forfeited. "

In this fashion the explanation went on. Margaret loved to hear herhusband talk, and to watch the changing expression of his face, andhe explained about this business until she thought he was the sweetestfellow in the world. 

The Morgans had arrived at the same hotel, and Margaret went about withthem in the daytime, while Henderson was occupied. It was like a breathof home to be with them, and their presence, reviving that old life, gave a new zest to the society spectacle, to the innocent round ofentertainments, which more and more absorbed her. Besides, it was veryinteresting to have Mr. Morgan's point of view of Washington, and to seethe shifting panorama through his experience. He had been very much inthe city in former years, but he came less and less now, not because itwas less beautiful or attractive in a way, but because it had lost forhim a certain charm it once had. 

"I am not sure, " he said, as they were driving one day, "that it is notnow the handsomest capital in the world; at any rate, it is on its wayto be that. No other has public buildings more imposing, or streets andavenues so attractive in their interrupted regularity, so many statelyvistas ending in objects refreshing to the eye--a bit of park, banksof flowers, a statue or a monument that is decorative, at least in thedistance. As the years go on we shall have finer historical groups, triumphal arches and columns that will give it more and more an air ofdistinction, the sort of splendor with which the Roman Empire celebrateditself, and, added to this, the libraries and museums and galleriesthat are the chief attractions of European cities. Oh, we have only justbegun--the city is so accessible in all directions, and lends itself toall sorts of magnificence and beauty. "

"I declare, " said Mrs. Morgan to Margaret, "I didn't know that he couldbe so eloquent. Page, you ought to be in Congress. "

"In order to snuff myself out? Congress is not so important a feature asit used to be. Washington is getting to have a character of its own;it seems as if it wouldn't be much without its official life, yet theprocess is going on here that is so marked all over the country--thedivorce of social and political life. I used to think, fifteen yearsago, that Washington was a standing contradiction to the old aphorismthat a democracy cannot make society--there was no more agreeablesociety in the world than that in Washington even ten years ago: societyselected itself somehow without any marked class distinction, and it wasdelightfully simple and accessible. "

"And what has changed it?" Margaret asked. 

"Money, which changes everything and everybody. The whole scale hasaltered. There is so much more display and expense. I remember whena private carriage in Washington was a rare object. The possession ofmoney didn't help one much socially. What made a person desired in anycompany was the talent of being agreeable, talent of some sort, not theability to give a costly dinner or a big ball. "

"But there are more literary and scientific people here, everybodysays, " said Margaret, who was becoming a partisan of the city. 

"Yes, and they keep more to themselves--withdraw into their studies, orhive in their clubs. They tell me that the delightful informalityand freedom of the old life is gone. Ask the old Washington residentswhether the coming in of rich people with leisure hasn't demoralizedsociety, or stiffened it, and made it impossible after the old sort. Itis as easy here now as anywhere else to get together a very heavy dinnerparty--all very grand, but it isn't amusing. It is more and more likeNew York. "

"But we have been to delightful dinners, " Margaret insisted. 

"No doubt. There are still houses of the old sort, where wit andgood-humor and free hospitality are more conspicuous than expense; butwhen money selects, there is usually an incongruous lot about the board. An oracular scientist at the club the other night put it rather neatlywhen he said that a society that exists mainly to pay its debts getsstupid. "

"That's as clever, " Margaret retorted, "as the remark of anunder-secretary at a cabinet reception the other night, that it is onething to entertain and another to be entertaining. I won't have youslander Washington. I should like to spend all my winters here. "

"Dear me!" said Morgan, "I've been praising Washington. I should like tolive here also, if I had the millions of Jerry Hollowell. Jerry is goingto build a palace out on the Massachusetts Avenue extension bigger thanthe White House. "

"I don't want to hear anything about Hollowell. "

"But he is the coming man. He represents the democratic plutocracy thatwe are coming to. "

All Morgan's banter couldn't shake Margaret's enjoyment of the cheerfulcity. "You like it as well as anybody, " she told him. And in truth heand Mrs. Morgan dipped into every gayety that was going. "Of course Ido, " he said, "for a couple of weeks. I shouldn't like to be obligedto follow it as a steady business. Washington is a good place to take aplunge occasionally. And then you can go home and read King Solomon withappreciation. "

Margaret had thought when she came to Washington that she should spenda good deal of time at the Capitol, listening to the eloquence of theSenators and Representatives, and that she should study the collectionsand the Patent-office and explore all the public buildings, in which shehad such intense historical interest as a teacher in Brandon. But therewas little time for these pleasures, which weighed upon her like duties. She did go to the Capitol once, and tired herself out tramping up anddown, and was very proud of it all, and wondered how any legislation wasever accomplished, and was confused by the hustling about, the swingingof doors, the swarms in the lobbies, and the racing of messengers, andconcluded unjustly that it was a big hive of whispered conference, andbargaining, and private interviewing. Morgan asked her if she expectedthat the business of sixty millions of people was going to be donewith the order and decorum of a lyceum debating society. In one of thecommittee-rooms she saw Hollowell, looking at ease, and apparently anindispensable part of the government machine. Her own husband, who hadaccompanied the party, she lost presently, whisked away somewhere. Hewas sought in vain afterwards, and at last Margaret came away dazed andstunned by the noise of the wheels of the great republic in motion. Shedid not try it again, and very little strolling about the departmentssatisfied her. The west end claimed her--the rolling equipages, thedrawing-rooms, the dress, the vistas of evening lamps, the gay chatterin a hundred shining houses, the exquisite dinners, the crush of theassemblies, the full flow of the tide of fashion and of enjoyment--whatis there so good in life? To be young, to be rich, to be pretty, to beloved, to be admired, to compliment and be complimented--every Sundayat morning service, kneeling in a fluttering row of the sweetly devout, whose fresh toilets made it good to be there, and who might humbly hopeto be forgiven for the things they have left undone, Margaret thankedHeaven for its gifts. 

And it went well with Henderson meantime. Surely he was born under alucky star--if it is good-luck for a man to have absolute prosperity andthe gratification of all his desires. One reason why Hollowell soughthis cooperation was a belief in this luck, and besides Henderson was, he knew, more presentable, and had social access in quarters whereinfluence was desirable, although Hollowell was discovering that withmost men delicacy in presenting anything that is for their interest isthrown away. He found no difficulty in getting recruits for his littledinners at Champolion's--dinners that were not always given in his name, and where he appeared as a guest, though he footed the bills. Bunglinggrossness has disappeared from all really able and large transactions, and genius is mainly exercised in the supply of motives for a lineof conduct. The public good is one of the motives that looks best inWashington. 

Henderson and Hollowell got what they wanted in regard to the Southwestconsolidation, and got it in the most gentlemanly way. Nobody wasbought, no one was offered a bribe. There were, of course, fees paidfor opinions and for professional services, and some able men inducedto take a prospective interest in what was demonstrably for the publicgood. But no vote was given for a consideration--at least this was thereport of an investigating committee later on. Nothing, of course, goesthrough Congress of its own weight, except occasionally a resolution ofsympathy with the Coreans, and the calendar needs to be watched, and thegood offices of friends secured. Skillful wording of a clause, the rightmoment, and opportune recognition do the business. The main thing is tocreate a favorable atmosphere and avoid discussion. When the bill waspassed, Hollowell did give a dinner on his own invitation, a dinner thatwas talked of for its refinement as well as its cost. The chief topic ofconversation was the development of the Southwest and the extensionof our trade relations with Mexico. The little scheme, hatched inHenderson's New York office, in order to transfer certain alreadycreated values to the pockets of himself and his friends, appeared tohave a national importance. When Henderson rose to propose the healthof Jerry Hollowell, neither he nor the man he eulogized as a creator ofindustries whose republican patriotism was not bound by State linesnor circumscribed by sections was without a sense of the humor of thesituation. 

And yet in a certain way Mr. Hollowell was conscious that he meritedthe eulogy. He had come to believe that the enterprises in which hewas engaged, that absolutely gave him, it was believed, an income of amillion a year, were for the public good. Such vast operations lent himthe importance of a public man. If he was a victim of the confusion ofmind which mistook his own prosperity for the general benefit, he onlyshared a wide public opinion which regards the accumulation of enormousfortunes in a few hands as an evidence of national wealth. 

Margaret left Washington with regret. She had a desire to linger inthe opening of the charming spring there, for the little parks werebrilliant with flower beds-tulips, hyacinths, crocuses, violets--themagnolias and redbuds in their prodigal splendor attracted the eye aquarter of a mile away, and the slender twigs of the trees began to besuffused with tender green. It was the sentimental time of the year. But Congress had gone, and whatever might be the promise of the season, Henderson had already gathered the fruits that had been forced in thehothouse of the session. He was in high spirits. 

"It has all been so delightful, dear!" said Margaret as they rode awayin the train, and caught their last sight of the dome. They were inHollowell's private car, which the good-natured old fellow had putat their disposal. And Margaret had a sense of how delightful andprosperous this world is as seen from a private car. 

"Yes, " Henderson answered, thinking of various things; "it has been asuccessful winter. The capital is really attractive. It occurred tome the other day that America has invented a new kind of city, theapotheosis of the village--Washington. "

They talked of the city, of the acquaintances of the winter, ofHollowell's thoughtfulness in lending them his car, that their bridaltrip, as he had said, might have a good finish. Margaret's heart openedto the world. She thought of the friends at Brandon, she thought of thepoor old ladies she was accustomed to look after in the city, of theragged-school that she visited, of the hospital in which she was amanager, of the mission chapel. The next Sunday would be Easter, andshe thought of a hundred ways in which she could make it brighter for somany of the unfortunates. Her heart was opened to the world, and lookingacross to Henderson, who was deep in the morning paper, she said, with awife's unblushing effrontery, "Dearest, how handsome you are!"

The home life took itself up again easily and smoothly in WashingtonSquare. Did there ever come a moment of reflection as to the nature ofthis prosperity which was altogether so absorbing and agreeable? If itcame, did it give any doubts and raise any of the old questions thatused to be discussed at Brandon? Wasn't it the use that people made ofmoney, after all, that was the real test? She did not like Hollowell, but on acquaintance he was not the monster that he had appeared toher in the newspapers. She was perplexed now and then by her husband'sbusiness, but did it differ from that of other men she had known, exceptthat it was on a larger scale? And how much good could be done withmoney!

On Easter morning, when Margaret returned from early service, to whichshe had gone alone, she found upon her dressing-table a note addressedto "My Wife, " and in it a check for a large sum to her order, and acard, on which was written, "For Margaret's Easter Charities. " Flushedwith pleasure, she ran to meet her husband on the landing as he wasdescending to breakfast, threw her arms about his neck, and, with tearsin her eyes, cried, "Dearest, how good you are!"

It is such a good and prosperous generation. 

XIV

Our lives are largely made up of the things we do not have. In May, the time of the apple blossoms--just a year from the swift wooing ofMargaret--Miss Forsythe received a letter from John Lyon. It was in amourning envelope. The Earl of Chisholm was dead, and John Lyon was Earlof Chisholm. The information was briefly conveyed, but with an air ofprofound sorrow. The letter spoke of the change that this loss broughtto his own life, and the new duties laid upon him, which would confinehim more closely to England. It also contained congratulations--whichcircumstances had delayed--upon Mrs. Henderson's marriage, and a simplewish for her happiness. The letter was longer than it need have beenfor these purposes; it seemed to love to dwell upon the little visit toBrandon and the circle of friends there, and it was pervaded by a tone, almost affectionate, towards Miss Forsythe, which touched her verydeeply. She said it was such a manly letter. 

America, the earl said, interested him more and more. In all history, he wrote, there never had been such an opportunity for studyingthe formation of society, for watching the working out of politicalproblems; the elements meeting were so new, and the conditions sooriginal, that historical precedents were of little service as guides. He acknowledged an almost irresistible impulse to come back, and heannounced his intention of another visit as soon as circumstancespermitted. 

I had noticed this in English travelers of intelligence before. Crudeas the country is, and uninteresting according to certain establishedstandards, it seems to have a "drawing" quality, a certain unexplainedfascination. Morgan says that it is the social unconventionality thatattracts, and that the American women are the loadstone. He declares. That when an Englishman secures and carries home with him an Americanwife, his curiosity about the country is sated. But this is generalizingon narrow premises. 

There was certainly in Lyon's letter a longing to see the country again, but the impression it made upon me when I read it--due partly to itstone towards Miss Forsythe, almost a family tone--was that the earldomwas an empty thing without the love of Margaret Debree. Life is so briefat the best, and has so little in it when the one thing that the heartdesires is denied. That the earl should wish to come to America againwithout hope or expectation was, however, quite human nature. If a manhas found a diamond and lost it, he is likely to go again and again andwander about the field where he found it, not perhaps in any definedhope of finding another, but because there is a melancholy satisfactionin seeing the spot again. It was some such feeling that impelledthe earl to wish to see again Miss Forsythe, and perhaps to talk ofMargaret, but he certainly had no thought that there were two MargaretDebrees in America. 

To her aunt's letter conveying the intelligence of Mr. Lyon's loss, Margaret replied with a civil message of condolence. The news hadalready reached the Eschelles, and Carmen, Margaret said, had writtento the new earl a most pious note, which contained no allusion tohis change of fortune, except an expression of sympathy with his nowenlarged opportunity for carrying on his philanthropic plans--a mostunworldly note. "I used to think, " she had said, when confiding whatshe had done to Margaret, "that you would make a perfect missionarycountess, but you have done better, my dear, and taken up a much moredifficult work among us fashionable sinners. Do you know, " she went on, "that I feel a great deal less worldly than I used to?"

Margaret wrote a most amusing account of this interview, and added thatCarmen was really very good-hearted, and not half as worldly-minded asshe pretended to be; an opinion with which Miss Forsythe did not at allagree. She had spent a fortnight with Margaret after Easter, and shecame back in a dubious frame of mind. Margaret's growing intimacy withCarmen was one of the sources of her uneasiness. They appeared to bemore and more companionable, although Margaret's clear perception ofcharacter made her estimate of Carmen very nearly correct. But the factremained that she found her company interesting. Whether the girl triedto astonish the country aunt, or whether she was so thoroughly a childof her day as to lack certain moral perceptions, I do not know, but hercandid conversation greatly shocked Miss Forsythe. 

"Margaret, " she said one day, in one of her apparent bursts ofconfidence, "seems to have had such a different start in life from mine. Sometimes, Miss Forsythe, she puzzles me. I never saw anybody so much inlove as she is with Mr. Henderson; she doesn't simply love him, she isin love with him. I don't wonder she is fond of him--any woman might bethat--but, do you know, she actually believes in him. "

"Why shouldn't she believe in him?" exclaimed Miss Forsythe, inastonishment. 

"Oh, of course, in a way, " the girl went on. "I like Mr. Henderson--Ilike him very much--but I don't believe in him. It isn't the way now tobelieve in anybody very much. We don't do it, and I think we get alongjust as well--and better. Don't you think it's nicer not to have anydeceptions?"

Miss Forsythe was too much stunned to make any reply. It seemed to herthat the bottom had fallen out of society. 

"Do you think Mr. Henderson believes in people?" the girl persisted. 

"If he does not he isn't much of a man. If people don't believe in eachother, society is going to pieces. I am astonished at such a tone from awoman. "

"Oh, it isn't any tone in me, my dear Miss Forsythe, " Carmen continued, sweetly. "Society is a great deal pleasanter when you are not anxiousand don't expect too much. "

Miss Forsythe told Margaret that she thought Miss Eschelle was adangerous woman. Margaret did not defend her, but she did not join, either, in condemning her; she appeared to have accepted her as a partof her world. And there were other things that Margaret seemed tohave accepted without that vigorous protest which she used to raiseat whatever crossed her conscience. To her aunt she was never moreaffectionate, never more solicitous about her comfort and her pleasure, and it was almost enough to see Margaret happy, radiant, expanding dayby day in the prosperity that was illimitable, only there was to her anote of unreality in all the whirl and hurry of the busy life. She likedto escape to her room with a book, and be out of it all, and the twoweeks away from her country life seemed long to her. She couldn'treconcile Margaret's love of the world, her tolerance of Carmen, and other men and women whose lives seemed to be based on Carmen'sphilosophy, with her devotion to the church services, to the citymissions, and the dozens of charities that absorb so much of the time ofthe leaders of society. 

"You are too young, dear, to be so good and devout, " was Carmen'scomment on the situation. 

To Miss Forsythe's wonder, Margaret did not resent this impertinence, but only said that no accumulation of years was likely to bring Carmeninto either of these dangers. And the reply was no more satisfactory toMiss Forsythe than the remark that provoked it. 

That she had had a delightful visit, that Margaret was more lovelythan ever, that Henderson was a delightful host, was the report of MissForsythe when she returned to us. In a confidential talk with my wifeshe confessed, however, that she couldn't tell whither Margaret wasgoing. 

One of the worries of modern life is the perplexity where to spend thesummer. The restless spirit of change affects those who dwell in thecountry, as well as those who live in the city. No matter how charmingthe residence is, one can stay in it only a part of the year. Heactually needs a house in town, a villa by the sea, and a cottage in thehills. When these are secured--each one an establishment more luxuriousyear by year--then the family is ready to travel about, and is in agreater perplexity than before whether to spend the summer in Europeor in America, the novelties of which are beginning to excite theimagination. This nomadism, which is nothing less than society onwheels, cannot be satirized as a whim of fashion; it has a seriouscause in--the discovery of the disease called nervous prostration, whichdemands for its cure constant change of scene, without any occupation. Henderson recognized it, but he said that personally he had no time toindulge in it. His summer was to be a very busy one. It was impossibleto take Margaret with him on his sudden and tedious journeys fromone end of the country to the other, but she needed a change. It wastherefore arranged that after a visit to Brandon she should pass thewarm months with the Arbusers in their summer home at Lenox, with amonth--the right month--in the Eschelle villa at Newport; and he hopednever to be long absent from one place or the other. 

Margaret came to Brandon at the beginning of June, just at the seasonwhen the region was at its loveliest, and just when its society wasmaking preparations to get away from it to the sea, or the mountains, or to any place that was not home. I could never understand why a peoplewho have been grumbling about snow and frost for six months, and longingfor genial weather, should flee from it as soon as it comes. I had madethe discovery, quite by chance--and it was so novel that I might havetaken out a patent on it--that if one has a comfortable home in ournorthern latitude, he cannot do better than to stay in it when the humof the mosquito is heard in the land, and the mercury is racing up anddown the scale between fifty and ninety. This opinion, however, did notextend beyond our little neighborhood, and we may be said to have hadthe summer to ourselves. 

I fancied that the neighborhood had not changed, but the coming ofMargaret showed me that this was a delusion. No one can keep in the sameplace in life simply by standing still, and the events of the past twoyears had wrought a subtle change in our quiet. Nothing had been changedto the eye, yet something had been taken away, or something had beenadded, a door had been opened into the world. Margaret had come home, yet I fancied it was not the home to her that she had been thinkingabout. Had she changed?

She was more beautiful. She had the air--I should hesitate to call itthat of the fine lady--of assured position, something the manner of thatgreater world in which the possession of wealth has supreme importance, but it was scarcely a change of manner so much as of ideas about lifeand of the things valuable in it gradually showing itself. Her delightat being again with her old friends was perfectly genuine, and shehad never appeared more unselfish or more affectionate. If there wasa subtle difference, it might very well be in us, though I found itimpossible to conceive of her in her former role of teacher and simplemaiden, with her heart in the little concerns of our daily life. And whyshould she be expected to go back to that stage? Must we not all liveour lives? Miss Forsythe's solicitude about Margaret was mingled witha curious deference, as to one who had a larger experience of lifethan her own. The girl of a year ago was now the married woman, and wasinvested with something of the dignity that Miss Forsythe in her pureimagination attached to that position. Without yielding any of heropinions, this idea somehow changed her relations to Margaret; a little, I thought, to the amusement of Mrs. Fletcher and the other ladies, towhom marriage took on a less mysterious aspect. It arose doubtless froma renewed sense of the incompleteness of her single life, long as it hadbeen, and enriched as it was by observation. 

In that June there were vexatious strikes in various parts of thecountry, formidable combinations of laboring-men, demonstrations oftrades-unions, and the exhibition of a spirit that sharply calledattention to the unequal distribution of wealth. The discontent wasattributed in some quarters to the exhibition of extreme luxury andreckless living by those who had been fortunate. It was even said thatthe strikes, unreasonable and futile as they were, and most injuriousto those who indulged in them, were indirectly caused by the railwaymanipulation, in the attempt not only to crush out competition, but toexact excessive revenues on fictitious values. Resistance to this couldbe shown to be blind, and the strikers technically in the wrong, yet theimpression gained ground that there was something monstrously wrongin the way great fortunes were accumulated, in total disregard ofindividual rights, and in a materialistic spirit that did not take intoaccount ordinary humanity. For it was not alone the laboring class thatwas discontented, but all over the country those who lived upon smallinvested savings, widows and minors, found their income imperiled by thetrickery of rival operators and speculators in railways and securities, who treated the little private accumulations as mere counters in thegames they were playing. The loss of dividends to them was poorlycompensated by reflections upon the development of the country, and theadvantage to trade of great consolidations, which inured to the benefitof half a dozen insolent men. 

In discussing these things in our little parliament we were notaltogether unprejudiced, it must be confessed. For, to say nothingof interests of Mr. Morgan and my own, which seemed in some danger ofdisappearing for the "public good, " Mrs. Fletcher's little fortune wasnearly all invested in that sound "rock-bed" railway in the Southwestthat Mr. Jerry Hollowell had recently taken under his paternal care. Shewas assured, indeed, that dividends were only reserved pending some sortof reorganization, which would ultimately be of great benefit to all theparties concerned; but this was much like telling a hungry man that ifhe would possess his appetite in patience, he would very likely have asplendid dinner next year. Women are not constituted to understand thissort of reasoning. It is needless to say that in our general talks onthe situation these personalities were not referred to, for althoughMargaret was silent, it was plain to see that she was uneasy. 

Morgan liked to raise questions of casuistry, such as that whether moneydishonestly come by could be accepted for good purposes. 

"I had this question referred to me the other day, " he said. "Agambler--not a petty cheater in cards, but a man who has a splendidestablishment in which he has amassed a fortune, a man known for hisliberality and good-fellowship and his interest in politics--offeredthe president of a leading college a hundred thousand dollars to endow aprofessorship. Ought the president to take the money, knowing how it wasmade?"

"Wouldn't the money do good--as much good as any other hundred thousanddollars?" asked Margaret. 

"Perhaps. But the professorship was to bear his name, and what would bethe moral effect of that?"

"Did you recommend the president to take the money, if he could get itwithout using the gambler's name?"

"I am not saying yet what I advised. I am trying to get your views on ageneral principle. "

"But wouldn't it be a sneaking thing to take a man's money, and refusehim the credit of his generosity?"

"But was it generosity? Was not his object, probably, to get areputation which his whole life belied, and to get it by obliteratingthe distinction between right and wrong?"

"But isn't it a compromising distinction, " my wife asked, "to takehis money without his name? The president knows that it is moneyfraudulently got, that really belongs to somebody else; and thegambler would feel that if the president takes it, he cannot think verydisapprovingly of the manner in which it was acquired. I think it wouldbe more honest and straightforward to take his name with the money. "

"The public effect of connecting the gambler's name with the collegewould be debasing, " said Morgan; "but, on the contrary, is every charityor educational institution bound to scrutinize the source of everybenefaction? Isn't it better that money, however acquired, should beused for a good purpose than a bad one?"

"That is a question, " I said, "that is a vital one in our presentsituation, and the sophistry of it puzzles the public. What would yousay to this case? A man notoriously dishonest, but within the law, andvery rich, offered a princely endowment to a college very much in needof it. The sum would have enabled it to do a great work in education. But it was intimated that the man would expect, after a while, to bemade one of the trustees. His object, of course, was social position. "

"I suppose, of course, " Margaret replied, "that the college couldn'tafford that. It would look like bribery. "

"Wouldn't he be satisfied with an LL. D. ?" Morgan asked. 

"I don't see, " my wife said, "any difference between the two casesstated and that of the stock gambler, whose unscrupulous operations haveruined thousands of people, who founds a theological seminary with thegains of his slippery transactions. By accepting his seminary the publiccondones his conduct. Another man, with the same shaky reputation, endows a college. Do you think that religion and education are benefitedin the long-run by this? It seems to me that the public is graduallylosing its power of discrimination between the value of honesty anddishonesty. Real respect is gone when the public sees that a man is ableto buy it. "

This was a hot speech for my wife to make. For a moment Margaret flamedup under it with her old-time indignation. I could see it in her eyes, and then she turned red and confused, and at length said:

"But wouldn't you have rich men do good with their money?"

"Yes, dear, but I would not have them think they can blot out by theirliberality the condemnation of the means by which many of them makemoney. That is what they are doing, and the public is getting used toit. "

"Well, " said Margaret, with some warmth, "I don't know that they are anyworse than the stingy saints who have made their money by saving, andact as if they expected to carry it with them. "

"Saints or sinners, it does not make much difference to me, " now putin Mrs. Fletcher, who was evidently considering the question from apractical point of view, "what a man professes, if he founds a hospitalfor indigent women out of the dividends that I never received. "

Morgan laughed. "Don't you think, Mrs. Fletcher, that it is a good signof the times, that so many people who make money rapidly are disposed touse it philanthropically?"

"It may be for them, but it does not console me much just now. "

"But you don't make allowance enough for the rich. Perhaps they areunder a necessity of doing something. I was reading this morning in thediary of old John Ward of Stratford-on-Avon this sentence: 'It was asaying of Navisson, a lawyer, that no man could be valiant unless hehazarded his body, nor rich unless he hazarded his soul. '"

"Was Navisson a modern lawyer?" I asked. 

"No; the diary is dated 1648-1679. "

"I thought so. "

There was a little laugh at this, and the talk drifted off into aconsideration of the kind of conscience that enables a professional manto espouse a cause he knows to be wrong as zealously as one he knows tobe right; a talk that I should not have remembered at all, except forMargaret's earnestness in insisting that she did not see how a lawyercould take up the dishonest side. 

Before Margaret went to Lenox, Henderson spent a few days with us. He brought with him the abounding cheerfulness, and the air of aprosperous, smiling world, that attended him in all circumstances. Andhow happy Margaret was! They went over every foot of the ground on whichtheir brief courtship had taken place, and Heaven knows what joy therewas to her in reviving all the tenderness and all the fear of it! Busyas Henderson was, pursued by hourly telegrams and letters, we couldnot but be gratified that his attention to her was that of a lover. Howcould it be otherwise, when all the promise of the girl was realizedin the bloom and the exquisite susceptibility of the woman? Among otherthings, she dragged him down to her mission in the city, to which hewent in a laughing and bantering mood. When he had gone away, Margaretran over to my wife, bringing in her hand a slip of paper. 

"See that!" she cried, her eyes dancing with pleasure. It was a checkfor a thousand dollars. "That will refurnish the mission from top tobottom, " she said, "and run it for a year. "

"How generous he is!" cried my wife. Margaret did not reply, but shelooked at the check, and there were tears in her eyes. 

XV

The Arbuser cottage at Lenox was really a magnificent villa. Richardsonhad built it. At a distance it had the appearance of a mediaevalstructure, with its low doorways, picturesque gables, and steep roofs, and in its situation on a gentle swell of green turf backed by nativeforest-trees it imparted to the landscape an ancestral tone which ismuch valued in these days. But near to, it was seen to be mediaevalismadapted to the sunny hospitality of our summer climate, with generousverandas and projecting balconies shaded by gay awnings, and withinspacious, open to the breezes, and from its broad windows offeringviews of lawns and flower-beds and ornamental trees, of a great sweepof pastures and forests and miniature lakes, with graceful and reposefulhills on the horizon. 

It was, in short, the modern idea of country simplicity. The passion forcountry life, which has been in decadence for nearly half a century, has again become the fashion. Nature, which, left to itself, is alittle ragged, not to say monotonous and tiresome, is discovered to bea valuable ally for aid in passing the time when art is able to makeportions of it exclusive. What the Arbusers wanted was a simple homein the country, and in obtaining it they were indulging a sentiment ofreturning to the primitive life of their father, who had come to thecity from a hill farm, and had been too busy all his life to recurto the tastes of his boyhood. At least that was the theory of hisdaughters; but the old gentleman had a horror of his early life, andcould scarcely be dragged away from the city even in the summer. Hewould no doubt have been astonished at the lofty and substantial stonestables, the long range of greenhouses, and at a farm which producednothing except lawns and flower-beds, ornamental fields of clover, avenues of trees, lawn-tennis grounds, and a few Alderneys tethered tofeed among the trees, where their beauty would heighten the rural anddomestic aspect of the scene. The Arbusers liked to come to this placeas early as possible to escape the society exactions of the city. Thatwas another theory of theirs. All their set in the city met there forthe same purpose. 

Margaret was welcomed with open arms. 

"We have been counting the days, " said the elder of the sisters. "Yourluggage has come, your rooms are all ready, and your coachman, who hasbeen here some days, says that the horses need exercise. Everybody ishere, and we need you for a hundred things. "

"You are very kind. It is so charming here. I knew it would be, but Icouldn't bear to shorten my visit in Brandon. "

"Your aunt must miss you very much. Is she well?"

"Perfectly. "

"Wouldn't she have come with you? I've a mind to telegraph. "

"I think not. She is wedded to quiet, and goes away from her littleneighborhood with reluctance. "

"So Brandon was a little dull?" said Miss Arbuser, with a shrewd guessat the truth. 

"Oh no, " quickly replied Margaret, shrinking a little from what was inher own mind; "it was restful and delightful; but you know that we NewEngland people take life rather seriously, and inquire into the reasonof things, and want an object in life. "

"A very good thing to have, " answered this sweet woman of the world, whose object was to go along pleasantly and enjoy it. 

"But to have it all the time!" Margaret suggested, lightly, as she ranup-stairs. But even in this suggestion she was conscious of a twingeof disloyalty to her former self. Deep down in her heart, coming tothe atmosphere of Lenox was a relief from questionings that a littledisturbed her at her old home, and she was indignant at herself that itshould be so, and then indignant at the suggestions that put her out ofhumor with herself. Was it a sin, she said, to be happy and prosperous?

On her dressing-table was a letter from her husband. He was detained inthe city by a matter of importance. He scratched only a line, to catchthe mail, during a business interview. It was really only a businessinterview, and had no sort of relation to Lenox or the summer gayetythere. 

Henderson was in his private office. The clerks in the outer offices, in the neglige of summer costumes, winked to each other as they saw oldJerry Hollowell enter and make his way to the inner room unannounced. Something was in the wind. 

"Well, old man, " said Uncle Jerry, in the cheeriest manner, coming in, depositing his hat on the table, and taking a seat opposite Henderson, "we seem to have stirred up the animals. "

"Only a little flurry, " replied Henderson, laying down his pen andfolding a note he had just finished; "they'll come to reason. "

"They've got to. " Mr. Hollowell drew out a big bandanna and moppedhis heated face. "I've just got a letter from Jorkins. There's thecertificates that make up the two-thirds-more than we need, anyway. Noflaw about that, is there?"

"No. I'll put these with the balance in the safe. It's all right, ifJorkins has been discreet. It may make a newspaper scandal if they gethold of his operations. "

"Oh, Jorkins is close. But he is a little overworked. I don't know butit would do him good to have a little nervous prostration and go abroadfor a while. "

"I guess it would do Jorkins good to take a turn in Europe for a year orso. "

"Well, you write to him. Give him a sort of commission to see theEnglish bondholders, and explain the situation. They will appreciatethat half a loaf is better than no bread. What bothers me is the way theAmerican bondholders take it. They kick. "

"Let 'em kick. The public don't care for a few soreheads andimpracticables in an operation that is going to open up the wholeSouthwest. I've an appointment with one of them this morning. He oughtto be here now. "

At the moment Henderson's private secretary entered and laid on thetable the card of Mr. John Hopper, who was invited to come in at once. Mr. Hopper was a man of fifty, with iron-gray hair, a heavy mustache, and a smooth-shaven chin that showed resolution. In dress and manner hisappearance was that of the shrewd city capitalist--quiet and determined, who is neither to be deceived nor bullied. With a courteous greeting toboth the men, whom he knew well, he took a seat and stated his business. 

"I have called to see you, Mr. Henderson, about the bonds of the A. AndB. , and I am glad to find Mr. Hollowell here also. "

"What amount do you represent, Mr. Hopper?" asked Henderson. 

"With my own and my friends', altogether, rising a million. What do youpropose?"

"You got our circular?"

"Yes, and we don't accept the terms. "

"I'm sorry. It is the best that we could do. "

"That is, the best you would do!"

"Pardon me, Mr. Hopper, the best we could do under the circumstances. Wegave you your option, to scale down on a fair estimate of the earningsof the short line (the A. And B. ), or to surrender your local bonds andtake new ones covering the whole consolidation, or, as is of course inyour discretion, to hold on and take the chances. "

"Which your operations have practically destroyed. "

"Not at all, Mr. Hopper. We offer you a much better security on thewhole system instead of a local road. "

"And you mean to tell me, Mr. Henderson, that it is for our advantageto exchange a seven per cent. Bond on a road that has always paid itsinterest promptly, for a four and a half on a system that is manipulatednobody knows how? I tell you, gentlemen, that it looks to outsiders asif there was crookedness somewhere. "

"That is a rather rough charge, Mr. Hopper, " said Henderson, with asmile. 

"But we are to understand that if we do not accept your terms, it's afreeze-out?"

"You are to understand that we want to make the best arrangementpossible for all parties in interest. "

"How some of those interests were acquired may be a question for thecourts, " replied Mr. Hopper, resolutely. "When we put our money in goodseven per cent. Bonds, we propose to inquire into the right of anybodyto demand that we shall exchange them for four and a half per cents. Onother security. "

"Perfectly right, Mr. Hopper, " said Henderson, with imperturbablegood-humor; "the transfer books are open to your inspection. "

"Well, we prefer to hold on to our bonds. "

"And wait for your interest, " interposed Hollowell. 

Mr. Hopper turned to the speaker. "And while we are waiting wepropose to inquire what has become of the surplus of the A. And B. Thebondholders had the first claim on the entire property. "

"And we propose to protect it. See here, Mr. Hopper, " continued UncleJerry, with a most benevolent expression, "I needn't tell you thatinvestments fluctuate--the Lord knows mine do! The A. And B. Was agood road. I know that. But it was going to be paralleled. We'd got toparallel it to make our Southwest connections. If we had, you'd havewaited till the Gulf of Mexico freezes over before you got any couponspaid. Instead of that, we took it into our system, and it's being put ona permanent basis. It's a little inconvenient for holders, and they havegot to stand a little shrinkage, but in the long-run it will be betterfor everybody. The little road couldn't stand alone, and the day of biginterest is about over. "

"That explanation may satisfy you, Mr. Hollowell, but it don't giveus our money, and I notify you that we shall carry the matter into thecourts. Good-morning. "

When Mr. Hopper had gone, the two developers looked at each other amoment seriously. 

"Hopper 'll fight, " Hollowell said at last. 

"And we have got the surplus to fight him with, " replied Henderson. 

"That's so, " and Uncle Jerry chuckled to himself. "The rats that are onthe inside of the crib are a good deal better off than the rats on theoutside. "

"The reporter of The Planet wants five minutes, " announced thesecretary, opening the door. Henderson told him to let him in. 

The reporter was a spruce young gentleman, in a loud summer suit, witha rose in his button-hole, and the air of assurance which befits thecommissioner of the public curiosity. 

"I am sent by The Planet, " said the young man, "to show you this and askyou if you have anything to say to it. "

"What is it?" asked Henderson. 

"It's about the A. And B. "

"Very well. There is the president, Mr. Hollowell. Show it to him. "

The reporter produced a long printed slip and handed it to Uncle Jerry, who took it and began to read. As his eye ran down the column he wasapparently more and more interested, and he let it be shown on hisface that he was surprised, and even a little astonished. When he hadfinished, he said:

"Well, my young friend, how did you get hold of this?"

"Oh, we have a way, " said the reporter, twirling his straw hat by theelastic, and looking more knowing than old Jerry himself. 

"So I see, " replied Jerry, with an admiring smile; "there is nothingthat you newspaper folks don't find out. It beats the devil!"

"Is it true, sir?" said the young gentleman, elated with thisrecognition of his own shrewdness. 

"It is so true that there is no fun in it. I don't see how the devil yougot hold of it. "

"Have you any explanations?"

"No, I guess not, " said Uncle Jerry, musingly. "If it is to come out, I'd rather The Planet would have it than any, other paper. It's got somesense. No; print it. It'll be a big beat for your paper. While you areabout it--I s'pose you'll print it anyway?" (the reporter nodded)--"youmight as well have the whole story. "

"Certainly. We'd like to have it right. What is wrong about it?"

"Oh, nothing but some details. You have got it substantially. There's aword or two and a date you are out on, naturally enough, and thereare two or three little things that would be exactly true if they weredifferently stated. "

"Would you mind telling me what they are?"

"No, " said Jerry, with a little reluctance; "might as well have it allout--eh, Henderson?"

And the old man took his pencil and changed some dates and a nameor two, and gave to some of the sentences a turn that seemed to thereporter only another way of saying the same thing. 

"There, that is all I know. Give my respects to Mr. Goss. "

When the commissioner had withdrawn, Uncle Jerry gave vent to a longwhistle. Then he rose suddenly and called to the secretary, "Tell thatreporter to come back. " The reporter reappeared. 

"I was just thinking, and you can tell Mr. Goss, that now you have gotonto this thing, you might as well keep the lead on it. The public isinterested in what we are doing in the Southwest, and if you, or someother bright fellow who has got eyes in his head, will go down there, he will see something that will astonish him. I'm going tomorrow in myprivate car, and if you could go along, I assure you a good time. I wantyou to see for yourself, and I guess you would. Don't take my word. Ican't give you any passes, and I know you don't want any, but you canjust get into my private car and no expense to anybody, and see allthere is to be seen. Ask Goss, and let me know tonight. "

The young fellow went off feeling several inches higher than whenhe came in. Such is the power of a good address, and such is theomnipotence of the great organ. Mr. Jerry Hollowell sat down and beganto fan himself. It was very hot in the office. 

"Seems to me it's lunch-time. Great Scott! what a lot of time I used towaste fighting the newspapers! That thing would have played the devil asit stood. It will be comparatively harmless now. It will make a littletalk, but there is nothing to get hold of. Queer, about the differenceof a word or two. Come, old man, I'm thirsty. "

"Uncle Jerry, " said Henderson, taking his arm as they went out, "youought to be President of the United States. "

"The salary is too small, " said Uncle Jerry. 

Of all this there was nothing to write to Margaret, who was passingher time agreeably in the Berkshire hills, a little impatient for herhusband's arrival, postponed from day to day, and full of sympathy forhim, condemned to the hot city and the harassment of a business themagnitude of which gave him the obligations and the character of apublic man. Henderson sent her instead a column from The Planet devotedto a description of his private library. Mr. Goss, the editor, who wascollege bred, had been round to talk with Henderson about the Southwesttrip, and the conversation drifting into other matters, Henderson hadtaken from his desk and shown him a rare old book which he had pickedup the day before in a second-hand shop. This led to further talkabout Henderson's hobby, and the editor had asked permission to send areporter down to make a note of Henderson's collection. It would makea good midsummer item, "The Stock-Broker in Literature, " "The PrivateTastes of a Millionaire, " etc. The column got condensed into a portableparagraph, and went the rounds of the press, and changed the opinionsof a good many people about the great operator--he wasn't altogetherdevoted to vulgar moneymaking. Uncle Jerry himself read the column withappreciation of its value. "It diverts the public mind, " he said. Hehimself had recently diverted the public mind by the gift of a bellto the Norembega Theological (colored) Institute, and the paragraphannouncing the fact conveyed the impression that while Uncle Jerry wasa canny old customer, his heart was on the right side. "There are worsemen than Uncle Jerry who are not worth a cent, " was one of the humorousparagraphs tacked on to the item. 

Margaret was not alone in finding the social atmosphere of Lenox ascongenial as its natural beauties. Mrs. Laflamme declared that it wasthe perfection of existence for a couple of months, one in early summerand another in the golden autumn with its pathetic note of the fallingcurtain dropping upon the dream of youth. Mrs. Laflamme was not asentimental person, but she was capable of drifting for a moment intoa poetic mood--a great charm in a woman of her vivacity and air of theworld. Margaret remembered her very distinctly, although she had onlyexchanged a word with her at the memorable dinner in New York whenHenderson had revealed her feelings to herself. Mrs. Laflamme had theimmense advantage--it seemed so to her after five years of widowhoodof being a widow on the sunny side of thirty-five. If she had lostsome illusions she had gained a great deal of knowledge, and she had nofeverish anxiety about what life would bring her. Although she would notput it in this way to herself, she could look about her deliberately, enjoying the prospect, and please herself. Her position had twoadvantages--experience and opportunity. A young woman unmarried, shesaid, always has the uneasy sense of the possibility--well, it isimpossible to escape slang, and she said it with the merriest laugh--thepossibility of being left. A day or two after Margaret's arrival she haddriven around to call in her dog-cart, looking as fresh as a daisyin her sunhat. She held the reins, but her seat was shared by Mr. FoxMcNaughton, the most useful man in the village, indispensable indeed; abachelor, with no intentions, no occupation, no ambition (except to leadthe german), who could mix a salad, brew a punch, organize a picnic, andchaperon anything in petticoats with entire propriety, without regardto age. And he had a position of social authority. This eminence Mr. Fox McNaughton had attained by always doing the correct thing. Theobligation of society to such men is never enough acknowledged. Whilethey are trusted and used, and worked to death, one is apt to hear themspoken of in a deprecatory tone. 

"You hold the reins a moment, please. No, I don't want any help, " shesaid, as she jumped down with an elastic spring, and introduced himto Margaret. "I've got Mr. McNaughton in training, and am thinking ofbringing him out. "

She walked in with Margaret, chatting about the view and the house andthe divine weather. 

"And your husband has not come yet?"

"He may come any day. I think business might suspend in the summer. "

"So do I. But then, what would become of Lenox? It is rather hard on themen, only I dare say they like it. Don't you think Mr. Henderson wouldlike a place here?"

"He cannot help being pleased with Lenox. "

"I'm sure he would if you are. I have hardly seen him since that eveningat the Stotts'. Can I tell you?--I almost had five minutes of envy thatevening. You won't mind it in such an old woman?"

"I should rather trust your heart than your age, Mrs. Laflamme, " saidMargaret, with a laugh. 

"Yes, my heart is as old as my face. But I had a feeling, seeing youwalk away that evening into the conservatory. I knew what was coming. I think I have discovered a great secret, Mrs. Henderson to be able tolive over again in other people. By-the-way, what has become of thatquiet Englishman, Mr. Lyon?"

"He has come into his title. He is the Earl of Chisholm. "

"Dear me, how stupid in us not to have taken a sense of that! And theEschelles--do you know anything of the Eschelles?"

"Yes; they are at their house in Newport. "

"Do you think there was anything between Miss Eschelle and Mr. Lyon? Isaw her afterwards several times. "

"Not that I ever heard. Miss Eschelle says that she is thoroughlyAmerican in her tastes. "

"Then her tastes are not quite conformed to her style. That girl mightbe anything--Queen of Spain, or coryphee in the opera ballet. She isclever as clever. One always expects to hear of her as the heroine of anadventure. "

"Didn't you say you knew her in Europe?"

"No. We heard of her and her mother everywhere. She was veryindependent. She had the sort of reputation to excite curiosity. But Inoticed that the men in New York were a little afraid of her. She is awoman who likes to drive very near the edge. "

Mrs. Laflamme rose. "I must not keep Mr. McNaughton waiting for any moreof my gossip. We expect you and the Misses Arbuser this afternoon. Iwarn you it will be dull. I should like to hear of some summer resortwhere the men are over sixteen and under sixty. "

Mrs. Laflamme liked to drive near the edge as much as Carmen did, andthis piquancy was undeniably an attraction in her case. But therewas this difference between the two: there was a confidence that Mrs. Laflamme would never drive over the edge, whereas no one could tell whatsheer Carmen might not suddenly take. A woman's reputation is almost asmuch affected by the expectation of what she may do as by anything shehas done. It was Fox McNaughton who set up the dictum that a woman maydo almost anything if it is known that she draws a line somewhere. 

The lawn party was not at all dull to Margaret. In the first place, shereceived a great deal of attention. Henderson's name was becomingvery well known, and it was natural that the splendor of his advancingfortune should be reflected in the person of his young wife, whoseloveliness was enhanced by her simple enjoyment of the passing hour. Then the toilets of the women were so fresh and charming, the colorsgrouped so prettily on the greensward, the figures of the slender girlsplaying at tennis or lounging on the benches under the trees, recalledscenes from the classic poets. It was all so rich and refined. Nordid she miss the men of military age, whose absence Mrs. Laflamme haddeplored, for she thought of her husband. And, besides, she found eventhe college boys (who are always spoken of as men) amusing, andthe elderly gentlemen--upon whom watering-place society throws muchresponsibility--gallant, facetious, complimentary, and active inwhatever was afoot. Their boyishness, indeed, contrasted with--thegravity of the undergraduates, who took themselves very seriously, werecivil to the young ladies, --confidential with the married women, andhad generally a certain reserve and dignity which belong to persons uponwhom such heavy responsibility rests. 

There were, to be sure, men who looked bored, and women who werelistless, missing the stimulus of any personal interest; but the scenewas so animated, the weather so propitious, that, on the whole, a personmust be very cynical not to find the occasion delightful. 

There was a young novelist present whose first story, "The Girl I LeftBehind Me, " had made a hit the last season. It was thought to take aprofound hold upon life, because it was a book that could not be readaloud in a mixed company. Margaret was very much interested in him, although Mr. Summers Bass was not her idea of an imaginative writer. Hewas a stout young gentleman, with very black hair and small black eyes, to which it was difficult to give a melancholy cast even by an habitualfrown. Mr. Bass dressed himself scrupulously in the fashion, was veryexact in his pronunciation, careful about his manner, and had the air ofa little weariness, of the responsibility of one looking at life. It wasonly at rare moments that his face expressed intensity of feeling. 

"It is a very pretty scene. I suppose, Mr. Bass, that you are makingstudies, " said Margaret, by way of opening a conversation. 

"No; hardly that. One must always observe. It gets to be a habit. Thething is to see reality under appearances. "

"Then you would call yourself a realist?"

Mr. Bass smiled. "That is a slang term, Mrs. Henderson. What you want isnature, color, passion--to pierce the artificialities. "

"But you must describe appearance. "

"Certainly, to an extent--form, action, talk as it is, eventrivialities--especially the trivialities, for life is made up of thetrivial. "

"But suppose that does not interest me?"

"Pardon me, Mrs. Henderson, that is because you are used to theconventional, the selected. Nature is always interesting. "

"I do not find it so. "

"No? Nature has been covered up; it has been idealized. Look yonder, "and Mr. Bass pointed across the lawn. "See that young woman upon whomthe sunlight falls standing waiting her turn. See the quivering of theeyelids, the heaving of the chest, the opening lips; note the curve ofher waist from the shoulder, and the line rounding into the fall of thefolds of the Austrian cashmere. I try to saturate myself with that form, to impress myself with her every attitude and gesture, her color, hermovement, and then I shall imagine the form under the influence ofpassion. Every detail will tell. I do not find unimportant the tie ofher shoe. The picture will be life. "

"But suppose, Mr. Bass, when you come to speak with her, you find thatshe has no ideas, and talks slang. "

"All the better. It shows what we are, what our society is. And besides, Mrs. Henderson, nearly everybody has the capacity of being wicked; thatis to say, of expressing emotion. "

"You take a gloomy view, Mr. Bass. "

"I take no view, Mrs. Henderson. My ambition is to record. It will nothelp matters by pretending that people are better than they are. "

"Well, Mr. Bass, you may be quite right, but I am not going to let youspoil my enjoyment of this lovely scene, " said Margaret, moving away. Mr. Bass watched her until she disappeared, and then entered in hisnotebook a phrase for future use, "The prosperous propriety of a prettyplutocrat. " He was gathering materials for his forthcoming book, "TheLast Sigh of the Prude. "

The whole world knows how delightful Lenox is. It even has a club wherethe men can take refuge from the exactions of society, as in the city. The town is old enough to have "histories"; there is a romanceattached to nearly every estate, a tragedy of beauty, and money, anddisappointment; great writers have lived here, families whose names wereconnected with our early politics and diplomacy; there is a tradition ofa society of wit and letters, of women whose charms were enhanced by aspice of adventure, of men whose social brilliancy ended in misanthropy. All this gave a background of distinction to the present gayety, luxury, and adaptation of the unsurpassed loveliness of nature to the refinedfashion of the age. 

Here, if anywhere, one could be above worry, above the passion of envy;for did not every new "improvement" and every new refinement in livingadd to the importance of every member of this favored community? ForMargaret it was all a pageant of beauty. The Misses Arbuser talked aboutthe quality of the air, the variety of the scenery, the exhilaration ofthe drives, the freedom from noise and dust, the country quiet. Therewere the morning calls, the intellectual life of the reading clubs, thetennis parties, the afternoon teas, combined with charming drivesfrom one elegant place to another; the siestas, the idle swinging inhammocks, with the latest magazine from which to get a topic for dinner, the mild excitement of a tete-a-tete which might discover congenialtastes or run on into an interesting attachment. Half the charm of life, says a philosopher, is in these personal experiments. 

When Henderson came, as he did several times for a few days, Margaret'shappiness was complete. She basked in the sun of his easy enjoyment oflife. She liked to take him about with her, and see the welcome in allcompanies of a man so handsome, so natural and cordial, as her husband. Especially aid she like the consideration in which he was evidently heldat the club, where the members gathered about him to listen to his racytalk and catch points about the market. She liked to think that he wasnot a woman's man. He gave her his version of some recent transactionsthat had been commented on in the newspapers, and she was indignant overthe insinuations about him. It was the price, he said, that everybodyhad to pay for success. Why shouldn't he, she reflected, make money?Everybody would if they could, and no one knew how generous he was. Ifshe had been told that the family of Jerry Hollowell thought of him inthe same way, she would have said that there was a world-wide differencein the two men. Insensibly she was losing the old standards she used toapply to success. Here in Lenox, in this prosperous, agreeable world, there was nothing to remind her of them. 

In her enjoyment of this existence without care, I do not suppose itoccurred to her to examine if her ideals had been lowered. SometimesHenderson had a cynical, mocking tone about the world, which shereproved with a caress, but he was always tolerant and good-natured. Ifhe had told her that he acted upon the maxim that every man and womanhas his and her price she would have been shocked, but she was gettingto make allowances that she would not have made before she learnedto look at the world through his eyes. She could see that the Brandoncircle was over-scrupulous. Her feeling of this would have beenconfirmed if she had known that when her aunt read the letter announcinga month's visit to the Eschelles in Newport, she laid it down with asigh. 

XVI

Uncle Jerry was sitting on the piazza of the Ocean House, absorbedin the stock reports of a New York journal, answering at random theoccasional observations of his wife, who filled up one of the spaciouschairs near him--a florid woman, with diamonds in her ears, who had theresolute air of enjoying herself. It was an August Newport morning, when there is a salty freshness in the air, but a temperature thatdiscourages exertion. A pony phaeton dashed by containing two ladies. The ponies were cream-colored, with flowing manes and tails, and harnessof black and gold; the phaeton had yellow wheels with a black body;the diminutive page with folded arms, on the seat behind, wore a blackjacket and yellow breeches. The lady who held the yellow silk reins wasa blonde with dark eyes. As they flashed by, the lady on the seat withher bowed, and Mr. Hollowell returned the salute. 

"Who's that?" asked Mrs. Hollowell. 

"That's Mrs. Henderson. "

"And the other one?"

"I don't know her. She knows how to handle the ribbons, though. "

"I seen her at the Casino the other night, before you come, with thattandem-driving count. I don't believe he's any more count than you are. "

"Oh, he's all right. He's one of the Spanish legation. This is justthe place for counts. I shouldn't wonder, Maria, if you'd like to bea countess. We can afford it--the Countess Jeremiah, eh?" and UncleJerry's eyes twinkled. 

"Don't be a goose, Mr. Hollowell, " bringing her fat hands round in frontof her, so that she could see the sparkle of the diamond rings on them. "She's as pretty as a picture, that girl, but I should think a good windwould blow her away. I shouldn't want to have her drive me round. "

"Jorkins has sailed, " said Mr. Hollowell, looking up from his paper. "The Planet reporter tried to interview him, but he played sick, said hewas just going over and right back for a change. I guess it will be longenough before they get a chance at him again. "

"I'm glad he's gone. I hope the papers will mind their own business fora spell. "

The house of the Eschelles was on the sea, looking over a vast sweep oflawn to the cliff and the dimpling blue water of the first beach. It wasknown as the Yellow Villa. Coming from the elegance of Lenox, Margaretwas surprised at the magnificence and luxury of this establishment, the great drawing-rooms, the spacious chambers, the wide verandas, thepictures, the flowers, the charming nooks and recessed windows, with handy book-stands, and tables littered with the freshest andmost-talked-of issues from the press of Paris, Madrid, and London. Carmen had taken a hint from Henderson's bachelor apartment, which shehad visited once with her mother, and though she had no literary taste, further than to dip in here and there to what she found toothsome andexciting in various languages, yet she knew the effect of the atmosphereof books, and she had a standing order at a book-shop for whatever wasfresh and likely to come into notice. 

And Carmen was a delightful hostess, both because her laziness gave anair of repose to the place, and she had the tact never to appear to makeany demands upon her guests, and because she knew when to be piquantand exhibit personal interest, and when to show even a little abandon ofvivacity. Society flowed through her house without any obstructions. Itwas scarcely ever too early and never too late for visitors. Those whowere intimate used to lounge in and take up a book, or pass an hour onthe veranda, even when none of the family were at home. Men had a habitof dropping in for a five o'clock cup of tea, and where the men wentthe women needed little urging to follow. At first there had been somereluctance about recognizing the Eschelles fully, and there were stillhouses that exhibited a certain reserve towards them, but the example ofgoing to this house set by the legations, the members of which enjoyeda chat with Miss Eschelle in the freedom of their own tongues and thefreedom of her tongue, went far to break down this barrier. They werespoken of occasionally as "those Eschelles, " but almost everybody wentthere, and perhaps enjoyed it all the more because there had been ashade of doubt about it. 

Margaret's coming was a good card for Carmen. The little legendabout her French ancestry in Newport, and the romantic marriage inRochambeau's time, had been elaborated in the local newspaper, andwhen she appeared the ancestral flavor, coupled with the knowledge ofHenderson's accumulating millions, lent an interest and a certain charmto whatever she said and did. The Eschelle house became more attractivethan ever before, so much so that Mrs. Eschelle declared that she longedfor the quiet of Paris. To her motherly apprehension there was no resultin this whirl of gayety, no serious intention discoverable in any ofthe train that followed Carmen. "You act, child, " she said, "as if youthwould last forever. "

Margaret entered into this life as if she had been born to it. Perhapsshe was. Perhaps most people never find the career for which they arefitted, and struggle along at cross-purposes with themselves. Weall thought that Margaret's natural bent was for some useful andself-sacrificing work in the world, and never could have imagined thatunder any circumstances she would develop into a woman of fashion. 

"I intend to read a great deal this month, " she said to Carmen on herarrival, as she glanced at the litter of books. 

"That was my intention, " replied Carmen; "now we can read together. I'mtaking Spanish lessons of Count Crispo. I've learned two Spanish poemsand a Castilian dance. "

"Is he married?"

"Not now. He told me, when he was teaching me the steps, that his heartwas buried in Seville. "

"He seems to be full of sentiment. "

"Perhaps that is because his salary is so small. Mamma says, of allthings an impecunious count! But he is amusing. "

"But what do you care for money?" asked Margaret, by way of testingCarmen's motives. 

"Nothing, my dear. But deliver me from a husband who is poor; he wouldcertainly be a tyrant. Besides, if I ever marry, it will be with anAmerican. "

"But suppose you fall in love with a poor man?"

"That would be against my principles. Never fall below your ideals--thatis what I heard a speaker say at the Town and Country Club, and that ismy notion. There is no safety for you if you lose your principles. "

"That depends upon what they are, " said Margaret, in the same banteringtone. 

"That sounds like good Mr. Lyon. I suspect he thought I hadn't any. Mamma said I tried to shock him; but he shocked me. Do you think youcould live with such a man twenty-four hours, even if he had his crownon?"

"I can imagine a great deal worse husbands than the Earl of Chisholm. "

"Well, I haven't any imagination. "

There was no reading that day nor the next. In the morning there was adrive with the ponies through town, in the afternoon in the carriageby the sea, with a couple of receptions, the five o'clock tea, withits chatter, and in the evening a dinner party for Margaret. One daysufficed to launch her, and there-after Carmen had only admirationfor the unflagging spirit which Margaret displayed. "If you were onlyunmarried, " she said, "what larks we could have!" Margaret looked graveat this, but only for a moment, for she well knew that she could notplease her husband better than by enjoying the season to the full. Henever criticised her for taking the world as it is; and she confessed toherself that life went very pleasantly in a house where there werenever any questions raised about duties. The really serious thought inCarmen's mind was that perhaps after all a woman had no real freedomuntil she was married. And she began to be interested in Margaret'senjoyment of the world. 

It was not, after all, a new world, only newly arranged, like anotherscene in the same play. The actors, who came and went, were for the mostpart the acquaintances of the Washington winter, and the callers anddiners and opera-goers and charity managers of the city. In these daysMargaret was quite at home with the old set: the British Minister, the Belgian, the French, the Spanish, the Mexican, the German, and theItalian, with their families and attaches--nothing was wanting, not eventhe Chinese mandarin, who had rooms at the hotel, going about everywherein the conscientious discharge of his duties as ambassador to Americansociety, a great favorite on account of his silk apparel, which gavehim the appearance of a clumsy woman, and the everlasting, three-thousand-year-old smile on his broad face, punctiliously leavingin every house a big flaring red piece of paper which the ladies pinnedup for a decoration; a picture of helpless, childlike enjoyment, andalmost independent of the interpreter who followed him about, when hehad learned, upon being introduced to a lady, or taking a cup of tea, tosay "good-by" as distinctly as an articulating machine; a truly learnedman, setting an example of civility and perfect self-possession, but keenly observant of the oddities of the social life to which hismissionary government had accredited him. One would like to have heardthe comments of the minister and his suite upon our manners; but perhapsthey were too polite to make any even in their seclusion. Certain it isthat no one ever heard any of the legation express any opinion but themost suave and flattering. 

And yet they must have been amazed at the activity of this season ofrepose, the endurance of American women who rode to the fox meets, wereexcited spectators of the polo, played lawn-tennis, were incessantlydining and calling, and sat through long dinners served with theformality and dullness and the swarms of liveried attendants of a royalfeast. And they could not but admire the young men, who did not care forpolitics or any business beyond the chances of the stock exchange, butwho expended an immense amount of energy in the dangerous polo contests, in riding at fences after the scent-bag, in driving tandems andfour-in-hands, and yet had time to dress in the cut and shade demandedby every changing hour. 

Formerly the annual chronicle of this summer pageant, in which the samewomen appeared day after day, and the same things were done over andover again, Margaret used to read with a contempt for the life; but thatshe enjoyed it, now she was a part of it, shows that the chroniclers forthe press were unable to catch the spirit of it, the excitement of thepersonal encounters that made it new every day. Looking at a ball isquite another thing from dancing. 

"Yes, it is lively enough, " said Mr. Ponsonby, one afternoon when theyhad returned from the polo grounds and were seated on the veranda. Mr. Ponsonby was a middle-aged Englishman, whose diplomatic labors atvarious courts had worn a bald spot on his crown. Carmen had not yetcome, and they were waiting for a cup of tea. "And they ride well; but Ithink I rather prefer the Wild West Show. "

"You Englishmen, " Margaret retorted, "seem to like the uncivilized. Areyou all tired of civilization?"

"Of some kinds. When we get through with the London season, you know, Mrs. Henderson, we like to rough it, as you call it, for some months. But, 'pon my word, I can't see much difference between Washington andNewport. "

"We might get up a Wild West Show here, or a prize-fight, for you. Doyou know, Mr. Ponsonby, I think it will take full another century forwomen to really civilize men. "

"How so?"

"Get the cruelty and love of brutal sports out of them. "

"Then you'd cease to like us. Nothing is so insipid, I fancy, to a womanas a man made in her own image. "

"Well, what have you against Newport?"

"Against it? I'm sure nothing could be better than this. " And Mr. Ponsonby allowed his adventurous eyes to rest for a moment uponMargaret's trim figure, until he saw a flush in her face. "Thisprospect, " he added, turning to the sea, where a few sails took theslant rays of the sun. 

"'Where every prospect pleases, "' quoted Margaret, "'and only man--'"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Henderson; men are not to be considered. Thewomen in Newport would make the place a paradise even if it were adesert. "

"That is another thing I object to in men. "

"What's that?"

"Flattery. You don't say such things to each other at the club. What isyour objection to Newport?"

"I didn't say I had any. But if you compel me well, the whole thingseems to be a kind of imitation. "

"How?"

"Oh, the way things go on--the steeple-chasing and fox-hunting, and thecarts, and the style of the swell entertainments. Is that ill-natured?"

"Not at all. I like candor, especially English candor. But there is MissEschelle. "

Carmen drove up with Count Crispo, threw the reins to the groom, andreached the ground with a touch on the shoulder of the count, who hadalighted to help her down. 

"Carmen, " said Margaret, "Mr. Ponsonby says that all Newport is just animitation. "

"Of course it is. We are all imitations, except Count Crispo. I'll beta cup of tea against a pair of gloves, " said Carmen, who had facility inpicking up information, "that Mr. Ponsonby wasn't born in England. "

Mr. Ponsonby looked redder than usual, and then laughed, and said, "Well, I was only three years old when I left Halifax. "

"I knew it!" cried Carmen, clapping her hands. "Now come in and have acup of English breakfast tea. That's imitation, too. "

"The mistake you made, " said Margaret, "was not being born in Spain. "

"Perhaps it's not irreparable, " the count interposed, with an air ofgallantry. 

"No, no, " said Carmen, audaciously; "by this time I should be buried inSeville. No, I should prefer Halifax, for it would have been a pleasureto emigrate from Halifax. Was it not, Mr. Ponsonby?"

"I can't remember. But it is a pleasure to sojourn in any land with MissEschelle. "

"Thank you. Now you shall have two cups. Come. "

The next morning, Mr. Jerry Hollowell, having inquired where Margaretwas staying, called to pay his respects, as he phrased it. Carmen, who was with Margaret in the morning-room, received him with her mostdistinguished manner. "We all know Mr. Hollowell, " she said. 

"That's not always an advantage, " retorted Uncle Jerry, seating himself, and depositing his hat beside his chair. "When do you expect yourhusband, Mrs. Henderson?"

"Tomorrow. But I don't mean to tell him that you are here--not atfirst. "

"No, " said Carmen; "we women want Mr. Henderson a little while toourselves. "

"Why, I'm the idlest man in America. I tell Henderson that he ought totake more time for rest. It's no good to drive things. I like quiet. "

"And you get it in Newport?" Margaret asked. 

"Well, my wife and children get what they call quiet. I guess a month ofit would use me up. She says if I had a place here I'd like it. Perhapsso. You are very comfortably fixed, Miss Eschelle. "

"It does very well for us, but something more would be expected of Mr. Hollowell. We are just camping-out here. What Newport needs is a realpalace, just to show those foreigners who come here and patronize us. Why is it, Mr. Hollowell, that all you millionaires can't think ofanything better to do with your money than to put up a big hotel or agreat elevator or a business block?"

"I suppose, " said Uncle Jerry, blandly, "that is because they areinterested in the prosperity of the country, and have simple democratictastes for themselves. I'm afraid you are not democratic, MissEschelle. "

"Oh, I'm anxious about the public also. I'm on your side, Mr. Hollowell;but you don't go far enough. You just throw in a college now and then tokeep us quiet, but you owe it to the country to show the English that ademocrat can have as fine a house as anybody. "

"I call that real patriotism. When I get rich, Miss Eschelle, I'll bearit in mind. "

"Oh, you never will be rich, " said Carmen, sweetly, bound to pursue herwhim. "You might come to me for a start to begin the house. I was verylucky last spring in A. And B. Bonds. "

"How was that? Are you interested in A. And B. ?" asked Uncle Jerry, turning around with a lively interest in this gentle little woman. 

"Oh, no; we sold out. We sold when we heard what an interest there wasin the road. Mamma said it would never do for two capitalists to havetheir eggs in the same basket. "

"What do you mean, Carmen?" asked Margaret, startled. "Why, that is theroad Mr. Henderson is in. "

"Yes, I know, dear. There were too many in it. "

"Isn't it safe?" said Margaret, turning to Hollowell. 

"A great deal more solid than it was, " he replied. "It is part of athrough line. I suppose Miss Eschelle found a better investment. "

"One nearer home, " she admitted, in the most matter-of-fact way. 

"Henderson must have given the girl points, " thought Hollowell. He beganto feel at home with her. If he had said the truth, it would have beenthat she was more his kind than Mrs. Henderson, but that he respectedthe latter more. 

"I think we might go in partnership, Miss Eschelle, to mutualadvantage--but not in building. Your ideas are too large for me there. "

"I should be a very unreliable partner, Mr. Hollowell; but I couldenlarge your ideas, if I had time. "

Hollowell laughed, and said he hadn't a doubt of that. Margaret inquiredfor Mrs. Hollowell and the children, and she and Carmen appointed anhour for calling at the Ocean House. The talk went to other topics, andafter a half-hour ended in mutual good-feeling. 

"What a delightful old party!" said Carmen, after he had gone. "I've amind to adopt him. "

In a week Hollowell and Carmen were the best of friends. She called him"Uncle Jerry, " and buzzed about him, to his great delight. "The beautyof it is, " he said, "you never can tell where she will light. "

Everybody knows what Newport is in August, and we need not dwell on it. To Margaret, with its languidly moving pleasures, its well-bred scenery, the luxury that lulled the senses into oblivion of the vulgar struggleand anxiety which ordinarily attend life, it was little less thanparadise. To float along with Carmen, going deeper and deeper into theshifting gayety which made the days fly without thought and with no carefor tomorrow, began to seem an admirable way of passing life. What couldone do fitter, after all, for a world hopelessly full of sufferingand poverty and discontent, than to set an example of cheerfulnessand enjoyment, and to contribute, as occasion offered, to the lessfortunate? Would it help matters to be personally anxious and miserable?To put a large bill in the plate on Sunday, to open her purse widefor the objects of charity and relief daily presented, was indeed aprivilege and a pleasure, and a satisfaction to the conscience whichoccasionally tripped her in her rapid pace. 

"I don't believe you have a bit of conscience, " said Margaret to Carmenone Sunday, as they walked home from morning service, when Margaret hadresponded "extravagantly, " as Carmen said, to an appeal for the missionamong the city pagans. 

"I never said I had, dear. It must be the most troublesome thing youcan carry around with you. Of course I am interested in the heathen, butcharity--that is where I agree with Uncle Jerry--begins at home, and Idon't happen to know a greater heathen than I am. "

"If you were as bad as you make yourself out, I wouldn't walk with youanother step. "

"Well, you ask mother. She was in such a rage one day when I told Mr. Lyon that he'd better look after Ireland than go pottering round amongthe neglected children. Not that I care anything about the Irish, " addedthis candid person. 

"I suppose you wanted to make it pleasant for Mr. Lyon?"

"No; for mother. She can't get over the idea that she is still bringingme up. And Mr. Lyon! Goodness! there was no living with him after hisvisit to Brandon. Do you know, Margaret, that I think you are just alittle bit sly?"

"I don't know what you mean, " said Margaret, looking offended. 

"Dear, I don't blame you, " said the impulsive creature, wheeling shortround and coming close to Margaret. "I'd kiss you this minute if we werenot in the public road. "

When Henderson came, Margaret's world was full; no desire wasungratified. He experienced a little relief when she did not bother himabout his business nor inquire into his operations with Hollowell, andhe fancied that she was getting to accept the world as Carmen acceptedit. There had been moments since his marriage when he feared thatMargaret's scruples would interfere with his career, but never a momentwhen he had doubted that her love for him would be superior to anysolicitations from others. Carmen, who knew him like a book, would havesaid that the model wife for Henderson would be a woman devoted to himand to his interests, and not too scrupulous. A wife is a torment, ifyou can't feel at ease with her. 

"If there were only a French fleet in the harbor, dear, " said Margaretone day, "I should feel that I had quite taken up the life of mygreat-great-grandmother. "

They were sailing in Hollowell's yacht, in which Uncle Jerry had broughthis family round from New York. He hated the water, but Mrs. Hollowelland the children doted on the sea, he said. 

"Wouldn't the torpedo station make up for it?" Henderson asked. 

"Hardly. But it shows the change of a hundred years. Only, isn't it odd, this personal dropping back into an old situation? I wonder what she waslike?"

"The accounts say she was the belle of Newport. I suppose Newport has abelle once in a hundred years. The time has come round. But I confessI don't miss the French fleet, " replied Henderson, with a look of lovethat thrilled Margaret through and through. 

"But you would have been an officer on the fleet, and I should havefallen in love with you. Ah, well, it is better as it is. "

And it was better. The days went by without a cloud. Even afterHenderson had gone, the prosperity of life filled her heart more andmore. 

"She might have been like me, " Carmen said to herself, "if she hadonly started right; but it is so hard to get rid of a New Englandconscience. "

When Margaret stayed in her room, one morning, to write a long-postponedletter to her aunt, she discovered that she had very little to write, at least that she wanted to write, to her aunt. She began, however, resolutely with a little account of her life. But it seemed anotherthing on paper, addressed to the loving eyes at Brandon. There were toomuch luxury and idleness and triviality in it, too much Carmen and CountCrispo and flirtation and dissipation in it. 

She tore it up, and went to the window and looked out upon the sea. Shewas indignant with the Brandon people that they should care so littleabout this charming life. She was indignant at herself that she had tornup the letter. What had she done that anybody should criticise her?Why shouldn't she live her life, and not be hampered everlastingly bycomparisons?

She sat down again, and took up her pen. Was she changing--was shechanged? Why was it that she had felt a little relief when her lastBrandon visit was at an end, a certain freedom in Lenox and a greaterfreedom in Newport? The old associations became strong again in hermind, the life in the little neighborhood, the simplicity of it, thehigh ideals of it, the daily love and tenderness. Her aunt was no doubtwondering now that she did not write, and perhaps grieving that Margaretno more felt at home in Brandon. It was too much. She loved them, sheloved them all dearly. She would write that, and speak only generallyof her frivolous, happy summer. And she began, but somehow the letterseemed stiff and to lack the old confiding tone. 

But why should they disapprove of her? She thought of her husband. If circumstances had altered, was she to blame? Could she always bethinking of what they would think at Brandon? It was an intolerablebondage. They had no right to set themselves up over her. Suppose heraunt didn't like Carmen. She was not responsible for Carmen. What wouldthey have her do? Be unhappy because Henderson was prosperous, and shecould indulge her tastes and not have to drudge in school? Suppose shedid look at some things differently from what she used to. She knew moreof the world. Must you shut yourself up because you found you couldn'ttrust everybody? What was Mr. Morgan always hitting at? Had he anybetter opinion of men and women than her husband had? Was he any morecharitable than Uncle Jerry? She smiled as she thought of Uncle Jerryand his remark--"It's a very decent world if you don't huff it. " No; shedid like this life, and she was not going to pretend that she didn't. Itwould be dreadful to lose the love and esteem of her dear old friends, and she cried a little as this possibility came over her. And then shehardened her heart a little at the thought that she could not help it ifthey chose to misunderstand her and change. 

Carmen was calling from the stairs that it was time to dress forthe drive. She dashed off a note. It contained messages of love foreverybody, but it was the first one in her life written to her aunt notfrom her heart. 

XVII

Shall we never have done with this carping at people who succeed? Arethose who start and don't arrive any better than those who do arrive?Did not men always make all the money they had an opportunity to make?Must we always have the old slow-coach merchants and planters thrown upto us? Talk of George Washington and the men of this day! Were thingsany better because they were on a small scale? Wasn't the thrifty GeorgeWashington always adding to his plantations, and squeezing all he couldout of his land and his slaves? What are the negro traditions aboutit? Were they all patriots in the Revolutionary War? Were there nocontractors who amassed fortunes then? And how was it in the late war?The public has a great spasm of virtue all of a sudden. But we have gotpast the day of stage-coaches. 

Something like this Henderson was flinging out to Carmen as he pacedback and forth in her parlor. It was very unlike him, this outburst, and Carmen knew that he would indulge in it to no one else, not evento Uncle Jerry. She was coiled up in a corner of the sofa, her eyessparkling with admiration of his indignation and force. I confess thathe had been irritated by the comments of the newspapers, and by theprodding of the lawyers in the suit then on trial over the Southwesternconsolidation. 

"Why, there was old Mansfield saying in his argument that he had hadsome little experience in life, but he never had known a man to get richrapidly, barring some piece of luck, except by means that it would makehim writhe to have made public. I don't know but that Uncle Jerry wasright, that we made a mistake in not retaining him for the corporation. "

"Not if you win, " said Carmen, softly. "The public won't care for theremark unless you fail. "

"And he tried to prejudice the Court by quoting the remark attributed toUncle Jerry, 'The public be d----d' as if, said Mansfield, the public hasno rights as--against the railroad wreckers. Uncle Jerry laughed, andinterrupted: 'That's nonsense, reporters' nonsense. What I said was thatif the public thought I was fool enough to make it our enemy, the publicmight be d---d (begging your honor's pardon). ' Then everybody laughed. 'It's the bond holders, who want big dividends, that stand in the way ofthe development of the country, that's what it is, ' said he, as he satdown, to those around him, but loud enough to be heard all overthe room. Mansfield asked the protection of the Court against theseclap-trap interruptions. The judge said it was altogether irregular, and Uncle Jerry begged pardon. The reporters made this incident the oneprominent thing in the case that day. "

"What a delightful Uncle Jerry it is!" said Carmen. "You'd better keepan eye on him, Rodney; he'll be giving your money to that theologicalseminary in Alabama. "

"That reminds me, " Henderson said, cooling down, "of a paragraph inThe Planet, the other day, about the amount of my gifts unknown to thepublic. I showed it to Uncle Jerry, and he said, 'Yes, I mentioned it tothe editor; such things don't do any harm. '"

"I saw it, and wondered who started it, " Carmen replied, wrinkling herbrows as if she had been a good deal perplexed about it. 

"I thought, " said Henderson, with a smile, "that it ought to beexplained to you. "

"No, " she said, reflectively; "you are liberal enough, goodnessknows--too liberal--but you are not a flat. "

Henderson was in the habit of dropping in at the Eschelles'occasionally, when he wanted to talk freely. He had no need to wear amask with Carmen. Her moral sense was tolerant and elastic, and femininesympathy of this sort is a grateful cushion. She admired Henderson, without thinking any too well of the world in general, and she admiredhim for the qualities that were most conformable to his inclination. Itwas no case of hero-worship, to be sure, nor for tragedy; but then whata satisfaction it must be to sweet Lady Macbeth, coiled up on her sofa, to feel that the thane of Cawdor has some nerve!

The Hendersons had come back to Washington Square late in the autumn. Itis a merciful provision that one has an orderly and well-appointed hometo return to from the fatigues of the country. Margaret, at any rate, was a little tired with the multiform excitements of her summer, andexperienced a feeling of relief when she crossed her own threshold andentered into the freedom and quiet of her home. She was able to shutthe door there even against the solicitations of nature and againstthe weariness of it also. How quiet it was in the square in those lateautumn days, and yet not lifeless by any means! Indeed, it seemed allthe more a haven because the roar of the great city environed it, andone could feel, without being disturbed by, the active pulsation ofhuman life. And then, if one has sentiment, is there anywhere that it ismore ministered to than in the city at the close of the year? The treesin the little park grow red and yellow and brown, the leaves fall andswirl and drift in windrows by the paths, the flower-beds flame forth inthe last dying splendor of their color; the children, chasing eachother with hoop and ball about the walks, are more subdued than in thespring-time; the old men, seeking now the benches where the sunshinefalls, sit in dreamy reminiscence of the days that are gone; thewandering minstrel of Italy turns the crank of his wailing machine, O!bella, bella, as in the spring, but the notes seem to come from far offand to be full of memory rather than of promise; and at early morning, or when the shadows lengthen at evening, the south wind that stirs thetrees has a salt smell, and sends a premonitory shiver of change to thefading foliage. But how bright are the squares and the streets, for allthis note of melancholy! Life is to begin again. 

But the social season opened languidly. It takes some time to recoverfrom the invigoration of the summer gayety--to pick up again the threadsand weave them into that brilliant pattern, which scarcely shows all itsloveliness of combination and color before the weavers begin to work inthe subdued tints of Lent. How delightful it is to see this knitting andunraveling of the social fabric year after year! and how untiring arethe senders of the shuttles, the dyers, the hatchelers, the spinners, the ever-busy makers and destroyers of the intricate web we callsociety! After one campaign, must there not be time given to organizefor another? Who has fallen out, who are the new recruits, who areengaged, who will marry, who have separated, who has lost his money?Before we can safely reorganize we must not only examine the heartsbut the stock-list. No matter how many brilliant alliances have beenarranged, no matter how many husbands and wives have drifted apart inthe local whirlpools of the summer's current, the season will be dullif Wall Street is torpid and discouraged. We cannot any of us, you see, live to ourselves alone. Does not the preacher say that? And do we notall look about us in the pews, when he thus moralizes, to see who hasprospered? The B's have taken a back seat, the C's have moved up nearerthe pulpit. There is a reason for these things, my friends. 

I am sorry to say that Margaret was usually obliged to go alone to thelittle church where she said her prayers; for however restful her lifemight have been while that season was getting under way, Henderson wasinvolved in the most serious struggle of his life--a shameful kind ofconspiracy, Margaret told Carmen, against him. I have hinted at hisannoyance in the courts. Ever since September he had been pestered withinjunctions, threatened with attachments. And now December had come andCongress was in session; in the very first days an investigationhad been ordered into the land grants involved in the Southwesternoperations. Uncle Jerry was in Washington to explain matters there, and Henderson, with the ablest counsel in the city, was fighting in thecourts. The affair made a tremendous stir. Some of the bondholders ofthe A. And B. Happened to be men of prominence, and able to make a noiseabout their injury. As several millions were involved in this one branchof the case--the suit of the bondholders--the newspapers treated itwith the consideration and dignity it deserved. It was a vast financialoperation, some said, scathingly, a "deal, " but the magnitude of itprevented it from falling into the reports of petty swindling thatappear in the police-court column. It was a public affair, and not tobe judged by one's private standard. I know that there were remarks madeabout Henderson that would have pained Margaret if she had heard them, but I never heard that he lost standing in the street. Still, in justiceto the street it must be said that it charitably waits for things to beproven, and that if Henderson had failed, he might have had little morelenient judgment in the street than elsewhere. 

In fact, those were very trying days for him-days when he needed all theprivate sympathy he could get, and to be shielded, in his great fightwith the conspiracy, from petty private annoyances. It needed all hiscourage and good-temper and bonhomie to carry him through. That he wentthrough was evidence not only of his adroitness and ability, but it wasproof also that he was a good fellow. If there were people who thoughtotherwise, I never heard that they turned their backs on him, or failedin that civility which he never laid aside in his intercourse withothers. 

If a man present a smiling front to the world under extreme trial, isnot that all that can be expected of him? Shall he not be excused forshowing a little irritation at home when things go badly? Hendersonwas as good-humored a man as I ever knew, and he loved Margaret, he wasproud of her, he trusted her. Since when did the truest love prevent aman from being petulant, even to the extent of wounding those he bestloves, especially if the loved one shows scruples when sympathy isneeded? The reader knows that the present writer has no great confidencein the principle of Carmen; but if she had been married, and her husbandhad wrecked an insurance company and appropriated all the surplusbelonging to the policy-holders, I don't believe she would have naggedhim about it. 

And yet Margaret loved Henderson with her whole soul. And in this stageof her progress in the world she showed that she did, though not in theway Carmen would have showed her love, if she had loved, and if she hada soul capable of love. 

It may have been inferred from Henderson's exhibition of temper that hiscase had gone against him. It is true; an injunction had been granted inthe lower court, and public opinion went with the decree, and was ina great measure satisfied by it. But this fight had really only justbegun; it would go on in the higher courts, with new resources andinfinite devices, which the public would be unable to fathom or follow, until by-and-by it would come out that a compromise had been made, and the easy public would not understand that this compromise gave thelooters of the railway substantially all they ever expected to get. Themorning after the granting of the injunction Henderson had been silentand very much absorbed at breakfast, hardly polite, Margaret thought, and so inattentive to her remarks that she asked him twice whether theyshould accept the Brandon invitation to Christmas. "Christmas! I don'tknow. I've got other things to think of than Christmas, " he said, scarcely looking at her, and rising abruptly and going away to hislibrary. 

When the postman brought Margaret's mail there was a letter in it fromher aunt, which she opened leisurely after the other notes had beenglanced through, on the principle that a family letter can wait, orfrom the fancy that some have of keeping the letter likely to be mostinteresting till the last. But almost the first line enchained herattention, and as she read, her heart beat faster, and her face becamescarlet. It was very short, and I am able to print it, because allMargaret's correspondence ultimately came into possession of her aunt:

 "BRANDON, December 17th. 

 "DEAREST MARGARET, --You do not say whether you will come for Christmas, but we infer from your silence that you will. You know how pained we shall all be if you do not. Yet I fear the day will not be as pleasant as we could wish. In fact, we are in a good deal of trouble. You know, dear, that poor Mrs. Fletcher had nearly every dollar of her little fortune invested in the A. And B. Bonds, and for ten months she has not had a cent of income, and no prospect of any. Indeed, Morgan says that she will be lucky if she ultimately saves half her principal. We try to cheer her up, but she is so cast down and mortified to have to live, as she says, on charity. And it does make rather close house-keeping, though I'm sure I couldn't live alone without her. It does not make so much difference with Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Morgan, for they have plenty of other resources. Mr. Fairchild tells her that she is in very good company, for lots of the bonds are held in Brandon, and she is not the only widow who suffers; but this is poor consolation. We had great hopes, the other day, of the trial, but Morgan says it may be years before any final settlement. I don't believe Mr. Henderson knows. But there, dearest, I won't find fault. We are all well, and eager to see you. Do come. 

 "Your affectionate aunt, "GEORGIAN A. "

Margaret's hand that held the letter trembled, and the eyes that readthese words were hot with indignation; but she controlled herself intoan appearance of calmness as she marched away with it straight to thelibrary. 

As she entered, Henderson was seated at his desk, with bowed head andperplexed brows, sorting a pile of papers before him, and making notes. He did not look up until she came close to him and stood at the end ofhis desk. Then, turning his eyes for a moment, and putting out his lefthand to her, he said, "Well, what is it, dear?"

"Will you read that?" said Margaret, in a voice that sounded strange inher own ears. 

"What?"

"A letter from Aunt Forsythe. "

"Family matter. Can't it wait?" said Henderson, going on with hisfiguring. 

"If it can, I cannot, " Margaret answered, in a tone that caused him toturn abruptly and look at her. He was so impatient and occupied thateven yet he did not comprehend the new expression in her face. 

"Don't you see I am busy, child? I have an engagement in twenty minutesin my office. "

"You can read it in a moment, " said Margaret, still calm. 

Henderson took the letter with a gesture of extreme annoyance, ran hiseye through it, flung it from him on the table, and turned squarelyround in his chair. 

"Well, what of it?"

"To ruin poor Mrs. Fletcher and a hundred like her!" cried Margaret, with rising indignation. 

"What have I to do with it? Did I make their investments? Do you think Ihave time to attend to every poor duck? Why don't people look where theyput their money?"

"It's a shame, a burning shame!" she cried, regarding him steadily. 

"Oh, yes; no doubt. I lost a hundred thousand yesterday; did I whineabout it? If I want to buy anything in the market, have I got to lookinto every tuppenny interest concerned in it? If Mrs. Fletcher oranybody else has any complaint against me, the courts are open. I defythe whole pack!" Henderson thundered out, rising and buttoning hiscoat--"the whole pack!"

"And you have nothing else to say, Rodney?" Margaret persisted, notquailing in the least before his indignation. He had never seen her sobefore, and he was now too much in a passion to fully heed her. 

"Oh, women, women!" he said, taking up his hat, "you have sympathyenough for anybody but your husbands. " He pushed past her, and was gonewithout another word or look. 

Margaret turned to follow him. She would have cried "Stop!" but the wordstuck in her throat. She was half beside herself with rage for amoment. But he had gone. She heard the outer door close. Shame and griefovercame her. She sat down in the chair he had just occupied. It wasinfamous the way Mrs. Fletcher was treated. And her husband--her husbandwas so regardless of it. If he was not to blame for it, why didn't hetell her--why didn't he explain? And he had gone away without looking ather. He had left her for the first time since they were married withoutkissing her! She put her head down on the desk and sobbed; it seemed asif her heart would break. Perhaps he was angry, and wouldn't come back, not for ever so long. 

How cruel to say that she did not sympathize with her husband! How couldhe be angry with her for her natural anxiety about her old friend! Hewas unjust. There must be something wrong in these schemes, these greatoperations that made so many confiding people suffer. Was everybodygrasping and selfish? She got up and walked about the dear room, whichrecalled to her only the sweetest memories; she wandered aimlessly aboutthe lower part of the house. She was wretchedly unhappy. Was her husbandcapable of such conduct? Would he cease to love her for what she haddone--for what she must do? How lovely this home was! Everything spokeof his care, his tenderness, his quickness to anticipate her slightestwish or whim. It had been all created for her. She looked listlesslyat the pictures, the painted ceiling, where the loves garlanded withflowers chased each other; she lifted and let drop wearily the richhangings. He had said that it was all hers. How pretty was this vistathrough the luxurious rooms down to the green and sunny conservatory. And she shrank instinctively from it all. Was it hers? No; it was his. And was she only a part of it? Was she his? How cold his look as he wentaway!

What is this love, this divine passion, of which we hear so much? Is it, then, such a discerner of right and wrong? Is it better than anythingelse? Does it take the place of duty, of conscience? And yet what anunbearable desert, what a den of wild beasts it would be, this world, without love, the passionate, all-surrendering love of the man and thewoman!

In the chambers, in her own apartments, into which she dragged hersteps, it was worse than below. Everything here was personal. Mrs. Fairchild had said that it was too rich, too luxurious; but her husbandwould have it so. Nothing was too costly, too good, for the woman heloved. How happy she had been in this boudoir, this room, her very own, with her books, the souvenirs of all her happy life!

It seemed alien now, external, unsympathetic. Here, least of all places, could she escape from herself, from her hateful thoughts. It was achilly day, and a bright fire crackled on the hearth. The square wasalmost deserted, though the sun illuminated it, and showed all thedelicate tracery of the branches and twigs. It was a December sun. Hereasy-chair was drawn to the fire and her book-stand by it, with thenovel turned down that she had been reading the night before. She satdown and took up the book. She had lost her interest in the characters. Fiction! What stuff it was compared to the reality of her own life! No, it was impossible. She must do something. She went to her dressing-roomand selected a street dress. She took pleasure in putting on theplainest costume she could find, rejecting every ornament, everythingbut the necessary and the simple. She wanted to get back to herself. Hermaid appeared in response to the bell. 

"I am going out, Marie. "

"Will madame have the carriage?"

"No, I will walk; I need exercise. Tell Jackson not to serve lunch. "

Yes, she would walk; for it was his carriage, after all. 

It was after mid-day. In the keen air and the bright sunshine thestreets were brilliant. Margaret walked on up the avenue. How gaywas the city, what a zest of life in the animated scene! The throngincreased as she approached Twenty-third Street. In the place wherethree or four currents meet there was the usual jam of carriages, furniture wagons, carts, cars, and hurried, timid, half-bewilderedpassengers trying to make their way through it. It was all such awhirl and confusion. A policeman aided Margaret to gain the side of thesquare. Children were playing there; white-capped maids were pushingabout baby-carriages; the sparrows chattered and fought with as muchvivacity as if they were natives of the city instead of foreigners inpossession. It seemed all so empty and unreal. What was she, one womanwith an aching heart, in the midst of it all? What had she done? Howcould she have acted otherwise? Was he still angry with her? The citywas so vast and cruel. On the avenue again there was the same unceasingroar of carts and carriages; business, pleasure, fashion, idleness, thestream always went by. From one and another carriage Margaret received abow, a cool nod, or a smile of greeting. Perhaps the occupants wonderedto see her on foot and alone. What did it matter? How heartless it allwas! what an empty pageant! If he was alienated, there was nothing. Andyet she was right. For a moment she thought of the Arbusers. She thoughtof Carmen. She must see somebody. No, she couldn't talk. She couldn'ttrust herself. She must bear it alone. 

And how weary it was, walking, walking, with such a burden! House afterhouse, street after street, closed doors, repellant fronts, staring ather. Suppose she were poor and hungry, a woman wandering forlorn, howstony and pitiless these insolent mansions! And was she not burdened andfriendless and forlorn! Tired, she reached at last, and with no purpose, the great white cathedral. The door was open. In all this street ofchurches and palaces there was no other door open. Perhaps here for amoment she could find shelter from the world, a quiet corner where shecould rest and think and pray. 

She entered. It was almost empty, but down the vista of the greatcolumns hospitable lights gleamed, and here and there a man or awoman--more women than men--was kneeling in the great aisle, before apicture, at the side of a confessional, at the steps of the altar. Howhushed and calm and sweet it was! She crept into a pew in a side aislein the shelter of a pillar; and sat down. Presently, in the far apse, an organ began to play, its notes stealing softly out through the greatspaces like a benediction. She fancied that the saints, the glorifiedmartyrs in the painted windows illumined by the sunlight, could feel, could hear, were touched by human sympathy in their beatitude. There waspeace here at any rate, and perhaps strength. What a dizzy whirl itall was in which she had been borne along! The tones of the organrose fuller and fuller, and now at the side entrances came pouring inchildren, the boys on one side, the girls on another-school childrenwith their books and satchels, the poor children of the parish, longlines of girls and of boys, marshaled by priests and nuns, streamingin--in frolicsome mood, and filling all the pews of the nave at thefront. They had their books out, their singing-books; at a signal theyall stood up; a young priest with his baton stepped into the centreaisle; he waved his stick, Margaret heard his sweet tenor voice, andthen the whole chorus of children's voices rising and filling all thehouse with the innocent concord, but always above all the penetrating, soaring notes of the priest-strong, clear, persuading. Was it not almostangelic there at the moment? And how inspired the beautiful face of thesinger leading the children!

Ah, me! it is not all of the world worldly, then. I don't know that thesinging was very good: it was not classical, I fear; not a voice, maybe, that priest's, not a chorus, probably, that, for the Metropolitan. Ihear the organ is played better elsewhere. Song after song, chorus afterchorus, repeated, stopped, begun again: it was only drilling the littleurchins of the parochial schools--little ragamuffins, I dare say, manyof them. What was there in this to touch a woman of fashion, sittingthere crying in her corner? Was it because they were children's voices, and innocent? Margaret did not care to check her tears. She was thinkingof her old home, of her own childhood, nay, of her girlhood--it was notso long ago--of her ideals then, of her notion of the world and what itwould bring her, of the dear, affectionate life, the simple life, theschool, the little church, her room in the cottage--the chamber wherefirst the realization of love came to her with the odors of May. Wasit gone, that life?--gone or going out of her heart? And--greatheavens!--if her husband should be cold to her! Was she very worldly?Would he love her if she were as unworldly as she once was? Why shouldthis childish singing raise these contrasts, and put her at odds so withher own life? For a moment I doubt not this dear girl saw herself as wewere beginning to see her. Who says that the rich and the prosperous andthe successful do not need pity?

Was this a comforting hour, do you think, for Margaret in the cathedral?Did she get any strength, I wonder? When the singing was over and theorgan ceased, and the children had filed out, she stole away also, wearily and humbly enough, and took the stage down the avenue. It wasnear the dinner-hour, and Henderson, if he came, would be at home anymoment. It seemed as if she could not wait--only to see him!

XVIII

Do you suppose that Henderson had never spoken impatiently and sharplyto his wife before, that Margaret had never resented it and repliedwith spirit, and been hurt and grieved, and that there had never beenreconciliations? In writing any biography there are some things that aretaken for granted with an intelligent public. Are men always gentle andconsiderate, and women always even-tempered and consistent, simply byvirtue of a few words said to the priest?

But this was a more serious affair. Margaret waited in a tumult ofemotion. She felt that she would die if she did not see him soon, andshe dreaded his coming. A horrible suspicion had entered her mind thatrespect for her husband, confidence in him, might be lowered, and a morehorrible doubt that she might lose his love. That she could not bear. And was Henderson unconscious of all this? I dare say that in theperplexing excitement of the day he did recall for a moment with akeen thrust of regret the scene of the morning-his wife standing thereflushed, wounded, indignant. "I might have turned back, and taken herin my arms, and told her it was all right, " he thought. He wished he haddone so. But what nonsense it was to think that she could be seriouslytroubled! Besides, he couldn't have women interfering with him everymoment. 

How inconsiderate men are! They drop a word or a phrase--they do notknow how cruel it is--or give a look--they do not know how cold itis--and are gone without a second thought about it; but it sinks intothe woman's heart and rankles there. For the instant it is like a mortalblow, it hurts so, and in the brooding spirit it is exaggerated into ahopeless disaster. The wound will heal with a kind word, with kisses. Yes, but never, never without a little scar. But woe to the woman's lovewhen she becomes insensible to these little stabs!

Henderson hurried home, then, more eagerly than usual, with reparationin his heart, but still with no conception of the seriousness of thebreach. Margaret heard the key in the door, heard his hasty step in thehall, heard him call, as he always did on entering, "Margaret! whereis Margaret?" and she, sitting there in the deep window looking on thesquare, longed to run to him, as usual also, and be lifted up in hisstrong arms; but she could not stir. Only when he found her did sherise up with a wistful look and a faint smile. "Have you had a good day, child?" And he kissed her. But her kiss was on her lips only, for herheart was heavy. 

"Dinner will be served as soon as you dress, " she said. What a greetingwas this! Who says that a woman cannot be as cruel as a man? The dinnerwas not very cheerful, though Margaret did her best not to appearconstrained, and Henderson rattled on about the events of the day. Ithad been a deuce of a day, but it was coming right; he felt sure thatthe upper court would dissolve the injunction; the best counsel saidso; and the criminal proceedings--"Had there been criminal proceedings?"asked Margaret, with a stricture at her heart--had broken downcompletely, hadn't a leg to stand on, never had, were only begun tobluff the company. It was a purely malicious prosecution. And Hendersondid not think it necessary to tell Margaret that only Uncle Jerry'sdexterity had spared both of them the experience of a night in theLudlow Street jail. 

"Come, " said Henderson--"come into the library. I have something to tellyou. " He put his arm round her as they walked, and seating himself inhis chair by his desk in front of the fire, he tried to draw Margaret tosit on his knee. 

"No; I'll sit here, so that I can see you, " she said, composed andunyielding. 

He took out his pocket-book, selected a slip of paper, and laid it onthe table before him. "There, that is a check for seven hundred dollars. I looked in the books. That is the interest for a year on the Fletcherbonds. Might as well make it an even year; it will be that soon. "

"Do you mean to say--" asked Margaret, leaning forward. 

"Yes; to brighten up the Christmas up there a little. "

"--that you are going to send that to Mrs. Fletcher?" Margaret hadrisen. 

"Oh, no; that wouldn't do. I cannot send it, nor know anything aboutit. It would raise the--well, it would--if the other bondholders knewanything about it. But you can change that for your check, and nobodythe wiser. "

"Oh, Rodney!" She was on his knee now. He was good, after all. Her headwas on his shoulder, and she was crying a little. "I've been so unhappy, so unhappy, all day! And I can send that?" She sprang up. "I'll do itthis minute--I'll run and get my check-book!" But before she reached thedoor she turned back, and came and stood by him and kissed him again andagain, and tumbled up his hair, and looked at him. There is, after all, nothing in the world like a woman. 

"Time enough in the morning, " said Henderson, detaining her. "I want totell you all about it. "

What he told her was, in fact, the case as it had been presented by hislawyers, and it seemed a very large, a constitutional, kind of case. "Ofcourse, " he said, "in the rivalry and competition of businesssomebody must go to the wall, and in a great scheme of development andreorganization of the transportation of a region as big as an empiresome individual interests will suffer. You can't help these changes. I'msorry for some of them--very sorry; but nothing would ever be done ifwe waited to consider every little interest. And that the men who createthese great works, and organize these schemes for the benefit of thewhole public, shouldn't make anything by their superior enterprise andcourage is all nonsense. The world is not made that way. "

The explanation, I am bound to say, was one that half the worldconsiders valid; it was one that squeezed through the courts. And whenit was done, and the whole thing had blown over, who cared? There weresome bondholders who said that it was rascally, that they had beenboldly swindled. In the clubs, long after, you would hear it said thatHollowell and Henderson were awfully sharp, and hard to beat. It is avery bad business, said the Brandon parliament, and it just shows thatthe whole country is losing its moral sense, its capacity to judge whatis right and what is wrong. 

I do not say that this explanation, the nature of which I have onlyindicated, would have satisfied the clear mind of Margaret a year or twobefore. But it was made by the man she loved, the man who had broughther out into a world that was full of sunlight and prosperity andsatisfied desire; and more and more, day by day, she saw the worldthrough his eyes, and accepted his estimate of the motives ofpeople--and a low estimate I fear it was. Who would not be rich if hecould? Do you mean to tell me that a man who is getting fat dividendsout of a stock does not regard more leniently the manner in which thatstock is manipulated than one who does not own any of it? I dare say, if Carmen had heard that explanation, and seen Margaret's tearful, happyacceptance of it, she would have shaken her pretty head and said, "Theyare getting too worldly for me. "

In the morning the letter was despatched to Miss Forsythe, enclosing thecheck for Mrs. Fletcher--a joyful note, full of affection. "We cannotcome, " Margaret wrote. "My husband cannot leave, and he does not want tospare me"--the little hypocrite! he had told her that she could easilygo for a day "but we shall think of you dear ones all day, and I do hopethat now there will not be the least cloud on your Christmas. "

It seems a great pity, in view of the scientific organization ofsociety, that there are so many sensibilities unclassified andunprovided for in the otherwise perfect machinery. Why should the beggarto whom you toss a silver dollar from your carriage feel a little grudgeagainst you? Perhaps he wouldn't like to earn the dollar, but if it hadbeen accompanied by a word of sympathy, his sensibility might have beensoothed by your recognition of human partnership in the goods of thisworld. People not paupers are all eager to take what is theirs of right;but anything in the semblance of charity is a bitter pill to swallowuntil self-respect is a little broken down. Probably the resentment liesin the recognition of the truth that it is much easier to be charitablethan to be just. If Margaret had seen the effect produced by herletter she might have thought of this; she might have gone further, and reflected upon what would have been her own state of mind two yearsearlier if she had received such a letter. Miss Forsythe read it with avery heavy heart. She hesitated about showing it to Mrs. Fletcher, andwhen she did, and gave her the check, it was with a sense of shame. 

"The insolence of the thing!" cried Mrs. Fletcher, as soon as shecomprehended it. 

"Not insolence, " pleaded Miss Forsythe, softly; "it is out of thekindness of her heart. She would be dreadfully wounded to know that youtook it so. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Fletcher, hotly, "I like that kind of sensibility. Does she think I have no feeling? Does she think I would take from heras a charity what her husband knows is mine by right?"

"Perhaps her husband--"

"No, " Mrs. Fletcher interrupted. "Why didn't he send it, then? whydidn't the company send it? They owe it. I'm not a pauper. And all theother bondholders who need the money as much as I do! I'm not sayingthat if the company sent it I should refuse it because the others hadbeen treated unjustly; but to take it as a favor, like a beggar!"

"Of course you cannot take it from Margaret, " said Miss Forsythe sadly. 

"How dreadful it is!"

Mrs. Fletcher would have shared her last crust with Miss Forsythe, and if her own fortune were absolutely lost, she would not hesitate toaccept the shelter of her present home, using her energies to add totheir limited income, serving and being served in all love and trust. But this is different from taking a bounty from the rich. 

The check had to go back. Even my wife, who saw no insolence inMargaret's attempt, applauded Mrs. Fletcher's spirit. She told MissForsythe that if things did not mend they might get a few little pupilsfor Mrs. Fletcher from the neighborhood, and Miss Forsythe knew thatshe was thinking that her own boy might have been one of them if he hadlived. Mr. Morgan was a little satirical, as usual. He thought it wouldbe a pity to check Margaret's growing notion that there was no wrongthat money could not heal a remark that my wife thought unjust to thegirl. Mrs. Fletcher was for re-enclosing the check without a word ofcomment, but that Miss Forsythe would not do. 

"My dearest Margaret, " she wrote, "I know the kindness of heart thatmoved you to do this, and I love you more than ever, and am crying asI think of it. But you must see yourself, when you reflect, that Mrs. Fletcher could not take this from you. Her self-respect would not permitit. Somebody has done a great wrong, and only those who have done itcan undo it. I don't know much about such things, my dear, and I don'tbelieve all that the newspapers have been saying, but there would be noneed for charity if there had not been dishonesty somewhere. I cannothelp thinking that. We do not blame you. And you must not take it toheart that I am compelled to send this back. I understand why you sentit, and you must try to understand why it cannot be kept. "

There was more of this sort in the letter. It was full of a kind ofsorrowful yearning, as if there was fear that Margaret's love wereslipping away and all the old relations were being broken up, but yetit had in it a certain moral condemnation that the New England spinstercould not conceal. Softened as it was by affectionate words, and allthe loving messages of the season, it was like a slap in the face toMargaret. She read it in the first place with intense mortification, andthen with indignation. This was the way her loving spirit was flung backupon her! They did not blame her! They blamed her husband, then. Theycondemned him. It was his generosity that was spurned. 

Is there a particular moment when we choose our path in life, when wetake the right or the left? At this instant, when Margaret arose withthe crumpled letter in her hand, and marched towards her husband'slibrary, did she choose, or had she been choosing for the two yearspast, and was this only a publication of her election? Why had shesecretly been a little relieved from restraint when her Brandon visitended in the spring? They were against her husband; they disapproved ofhim, that was clear. Was it not a wife's duty to stand by her husband?She was indignant with the Brandon scrupulousness; it chafed her.. Wasthis simply because she loved her husband, or was this indignation alittle due also to her liking for the world which so fell in with herinclinations? The motives in life are so mixed that it seems impossiblewholly to condemn or wholly to approve. If Margaret's destiny hadbeen united with such a man as John Lyon, what would have been herdiscernment in such a case as this? It is such a pity that for mostpeople there is only one chance in life. 

She laid the letter and the check upon her husband's desk. He read itwith a slight frown, which changed to a smile of amusement as he lookedup and saw Margaret's excitement. 

"Well, it was a miss-go. Those folks up there are too good for thisworld. You'd better send it to the hospital. "

"But you see that they say they do not blame me, " Margaret said, withwarmth. 

"Oh, I can stand it. People usually don't try to hurt my feelings thatway. Don't mind it, child. They will come to their senses, and see whatnonsense it all is. "

Yes, it was nonsense. And how generous and kind at heart her husbandwas! In his skillful making little of it she was very much comforted, and at the same time drawn into more perfect sympathy with him. She wasglad she was not going to Brandon for Christmas; she would not submitherself to its censorship. The note of acknowledgment she wrote to heraunt was short and almost formal. She was very sorry they looked atthe matter in that way. She thought she was doing right, and they mightblame her or not, but her aunt would see that she could not permit anydistinction to be set up between her and her husband, etc. 

Was this little note a severance of her present from her old life? I donot suppose she regarded it so. If she had fully realized that it was astep in that direction, would she have penned it with so little regretas she felt? Or did she think that circumstances and not her own choicewere responsible for her state of feeling? She was mortified, as hasbeen said, but she wrote with more indignation than pain. 

A year ago Carmen would have been the last person to whom Margaret wouldhave spoken about a family affair of this kind. Nor would she have doneso now, notwithstanding the intimacy established at Newport, if Carmenhad not happened in that day, when Margaret was still hurt and excited, and skillfully and most sympathetically extracted from her the causeof the mood she found her in. But even with all these allowances, thatMargaret should confide such a matter to Carmen was the most startlingsign of the change that had taken place in her. 

"Well, " said this wise person, after she had wormed out the whole story, and expressed her profound sympathy, and then fallen into an attitude ofdeep reflection--"well, I wish I could cast my bread upon the waters inthat way. What are you going to do with the money?"

"I've sent it to the hospital. "

"What extravagance! And did you tell your aunt that?"

"Of course not. "

"Why not? I couldn't have resisted such a righteous chance of making herfeel bad. "

"But I don't want to make her feel bad. "

"Just a little? You will never convince people that you are unworldlythis way. Even Uncle Jerry wouldn't do that. "

"You and Uncle Jerry are very much alike, " cried Margaret, laughing inspite of herself--"both of you as bad as you can be. "

"But, dear, we don't pretend, do we?" asked Carmen, innocently. 

To some of us at Brandon, Margaret's letter was scarcely a surprise, though it emphasized a divergence we had been conscious of. But withMiss Forsythe it was far otherwise. The coolness of Margaret's tonefilled her with alarm; it was the premonition of a future which she didnot dare to face. 

There was a passage in the letter which she did not show; not that itwas unfeeling, she told my wife afterwards, but that it exhibited aworldly-mindedness that she could not have conceived of in Margaret. She could bear separation from the girl on whom she had bestowed hertenderest affection, that she had schooled herself to expect uponher marriage--that, indeed, was only a part of her life of willingself-sacrifice--their paths must lie apart, and she could hope to seelittle of her. But what she could not bear was the separation in spirit, the wrenching apart of sympathy, the loss of her heart, and the thoughtof her going farther and farther away into that world whose cynicaland materialistic view of life made her shudder. I think there are fewtragedies in life comparable to this to a sensitive, trusting soul--notdeath itself, with its gracious healing and oblivion and pathos. Familyquarrels have something sustaining in them, something of a sense ofwrong and even indignation to keep up the spirits. There was no familyquarrel here, no indignation, just simple, helpless grief and sense ofloss. In one sense it seemed to the gentle spinster that her own lifewas ended, she had lived so in this girl--ever since she came to hera child, in long curls and short frocks, the sweetest, most trustful, mischievous, affectionate thing. These two then never had had anysecrets, never any pleasure, never any griefs they did not share. Shehad seen the child's mind unfold, the girl's grace and intelligence, thewoman's character. Oh, Margaret, she cried, to herself, if you only knewwhat you are to me!

Margaret's little chamber in the cottage was always kept ready for her, much in the condition she had left it. She might come back at anytime, and be a girl again. Here were many of the things which she hadcherished; indeed everything in the room spoke of the simple days ofher maidenhood. It was here that Miss Forsythe sat in her lonelinessthe morning after she received the letter, by the window with the muslincurtain, looking out through the shrubbery to the blue hills. She mustbe here; she could stay nowhere else in the house, for here the littleMargaret came back to her. Ah, and when she turned, would she hear thequick steps and see the smiling face, and would she put back the tangledhair and lift her up and kiss her? There in that closet still hungarticles of her clothing-dresses that had been laid aside when shebecame a woman--kept with the sacred sentiment of New England thrift. How each one, as Miss Forsythe took them down, recalled the girl! In theinner closet was a pile of paper boxes. I do not know what impulse itwas that led the heavy-hearted woman to take them down one by one, andindulge her grief in the memories enshrined in them. In one was a littlebonnet, a spring bonnet; Margaret had worn it on the Easter Sunday whenshe took her first communion. The little thing was out of fashion now;the ribbons were all faded, but the spray of moss rose-buds on the sidewas almost as fresh as ever. How well she remembered it, and the girl'sdelight in the nodding roses!

When Mrs. Fletcher had called again and again, with no response, andfinally opened the door and peeped in, there the spinster sat by thewindow, the pitiful little bonnet in her hand, and the tears rollingdown her cheeks. God help her!

XIX

The medical faculty are of the opinion that a sprain is often worse thana broken limb; a purely scientific, view of the matter, in which thepatient usually does not coincide. Well-bred people shrink from thevulgarity of violence, and avoid the publicity of any open rupture indomestic and social relations. And yet, perhaps, a lively quarrelwould be less lamentable than the withering away of friendship whileappearances are kept up. Nothing, indeed, is more pitiable than thegradual drifting apart of people who have been dear to each other--aseverance produced by change of views and of principle, and thesubstitution of indifference for sympathy. This disintegration iscertain to take the spring and taste out of life, and commonly tohabituate one to a lower view of human nature. 

There was no rupture between the Hendersons and the Brandon circle, butthere was little intercourse of the kind that had existed before. Therewas with us a profound sense of loss and sorrow, due partly to thegrowing knowledge, not pleasing to our vanity, that Margaret could geton very well without us, that we were not necessary to her life. Miss Forsythe recovered promptly her cheerful serenity, but not theelasticity of hope; she was irretrievably hurt; it was as if life wasnow to be endured. That Margaret herself was apparently unconscious ofthis, and that it did not affect much her own enjoyment, made it theharder to bear. The absolute truth probably was that she regrettedit, and had moments of sentimental unhappiness; but there is greatcompensation for such loss in the feeling of freedom to pursue a careerthat is more and more agreeable. And I had to confess, when occasionallyI saw Margaret during that winter, that she did not need us. Why shouldshe? Did not the city offer her everything that she desired? And wherein the world are beauty, and gayety with a touch of daring, and amagnificent establishment better appreciated? I do not know whatcriterion newspaper notoriety is of social prestige, but Mrs. RodneyHenderson's movements were as faithfully chronicled as if she had beena visiting princess or an actress of eccentric proclivities. Her nameappeared as patroness of all the charities, the balls, the soirees, musical and literary, and if it did not appear in a list of the personsat any entertainment, one might suspect that the affair lacked thecachet of the best society. I suppose the final test of one's importanceis to have all the details of one's wardrobe spread before the public. Judged by this, Margaret's career in New York was phenomenal. Even ourinterested household could not follow her in all the changing splendorof her raiment. In time even Miss Forsythe ceased to read all thesedetails, but she cut them out, deposited them with other relics in asort of mortuary box of the child and the maiden. I used to wonder if, in the Brandon attitude of mind at this period, there were not justa little envy of such unclouded prosperity. It is so much easier toforgive a failure than a success. 

In the spring the Hendersons went abroad. The resolution to go may havebeen sudden, for Margaret wrote of it briefly, and had not time torun up and say good-by. The newspapers said that the trip was taken onaccount of Mrs. Henderson's health; that it was because Henderson neededrest from overwork; that he found it convenient to be away for a time, pending the settlement of certain complications. There were ugly storiesafloat, but they were put in so many forms, and followed by so manydifferent sorts of denial, and so much importance was attached toevery word Henderson uttered, and every step he took, that the generalimpression of his far-reaching sagacity and Napoleonic command offortune was immensely raised. Nothing is more significant of ourprogress than the good-humored deference of the world to this sort ofsuccess. It is said that the attraction of gravitation lessens accordingto the distance from the earth, and there seems to be a region ofaerial freedom, if one can attain it, where the moral forces cease to beoperative. 

They remained in Europe a year, although Mr. Henderson in the interimmade two or three hasty trips to this country, always, so far as it wasmade public, upon errands of great importance, and in connection withnames of well-known foreign capitalists and enterprises of dignity. Margaret wrote seldom, but always with evident enjoyment of herexperiences, which were mainly social, for wherever they went theycommanded the consideration that is accorded to fortune. What mostimpressed me in these hasty notes was that the woman was so littleinterested in the persons and places which in the old days she expressedsuch a lively desire to see. If she saw them at all, it was from adifferent point of view than that she formerly had. She did indeedexpress her admiration of some charming literary friends of ours inLondon, to whom I had written to call on her--people in very moderatecircumstances, I am ashamed to say--but she had not time to see muchof them. She and her husband had spent a couple of days atChisholm--delightful days. Of the earl she had literally nothing to say, except that he was very kind, and that his family received them with themost engaging and simple cordiality. "It makes me laugh, " she wrote fromChisholm, "when I think what we considered fine at Lenox and Newport. I've got some ideas for our new house. " A note came from "John Lyon" toMiss Forsythe, expressing the great pleasure it was to return, even inso poor a way, the hospitality he had received at Brandon. I did not seeit, but Miss Forsythe said it was a sad little note. 

In Paris Margaret was ill--very ill; and this misfortune caused fora time a revival of all the old affection, in sympathy with adisappointment which awoke in our womankind all the tenderness of theirnatures. She was indeed a little delicate for some time, but all ourapprehensions were relieved by the reports from Rome of a succession ofgayeties little interfered with by archaeological studies. They returnedin June. Of the year abroad there was nothing to chronicle, and therewould be nothing to note except that when Margaret passed a day with uson her return, we felt, as never before, that our interests in life weremore and more divergent. 

How could it be otherwise? There were so many topics of conversationthat we had to avoid. Even light remarks on current news, commentsthat we used to make freely on the conduct of conspicuous persons, nowcarried condemnation that took a personal color. The doubtful means ofmaking money, the pace of fashionable life, the wasteful prodigalityof the time, we instinctively shrank from speaking of before Margaret. Perhaps we did her injustice. She was never more gracious, never moreanxious to please. I fancied that there was at times something patheticin her wistful desire for our affection and esteem. She was alwaysa generous girl, and I have no doubt she felt repelled at the quietrejection of her well-meant efforts to play the Lady Bountiful. Therewere moments during her brief visit when her face was very sad, but nodoubt her predominant feeling escaped her in regard to the criticismquoted from somebody on Jerry Hollowell's methods and motives. "Peopleare becoming very self-righteous, " she said. 

My wife said to me that she was reminded of the gentle observation ofCarmen Eschelle, "The people I cannot stand are those who pretend theyare not wicked. " If one does not believe in anybody his cynicism hasusually a quality of contemptuous bitterness in it. One brought up asMargaret had been could not very well come to her present view oflife without a touch of this quality, but her disposition was solovely--perhaps there is no moral quality in a good temper--that changeof principle could not much affect it. And then she was never morewinning; perhaps her beauty had taken on a more refined quality from herillness abroad; perhaps it was that indefinable knowledge of the world, which is recognized as well in dress as in manner, which increased herattractiveness. This was quite apart from the fact that she was not sosympathetically companionable to us as she once was, and it was thisvery attractiveness of the worldly sort, I fancied, that pained heraunt, and marked the separateness of their sympathies. 

How could it be otherwise than that our interests should diverge? It wasa very busy summer with the Hendersons. They were planning the New Yorkhouse, which had been one of the objects of Henderson's early ambition. The sea-air had been prescribed for Margaret, and Henderson had built asteam-yacht, the equipment and furnishing of which had been a prolificnewspaper topic. It was greatly admired by yachtsmen for the beauty ofits lines and its speed, and pages were written about its sumptuous andcomfortable interior. I never saw it, having little faith in thecomfort of any structure that is not immovably reposeful, but from thedescriptions it was a boudoir afloat. In it short voyages were madeduring the summer all along the coast from New York to Maine, and thearrival and departure of the Henderson yacht was one of the telegraphicitems we always looked for. Carmen Eschelle was usually of the party onboard, sometimes the Misses Arbuser; it was always a gay company, and inwhatever harbor it dropped anchor there was a new impetus given to thesomewhat languid pleasure of the summer season. We read of the dinnersand lunches on board, the entertainments where there were wine anddancing and moonlight, and all that. I always thought of it as a fairysort of ship, sailing on summer seas, freighted with youth and beauty, and carrying pleasure and good-fortune wherever it went. What morepleasing spectacle than this in a world that has such a bad name forwant and misery?

Henderson was master of the situation. The sudden accumulation ofmillions of money is a mystery to most people. If Henderson had beenasked about it he would have said that he had not a dollar which he hadnot earned by hard work. None worked harder. If simple industry is avirtue, he would have been an example for Sunday-school children. The object of life being to make money, he would have been a perfectexample. What an inspiration, indeed, for all poor boys were the namesof Hollowell and Henderson, which were as familiar as the name of thePresident! There was much speculation as to the amount of Henderson'sfortune, and many wild estimates of it, but by common consent he was oneof the three or four great capitalists. The gauge of this was his power, and the amounts he could command in an emergency. There was a mystery inthe very fact that the amount he could command was unknown. I have saidthat his accumulation was sudden; it was probably so only in appearance. For a dozen years, by operations, various, secret, untiring, he hadbeen laying the foundations for his success, and in the maturing of hisschemes it became apparent how vast his transactions had been. For yearshe had been known as a rising man, and suddenly he became an importantman. The telegraph, the newspapers, chronicled his every movement;whatever he said was construed like a Delphic oracle. The smile or thefrown of Jay Hawker himself had not a greater effect upon the market. The Southwest operation, which made so much noise in the courts, wasmerely an incident. In the lives of many successful men there are suchincidents, which they do not care to have inquired into, turning-pointsthat one slides over in the subsequent gilded biography, or, as itis called, the nickel-plated biography. The uncomfortable A. And B. Bondholders had been settled with and silenced, after a fashion. In theend, Mrs. Fletcher had received from the company nearly the full amountof her investment. I always thought this was due to Margaret, but I madeno inquiries. There were many people who had no confidence in Henderson, but generally his popularity was not much affected, and whatever wassaid of him in private, his social position was almost as unchallengedas his financial. It was a great point in his favor that he was verygenerous to his family and his friends, and his public charities beganto be talked of. Nothing could have been more admirable than a paperwhich appeared about this time in one of the leading magazines, writtenby a great capitalist during a strike in his "system, " off the uses ofwealth and the responsibilities of rich men. It amused Henderson andUncle Jerry, and Margaret sent it, marked, to her aunt. Uncle Jerry saidit was very timely, for at the moment there was a report that Hollowelland Henderson had obtained possession of one of the great steamshiplines in connection with their trans-continental system. I thoughtat the time that I should like to have heard Carmen's comments on thepaper. 

The continued friendly alliance of Rodney Henderson and Jerry Hollowellwas a marvel to the public, which expected to read any morning thatthe one had sold out the other, or unloaded in a sly deal. The StockExchange couldn't understand it; it was so against all experience thatit was considered something outside of human nature. But the explanationwas simple enough. The two kept a sharp eye on each other, and, as UncleJerry would say, never dropped a stitch; but the simple fact was thatthey were necessary to each other, and there had been no opportunitywhen the one could handsomely swallow the other. So it was beautiful tosee their accord, and the familiar understanding between them. 

One day in Henderson's office--it was at the time they were arrangingthe steamship "scoop" while they were waiting for the drafting of somepapers, Uncle Jerry suddenly asked:

"By the way, old man, what's all this about a quarter of a million for acolored college down South?"

"Oh, that's Mrs. Henderson's affair. They say it's the most magnificentcollege building south of Washington. It's big enough. I've seen theplan of it. Henderson Hall, they are going to call it. I suggestedMargaret Henderson Hall, but she wouldn't have it. "

"What is it for?"

"One end of it is scientific, geological, chemical, electric, biological, and all that; and the other end is theological. MissEschelle says it's to reconcile science and religion. "

"She's a daisy-that girl. Seems to me, though, that you are educatingthe colored brother all on top. I suppose, however, it wouldn't havebeen so philanthropic to build a hall for a white college. "

Henderson laughed. "You keep your eye on the religious sentiment of theNorth, Uncle Jerry. I told Mrs. Henderson that we had gone long on thecolored brother a good while. She said this was nothing. We could endowa Henderson University by-and-by in the Southwest, white as alabaster, and I suppose we shall. "

"Yes, probably we've got to do something in that region to keep 'emquiet. The public is a curious fish. It wants plenty of bait. "

"And something to talk about, " continued Henderson. "We are going downnext week to dedicate Henderson Hall. I couldn't get out of it. "

"Oh, it will pay, " said Uncle Jerry, as he turned again to business. 

The trip was made in Henderson's private car; in fact, in a specialtrain, vestibuled; a neat baggage car with library and reading-room inone end, a dining-room car, a private car for invited guests, andhis own car--a luxurious structure, with drawing-room, sleeping-room, bath-room, and office for his telegrapher and type-writer. The wholewas a most commodious house of one story on wheels. The cost of it wouldhave built and furnished an industrial school and workshop for a hundrednegroes; but this train was, I dare say, a much more inspiring exampleof what they might attain by the higher education. There were halfa dozen in the party besides the Hendersons--Carmen, of course; Mr. Ponsonby, the English attache; and Mrs. Laflamme, to matronize threeNew York young ladies. Margaret and Carmen had never been so far Southbefore. 

Is it not agreeable to have sweet charity silver shod? This sumptuousspecial train caused as much comment as the errand on which it went. Itscoming was telegraphed from station to station, and crowds everywherecollected to see it. Brisk reporters boarded it; the newspapers devotedcolumns to descriptions of it; editorials glorified it as a signalexample of the progress of the great republic, or moralized on it as asign of the luxurious decadence of morals; pointing to Carthage and Romeand Alexandria in withering sarcasm that made those places sink intoinsignificance as corrupters of the world. There were covert allusionsto Cleopatra ensconced in the silken hangings of the boudoir car, andone reporter went so far as to refer to the luxury of Capua and Baiae, to their disparagement. All this, however, was felt to add to the gloryof the republic, and it all increased the importance of Henderson. Tohear the exclamations, "That's he!" "That's him!" "That's Henderson!"was to Margaret in some degree a realization of her ambition; and Carmendeclared that it was for her a sweet thought to be identified withCleopatra. 

So the Catachoobee University had its splendid new building--as great acontrast to the shanties from which its pupils came as is the Capitolat Washington to the huts of a third of its population. If the reader iscurious he may read in the local newspapers of the time glowing accountsof its "inaugural dedication"; but universities are so common in thiscountry that it has become a little wearisome to read of ceremonies ofthis sort. Mr. Henderson made a modest reply to the barefaced eulogy onhimself, which the president pronounced in the presence of six hundredyoung men and women of various colors and invited guests--a eulogy whichno one more thoroughly enjoyed than Carmen. I am sorry to say that sherefused to take the affair seriously. 

"I felt for you, Mr. Henderson, "; she said, after the exercises wereover. "I blushed for you. I almost felt ashamed, after all the presidentsaid, that you had given so little. "

"You seem, Miss Eschelle, " remarked Mr. Ponsonby, "to be enthusiasticabout the education and elevation of the colored people. "

"Yes, I am; I quite share Mr. Henderson's feeling about it. I'm for theelevation of everything. "

"There is a capital chance for you, " said Henderson; "the universitywants some scholarships. "

"And I've half a mind to found one--the Eschelle Scholarship of Washingand Clear-starching. You ought to have seen my clothes that came back tothe car. Probably they were not done by your students. The things lookedas if they had been dragged through the Cat-a-what-do-you-call-it River, and ironed with a pine chip. "

"Could you do them any better, with all your cultivation?" askedMargaret. 

"I think I could, if I was obliged to. But I couldn't get through thatuniversity, with all its ologies and laboratories and Greek and queerbottles and machines. You have neglected my education, Mr. Henderson. "

"It is not too late to begin now; you might see if you could passthe examination here. It is part of our plan gradually to elevate thewhites, " said Henderson. 

"Yes, I know; and did you see that some of the scholars had red hair andblue eyes, quite in the present style? And how nice the girls looked, "she rattled on; "and what a lot of intelligent faces, and how theykindled up when the president talked about the children of Israel inthe wilderness forty years, and Caesar crossing the Rubicon! And you, sir"--she turned to the Englishman--"I've heard, were against all thisemancipation during the war. "

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Ponsonby, "we never were againstemancipation, and wanted the best side to win. "

"You had a mighty queer way of showing it, then. "

"Well, honestly, Miss Eschelle, do you think the negroes are any betteroff?"

"You'd better ask them. My opinion is that everybody should do what helikes in this world. "

"Then what are you girding Mr. Henderson for about his university?"

"Because these philanthropists, like Mr. Henderson and Uncle JerryHollowell, are all building on top; putting on the frosting before thecake rises. "

"Haven't you found out, Mr. Ponsonby, " Margaret interrupted, "that ifthere were eight sides to a question, Miss Eschelle would be on everyone of them?"

"And right, too. There are eight sides to every question, and generallymore. I think the negro question has a hundred. But there is only oneside to Henderson Hall. It is a noble institution. I like to think aboutit, and Uncle Caesar Hollowell crossing the Rubicon in his theologicalseminary. It is all so beautiful!"

"You are a bad child, " said Margaret. "We should have left you at home. "

"No, not bad, dear; only confused with such a lot of good deeds in anaughty world. "

That this junketing party was deeply interested in the cause ofeducation for whites or blacks, no one would have gathered from theconversation. Margaret felt that Carmen had exactly hit the motives ofthis sort of philanthropy, and she was both amused and provoked by thegirl's mockery. By force of old habit she defended, as well she might, these schools. 

"You must have a high standard, " she said. "You cannot have good lowerschools without good higher schools. And these colleges, which you thinkabove the colored people, will stimulate them and gradually raise thewhole mass. You cannot do anything until you educate teachers. "

"So I have always heard, " replied the incorrigible. "I have always beena philanthropist about the negro till I came down here, and I intend tobe again when I go back. "

Mrs. Laflamme was not a very eager apostle either, and the young ladiesdevoted themselves to the picturesque aspects of the population, withoutany concern for the moral problems. They all declared that they likedthe negro. But Margaret was not to be moved from her good-humor by anyamount of badgering. She liked Henderson Hall; she was proud of theconsideration it brought her husband; she had a comfortable sense ofdoing something that was demanded by her opportunity. It is so difficultto analyze motives, and in Margaret's case so hard to define the changethat had taken place in her. That her heart was not enlisted in thisaffair, as it would have been a few years before, she herself knew. Insensibly she had come to look at the world, at men and women, throughher husband's eyes, to take the worldly view, which is not inconsistentwith much good feeling and easy-going charity. She also felt thenecessity--a necessity totally unknown to such a nature as Carmen's--ofmaking compensation, of compounding for her pleasures. Gradually she waslearning to play her husband's game in life, and to see no harm init. What, then, is this thing we call conscience? Is it made ofIndia-rubber? I once knew a clever Southern woman, who said that NewEngland women seemed to her all conscience--Southern women all soul andimpulse. If it were possible to generalize in this way, we might saythat Carmen had neither conscience nor soul, simply very clever reason. Uncle Jerry had no more conscience than Carmen, but he had a great dealof natural affection. Henderson, with an abundance of good-nature, wassimply a man of his time, troubled with no scruples that stood in theway of his success. Margaret, with a finer nature than either of them, stifling her scruples in an atmosphere of worldly-mindedness, was likelyto go further than either of them. Even such a worldling as Carmenunderstood this. "I do things, " she said to Mrs. Laflamme--she madeanybody her confidant when the fit was on her--"I do things because Idon't care. Mrs. Henderson does the same, but she does care. "

Margaret would be a sadder woman, but not a better woman, when thetime came that she did not care. She had come to the point of acceptingHenderson's methods of overreaching the world, and was tempering theresult with private liberality. Those were hypocrites who criticisedhim; those were envious who disparaged him; the sufficient ethics ofthe world she lived in was to be successful and be agreeable. And it isdifficult to condemn a person who goes with the general opinion ofhis generation. Carmen was under no illusions about Henderson, or themethods and manners of which she was a part. "Why pretend?" she said. "We are all bad together, and I like it. Uncle Jerry is the easiestperson to get on with. " I remember a delightful, wicked old baronesswhom I met in my youth stranded in Geneva on short allowance--Europeanresorts are full of such characters. "My dear, " she said, "why shouldn'tI renege? Why shouldn't men cheat at cards? It's all in the game. Don'twe all know we are trying to deceive each other and get the best of eachother? I stopped pretending after Waterloo. Fighting for the peace ofEurope! Bah! We are all fighting for what we can get. "

So the Catachoobee Henderson Hall was dedicated, and Mr. Henderson gotgreat credit out of it. 

"It's a noble deed, Mr. Henderson, " Carmen remarked, when they were atdinner on the car the day of their departure. "But"--in an aside toher host--"I advise the lambs in Wall Street to look alive at your nextdeal. "

XX

We can get used to anything. Morgan says that even the New Englandsummer is endurable when you learn to dress warmly enough. We come toendure pain and loss with equanimity; one thing and another drops out ofour lives-youth, for instance, and sometimes enthusiasm--and still we goon with a good degree of enjoyment. I do not say that Miss Forsythe wasquite the same, or that a certain zest of life and spring had not goneout of the little Brandon neighborhood. 

As the months and the years went by we saw less and less ofMargaret--less and less, that is, in the old way. Her rare visits wereperfunctory, and gave little satisfaction to any of us; not that she wasungracious or unkindly, but simply because the things we valued in lifewere not the same. There was no doubt that any of us were welcome at theHendersons' when they were in the city, genuinely, though in an exteriorway, but gradually we almost ceased to keep up an intercourse whichwas a little effort on both sides. Miss Forsythe came back from herinfrequent city visits weary and sad. 

Was Margaret content? I suppose so. She was gay; she was admired; shewas always on view in that semi-public world in which Henderson moved;she attained a newspaper notoriety which many people envied. If shejourneyed anywhere, if she tarried anywhere, if she had a slightillness, the fact was a matter of public concern. We knew whereshe worshiped; we knew the houses she frequented, the charities shepatronized, the fetes she adorned, every new costume that her wearingmade the fashion. Was she content? She could perhaps express no desirethat an attempt was not made to gratify it. But it seems impossible toget enough things enough money, enough pleasure. They had a magnificentplace in Newport; it was not large enough; they were always adding toit--awning, a ballroom, some architectural whim or another. Margaret hada fancy for a cottage at Bar Harbor, but they rarely went there. Theyhad an interest in Tuxedo; they belonged to an exclusive club on JekylIsland. They passed one winter yachting among the islands in the easternMediterranean; a part of another sailing from one tropical paradise toanother in the West Indies. If there was anything that money could notobtain, it seemed to be a place where they could rest in serene peacewith themselves. 

I used to wonder whether Margaret was satisfied with her husband'sreputation. Perhaps she mistook the newspaper homage, the notoriety, forpublic respect. She saw his influence and his power. She saw that he wasfeared, and of course hated, by some--the unsuccessful--but she sawthe terms he was on with his intimates, due to the fact that everybodyadmitted that whatever Henderson was in "a deal, " privately he was adeuced good fellow. 

Was this an ideal married life? Henderson's selfishness was fullydeveloped, and I could see that he was growing more and more hard. WouldMargaret not have felt it, if she also had not been growing hard, andaccustomed to regard the world in his unbelieving way? No, there wassharpness occasionally between them, tiffs and disagreements. He was agreat deal away from home, and she plunged into a life of her own, whichhad all the external signs of enjoyment. I doubt if he was ever veryselfish where she was concerned, and love can forgive almost any conductwhere there is personal indulgence. I had a glimpse of the real stateof things in a roundabout way. Henderson loved his wife and was proud ofher, and he was not unkind, but he might have been a brute and tied herup to the bedpost, and she never would have shown by the least sign tothe world that she was not the most happy of wives. 

When the Earl of Chisholm was in this country it was four years afterMargaret's marriage--we naturally saw a great deal of him. The youngfellow whom we liked so much had become a man, with a graver demeanor, and I thought a trace of permanent sadness in his face; perhaps it wasonly the responsibility of his position, or, as Morgan said, the modernweight that must press upon an earl who is conscientious. He was stillunmarried. The friendship between him and Miss Forsythe, which hadbeen kept alive by occasional correspondence, became more cordial andconfidential. In New York he had seen much of Margaret, not at all tohis peace of mind in many ways, though the generous fellow would havebeen less hurt if he had not estimated at its real value the life shewas leading. It did not need Margaret's introduction for the earl to besought for by the novelty and pleasure loving society of the city; buthe got, as he confessed, small satisfaction out of the whirl of it, although we knew that he met Mrs. Henderson everywhere, and in a mannerassisted in her social triumphs. But he renewed his acquaintance withMiss Eschelle, and it was the prattle of this ingenuous creature thatmade him more heavy-hearted than anything else. 

"How nice it is of you, Mr. Lyon--may I call you so, to bring back theold relations?--to come here and revive the memory of the dear old dayswhen we were all innocent and happy! Dear me, I used to think I couldpatronize that little country girl from Brandon! I was so worldly--don'tyou remember?--and she was so good. And now she is such a splendidwoman, it is difficult for the rest of us to keep pace with her. Thenerve she has, and the things she will do! I just envy her. I sometimesthink she will drive me into a convent. And don't you think she is morebeautiful than ever? Of course her face is a little careworn, but nobodymakes up as she does; she was just ravishing the other night. Do youknow, I think she takes her husband too seriously. "

"I trust she is happy, " the earl had said. 

"Why shouldn't she be?" Carmen asked in return. "She has everything shewants. They both have a little temper; life would be flat without that;she is a little irritable sometimes; she didn't use to be; and when theydon't agree they let each other alone for a little. I think she is ashappy as anybody can be who is married. Now you are shocked! Well, Idon't know any one who is more in love than she is, and that may behappiness. She is becoming exactly like Mr. Henderson. You couldn't askanything more than that. "

If Margaret were really happy, the earl told Miss Forsythe, he was glad, but it was scarcely the career he would have thought would have suitedher. 

Meantime, the great house was approaching completion. Henderson'spalace, in the upper part of the city, had long been a topic for thecorrespondents of the country press. It occupied half a square. Manycritics were discontented with it because it did not occupy the wholesquare. Everybody was interested in having it the finest residence onthe continent. Why didn't Henderson take the whole block of ground, build his palace on three sides, with the offices and stables on thefourth, throw a glass roof over the vast interior court, plant it withtropical trees and plants, adorn it with flower-beds and fountains, and make a veritable winter-garden, giving the inhabitants a temperateclimate all the cold months? He might easily have summer in the centreof the city from November to April. These rich people never know whatto do with their money. Such a place would give distinction to the city, and compel foreigners to recognize the high civilization of America. Agreat deal of fault was found with Henderson privately for his parsimonyin such a splendid opportunity. 

Nevertheless it was already one of the sights of the town. Strangerswere taken to see it, as it rose in its simple grandeur. Local reportersmade articles on the progress of the interior whenever they could get anentrance. It was not ornate enough to please, generally, but those whoadmired the old Louvre liked the simplicity of its lines and the dignityof the elevations. They discovered the domestic note in its quietcharacter, and said that the architect had avoided the look of an"institution" in such a great mass. He was not afraid of dignified wallspace, and there was no nervous anxiety manifested, which would havebelittled it with trivial ornamentation. 

Perhaps it was not an American structure, although one could find in itall the rare woods and stones of the continent. Great numbers of foreignworkmen were employed in its finishing and decoration. One could wanderin it from Pompeii to Japan, from India to Versailles, from Greece tothe England of the Tudors, from the Alhambra to colonial Salem. It wasso cosmopolitan that a representative of almost any nationality, ancientor modern, could have been suited in it with an apartment to his taste, and if the interior lacked unity it did not lack a display of varietythat appealed to the imagination. From time to time paragraphs appearedin English, French, and Italian journals, regarding the work of this andthat famous artist who was designing a set of furniture or furnishingthe drawings of a room, or carving the paneling and statuary, orpainting the ceiling of an apartment in the great Palazzo Hendersonin New York--Washington. The United American Workers (who were halfforeigners by birth) passed resolutions denouncing Henderson foremploying foreign pauper labor, and organized more than one strike whilethe house was building. It was very unpatriotic and un-American to haveanything done that could not be done by a member of the Union. There wasa firm of excellent stone-cutters which offered to make all the statuaryneeded in the house, and set it up in good shape, and when the offer wasdeclined, it memorialized Congress for protection. 

Although Henderson gave what time he could spare to the design anderection of the building, it pleased him to call it Margaret's house, and to see the eagerness with which she entered into its embellishment. There was something humorous in the enlargement of her ideas since thedays when she had wondered at the magnificence of the Washington Squarehome, and modestly protested against its luxury. Her own boudoir was acheap affair compared with that in the new house. 

"Don't you think, dear, " she said, puzzling over the drawings, "thatit would better be all sandalwood? I hate mosaics. It looks so cheap tohave little bits of precious woods stuck about. "

"I should think so. But what do you do with the ebony?"

"Oh, the ebony and gold? That is the adjoining sitting-room--such apretty contrast. "

"And the teak?"

"It has such a beautiful polish. That is another room. Carmen says thatwill be our sober room, where we go when we want to repent of things. "

"Well, if you have any sandal-wood left over, you can work it into yourBoys' Lodging-house, you know. "

"Don't be foolish! And then the ballroom, ninety feet long--it lookssmall on the paper. And do you think we'd better have those life-sizefigures all round, mediaeval statues, with the incandescents? Carmensays she would prefer a row of monks--something piquant about that in aballroom. I don't know that I like the figures, after all; they are toocrushing and heavy. "

"It would make a good room for the Common Council, " Henderson suggested. "Wouldn't it be prettier hung with silken arras figured with a chain ofdancing-girls? Dear me, I don't know what to do. Rodney, you must putyour mind on it. "

"Might line it with gold plate. I'll make arrangements so that you candraw on the Bank of England. "

Margaret looked hurt. "But you told me, dear, not to spareanything--that we would have the finest house in the city. I'm sure Isha'n't enjoy it unless you want it. "

"Oh, I want it, " resumed Henderson, good-humoredly. "Go ahead, littlewife. We shall pull through. "

"Women beat me, " Henderson confessed to Uncle Jerry next day. "They arethe most economical of beings and the most extravagant. I've got to lookround for an extra million somewhere today. "

"Yes, there is this good thing about women, " Uncle Jerry responded, witha twinkle in his eyes, "they share your riches just as cheerfully asthey do your poverty. I tell Maria that if I had the capacity for makingmoney that she has for spending it I could assume the national debt. "

To have the finest house in the city, or rather, in the Americannewspaper phrase, in the Western world, was a comprehensible ambitionfor Henderson, for it was a visible expression of his wealth and hiscultivated taste. But why Margaret should wish to exchange herdainty and luxurious home in Washington Square for the care of avast establishment big enough for a royal court, my wife could notcomprehend. But why not? To be the visible leader in her world, to beable to dispense a hospitality which should surpass anything heretoforeseen, to be the mistress and autocrat of an army of servants, with ampleroom for their evolution, in a palace whose dimensions and splendorshould awaken envy and astonishment--would this not be an attraction toa woman of imagination and spirit?

Besides, they had outgrown the old house. There was no longer roomfor the display, scarcely for the storage, of the works of art, thepictures, the curiosities, the books, that unlimited money and theopportunity of foreign travel had collected in all these years. "We musteither build or send our things to a warehouse, " Henderson had longago said. Among the obligations of wealth is the obligation of display. People of small means do not allow for the expansion of mind thatgoes along with the accumulation of property. It was only natural thatMargaret, who might have been contented with two rooms and a lean-toas the wife of a country clergyman, should have felt cramped in her oldhouse, which once seemed a world too large for the country girl. 

"I don't see how you could do with less room, " Carmen said, with an airof profound conviction. They were looking about the house on its lastuninhabited day, directing the final disposition of its contents. ForCarmen, as well as for Margaret, the decoration and the furnishing ofthe house had been an occupation. The girl had the whim of playing thepart of restrainer and economizer in everything; but Henderson used tosay, when Margaret told him of Carmen's suggestions, that a little moreof her economy would ruin him. 

"Yes, " Margaret admitted, "there does not seem to be anything that isnot necessary. "

"Not a thing. When you think of it, two people require as much spaceas a dozen; when you go beyond one room, you must go on. Of course youcouldn't get on without a reception-room, drawing-rooms, a conservatory, a music-room, a library, a morning-room, a breakfast-room, a smalldining-room and a state dining-room, Mr. Henderson's snuggery, with hisown library, a billiard-room, a picture-gallery--it is full already;you'll have to extend it or sell some pictures--your own suite and Mr. Henderson's suite, and the guest-rooms, and I forgot the theatre in theattic. I don't see but you have scrimped to the last degree. "

"And yet there is room to move about, " Margaret acknowledged, with agratified smile, as they wandered around. "Dear me, I used to think theStotts' house was a palace. "

It was the height of the season before Lent. There had been one delayand another, but at last all the workmen had been expelled, and Margaretwas mistress of her house. Cards for the house-warming had been out fortwo weeks, and the event was near. She was in her own apartments thispale, wintry afternoon, putting the finishing touches to her toilet. Nothing seemed to suit. The maid found her in a very bad humor. "Remember, " she had said to her husband, when he ordered his broughamafter breakfast, "sharp seven, we are to dine alone the first time. " Itlacked two hours yet of dinner-time, but she was dressing for want ofother occupation. 

Was this then the summit of her ambition? She had indeed looked forwardto some such moment as this as one of exultation in the satisfaction ofall her wishes. She took up a book of apothegms that lay on the table, and opened by chance to this, "Unhappy are they whose desires are allratified. " It was like a sting. Why should she think at this moment ofher girlhood; of the ideals indulged in during that quiet time; of heraunt's cheerful, tender, lonely life; of her rejection of Mr. Lyon?She did not love Mr. Lyon; she was not satisfied then. How narrow thatlittle life in Brandon had been! She threw the book from her. She hatedall that restraint and censoriousness. If her aunt could see her in allthis splendor, she would probably be sadder than ever. What right hadshe to sit there and mourn--as she knew her aunt did--and sigh over hercareer? What right had they to sit in judgment on her?

She went out from her room, down the great stairway, into the spacioushouse, pausing in the great hall to see opening vista after vista in themagnificent apartments. It was the first time that she had alone reallytaken the full meaning of it--had possessed it with the eye. It washers. Wherever she went, all hers. No, she had desires yet. It shouldbe filled with life--it should be the most brilliant house in the world. Society should see, should acknowledge the leadership. Yes--as sheglanced at herself in a drawing-room mirror--they should see thatHenderson's wife was capable of a success equal to his own, and shewould stop the hateful gossip about him. She set her foot firmly as shethought about it; she would crush those people who had sneered at themas parvenu. She strayed into the noble gallery. Some face there touchedher, some landscape soothed her. No, she said to herself, I will winthem, I do not want hateful strife. 

Who knows what is in a woman? how many moods in a quarter of an hour, and which is the characteristic one? Was this the Margaret who hadwalked with Lyon that Sunday afternoon of the baptism, and had a heartfull of pain for the pitiful suffering of the world?

As she sat there she grew calmer. Her thoughts went away in a visionof all the social possibilities of this wonderful house. From vaguelyadmiring what she looked at, she began to be critical; this and thatcould be changed to advantage; this shade of hanging was not harmonious;this light did not fall right. She smiled to think that her husbandthought it all done. How he would laugh to find that she was alreadyplanning to rearrange it! Hadn't she been satisfied for almosttwenty-four hours? That was a long time for a woman. Then she thought ofthe reception; of the guests; of what some of them would wear; how theywould look about; what they would say. She was already in that worldwhich was so shining and shifting and attractive. She did not hearHenderson come in until his arm was around her. 

"Well, sweet, keeping house alone? I've had a jolly day; lucky as oldMr. Luck. "

"Have you?" she cried, springing up. "I'm so glad. Come, see the house. "

"You look a little pale, " he said, as they strolled out to theconservatory together. 

"Just a little tired, " she admitted. "Do you know, Rodney, I hated thishouse at five o'clock--positively hated it?"

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know; I was thinking. But I liked it at half-past six. Ilove it now. I've got used to it, as if I had always lived here. Isn'tit beautiful everywhere? But I'm going to make some changes. "

"A hanging garden on the roof?" Henderson asked, with meekness. 

"That would be nice. No, not now. But to make over and take off the newlook. Everything looks so new. "

"Well, we will try to live that down. "

And so they wandered on, admiring, bantering, planning. Could EtienneDebree have seen his descendant at this moment he would have been morethan ever proud of his share in establishing the great republic, and ofhis appreciation of the promise of its beauty. What satisfies a woman'sheart is luxury, thought Henderson, in an admiring cynical moment. 

They had come into his own den and library, and he stood looking at therows of his favorite collection shining in their new home. For all itsnewness it had a familiar look. He thought for a moment that he might bein his old bachelor quarters. Suddenly Margaret made a rush at him. Sheshook the great fellow. She feasted her eyes on him. 

"What's got into you to look so splendid? Do you hear, go this instantand dress, and make yourself ten times as fascinating. "

XXI

Live not unto yourselves! Can any one deny that this blessed sentimentis extending in modern life? Do we build houses for ourselves or forothers? Do we make great entertainments for our own comfort? I do notknow that anybody regarded the erection of the Henderson palace as analtruistic performance. The socialistic newspapers said that it was pureostentation. But had it not been all along in the minds of the buildersto ask all the world to see it, to share the delight of it? Is thisa selfish spirit? When I stroll in the Park am I not pleased with theequipages, with the display of elegance upon which so much money hasbeen lavished for my enjoyment?

All the world was asked to the Henderson reception. The coming eventwas the talk of the town. I have now cuttings from the great journals, articles describing the house, more beautifully written than Gibbon'sstately periods about the luxury of later Rome. It makes one smile tohear that the day of fine writing is over. Everybody was eager to go;there was some plotting to obtain invitations by those who felt thatthey could not afford to be omitted from the list that would be printed;by those who did not know the Hendersons, and did not care to knowthem, but who shared the general curiosity; and everybody vowed that hesupposed he must go, but he hated such a crush and jam as it was sureto be. Yet no one would have cared to go if it had not promised to be acrush. I said that all the world was asked, which is our way of sayingthat a thousand or two had been carefully selected from the millionwithin reach. 

Invitations came to Brandon, of course, for old times' sake. The Morganssaid that they preferred a private view; Miss Forsythe declared that shehadn't the heart to go; in short, Mr. And Mrs. Fairchild alone went torepresent the worldly element. 

I am sorry to say that the reader must go to the files of the city pressfor an account of the night's festivity. The pen that has been used inportraying Margaret's career is entirely inadequate to it. There is ageneral impression that an American can do anything that he sets hishand to, but it is not true; it is true only that he tries everything. The reporter is born, as the poet is; it cannot be acquired--thatastonishing, irresponsible command of the English language; that warm, lyrical tone; that color, and bewildering metaphorical brilliancy; thatpicturesqueness; that use of words as the painter uses pigments, insplashes and blotches which are so effective; that touch of railleryand sarcasm and condescension; that gay enjoyment of reveling in theillimitable; that air of superior knowledge and style; that dash ofsentiment; that calm and somewhat haughty judgment. 

I am always impressed at such an entertainment with the good-humor ofthe American people, no matter what may be the annoyance and discomfort. 

In all the push and thrust and confusion, amid the rending of trains, the tearing of lace, the general crushing of costumes, there was themerriest persiflage, laughter, and chatter, and men and women enteredinto and drew out of the fashionable wreck in the highest spirits. Foreven in such a spacious mansion there were spots where currents met, androoms where there was a fight for mere breath. It would have been a tameaffair without this struggle. And what an epitome of life it all was!There were those who gave themselves up to admiration, who gushed withenthusiasm; there were those who had the weary air of surfeit withsplendor of this sort; there were the bustling and volatile, who madefacetious remarks, and treated the affair like a Fourth of July; andthere were also groups dark and haughty, like the Stotts, who held alittle aloof, and coldly admitted that it was most successful; it lackedje ne sais quoi, but it was in much better taste than they had expected. Is there something in the very nature of a crowd to bring out theinherent vulgarity of the best-bred people, so that some have doubtedwhether the highest civilization will tolerate these crushing andhilarious assemblies?

At any rate, one could enjoy the general effect. There might be vulgarunits, and one caught notes of talk that disenchanted, but there were somany women of rare and stately beauty, of exquisite loveliness, of charmin manner and figure--so many men of fine presence, with such an airof power and manly prosperity and self-reliance--I doubt if any otherassembly in the world, undecorated by orders and uniforms, with noblazon of rank, would have a greater air of distinction. Looking over itfrom a landing in the great stairway that commanded vistas and rangesof the lofty, brilliant apartments, vivified by the throng, whichseemed ennobled by the spacious splendor in which it moved, one would bepardoned a feeling of national pride in the spectacle. I drew aside tolet a stately train of beauty and of fashion descend, and saw it sweepthrough the hall, and enter the drawing-rooms, until it was lost in asea of shifting color. It was like a dream. 

And the centre of all this charming plutocratic graciousness and beautywas Margaret--Margaret and her handsome husband. Where did the NewHampshire boy learn this simple dignity of bearing, this good-humoredcordiality without condescension, this easy air of the man of the world?Was this the railway wrecker, the insurance manipulator, the familiarof Uncle Jerry, the king of the lobby, the pride and the bugaboo ofWall Street? Margaret was regnant. And how charmingly she received herguests! How well I knew that half-imperious toss of the head, andthe glance of those level, large gray eyes, softened instantly, onrecognition, into the sweetest smile of welcome playing about the dimpleand the expressive mouth! What woman would not feel a little thrill oftriumph? The world was at her feet. Why was it, I wonder, as I stoodthere watching the throng which saluted this queenly woman of the world, in an hour of supreme social triumph, while the notes of the distantorchestra came softly on the air, and the overpowering perfume of banksof flowers and tropical plants--why was it that I thought of a fair, simple girl, stirred with noble ideals, eager for the intellectual life, tender, sympathetic, courageous? It was Margaret Debree--how often I hadseen her thus!--sitting on her little veranda, swinging her chip hatby the string, glowing from some errand in which her heart had playeda much more important part than her purse. I caught the odor of thehoneysuckle that climbed on the porch, and I heard the note of the robinthat nested there. 

"You seem to be in a brown study, " said Carmen, who came up, leaning onthe arm of the Earl of Chisholm. 

"I'm lost in admiration. You must make allowance, Miss Eschelle, for aperson from the country. "

"Oh, we are all from the country. That is the beauty of it. There is Mr. Hollowell, used to drive a peddler's cart, or something of that sort, upin Maine, talking with Mr. Stott, whose father came in on the towpathof the Erie Canal. You don't dance? The earl has just been giving me awhirl in the ballroom, and I've been trying to make him understand aboutdemocracy. "

"Yes, " the earl rejoined; "Miss Eschelle has been interpreting to merepublican simplicity. "

"And he cannot point out, Mr. Fairchild, why this is not as good as areception at St. James. I suppose it's his politeness. "

"Indeed, it is all very charming. It must be a great thing to be thearchitect of your own fortune. "

"Yes; we are all self-made, " Carmen confessed. 

"I am, and I get dreadfully tired of it sometimes. I have to read overthe Declaration and look at the map of the Western country at suchtimes. A body has to have something to hold on to. "

"Why, this seems pretty substantial, " I said, wondering what the girlwas driving at. 

"Oh, yes; I suppose the world looks solid from a balloon. I heard oneman say to another just now, 'How long do you suppose Henderson willlast?' Probably we shall all come down by the run together by-and-by. "

"You seem to be on a high plane, " I suggested. 

"I guess it's the influence of the earl. But I am the most misunderstoodof women. What I really like is simplicity. Can you have that withoutthe social traditions, " she appealed to the earl, "such as you have inEngland?"

"I really cannot say, " the earl replied, laughing. "I fancied there wassimplicity in Brandon; perhaps that was traditional. "

"Oh, Brandon!" Carmen cried, "see what Brandon does when it gets achance. I assure your lordship that we used to be very simple people inNew York. Come, let us go and tell Mrs. Henderson how delightful it allis. I'm so sorry for her. "

As I moved about afterwards with my wife we heard not many comments, aword here and there about Henderson's wonderful success, a remark aboutMargaret's beauty, some sympathy for her in such a wearisome ordeal--theworld is full of kindness--the house duly admired, and the ordinarycompliments paid; the people assembled were, as usual, absorbed in theirown affairs. From all we could gather, all those present were usedto living in a palace, and took all the splendor quite as a matter ofcourse. Was there no envy? Was there nothing said about the airs ofa country school-ma'am, the aplomb of an adventurer? Were there nocriticisms afterwards as the guests rolled home in their carriages, surfeited and exhausted? What would you have? Do you expect themillennium to begin in New York?

The newspapers said that it was the most brilliant affair the metropolishad ever seen. I have no doubt it was. And I do not judge, either, by the newspaper estimates of the expense. I take the simple wordsaddressed by the earl to Margaret, when he said good-night, at theirfull value. She flushed with pleasure at his modest commendation. Perhaps it was to her the seal of her night's triumph. 

The house was opened. The world had seen it. The world had gone. Ifsleep did not come that night to her tired head on the pillow, whatwonder? She had a position in the great world. In imagination it openedwider and wider. Could not the infinite possibilities of it fill thehunger of any soul?

The echoes of the Henderson reception continued long in the countrypress. Items multiplied as to the cost. It was said that the sumexpended in flowers alone, which withered in a night, would have endoweda ward in a charity hospital. Some wag said that the price of the supperwould have changed the result of the Presidential election. Views of themansion were given in the illustrated papers, and portraits of Mr. AndMrs. Henderson. In country villages, in remote farmhouses, this greatsocial event was talked of, Henderson's wealth was the subject ofconjecture, Margaret's toilet was an object of interest. It was ashining example of success. Preachers, whose sensational sermons are aswidely read as descriptions of great crimes, moralized on Henderson'scareer and Henderson's palace, and raised up everywhere an envied imageof worldly prosperity. When he first arrived in New York, with onlyfifty cents in his pocket--so the story ran-and walked up Broadway andFifth Avenue, he had nearly been run over at the corner of Twenty-sixthStreet by a carriage, the occupants of which, a lady and gentleman, had stared insolently at the country youth. Never mind, said the lad tohimself, the day will come when you will cringe to me. And the day didcome when the gentleman begged Henderson to spare him in Wall Street, and his wife intrigued for an invitation to Mrs. Henderson's ball. The reader knows there is not a word of truth in this. Alas! said thepreacher, if he had only devoted his great talents to the service of theGood and the True! Behold how vain are all the triumphs of thisworld! see the result of the worship of Mammon! My friends, the age ismaterialized, a spirit of worldliness is abroad; be vigilant, lest thedeceitfulness of riches send your souls to perdition. And the plaincountry people thanked God for such a warning, and the country girldreamed of Margaret's career, and the country boy studied the ways ofHenderson's success, and resolved that he, too, would seek his fortunein this bad metropolis. 

The Hendersons were important people. It was impossible that a knowledgeof their importance should not have a reflex influence upon Margaret. Could it be otherwise than that gradually the fineness of herdiscrimination should be dulled by the almost universal public consentin the methods by which Henderson had achieved his position, and that intime she should come to regard adverse judgment as the result of envy?Henderson himself was under less illusion; the world was about whathe had taken it for, only a little worse--more gullible, and with lessprinciple. Carmen had mocked at Margaret's belief in Henderson. It iscertainly a pitiful outcome that Margaret, with her naturally believingnature, should in the end have had a less clear perception of what wasright and wrong than Henderson himself. Yet Henderson would not haveshrunk, any more than Carmen would, from any course necessary to hisends, while Margaret would have shrunk from many things; but in absoluteworldliness, in devotion to it, the time had come when Henderson feltthat his Puritan wife was no restraint upon him. It was this that brokegentle Miss Forsythe's heart when she came fully to realize it. 

I said that the world was at Margaret's feet. Was it? How many worldsare there, and does one ever, except by birth (in a republic), conquerthem all? Truth to say, there were penetralia in New York societyconcerning which this successful woman was uneasy in her heart. Therewere people who had accepted her invitations, to whose houses she hadbeen, who had a dozen ways of making her feel that she was not of them. These people--I suppose that if two castaways landed naked on a desertisland, one of them would instantly be the ancien regime--had spoken ofMrs. Henderson and her ambition to the Earl of Chisholm in a way thatpained him. They graciously assumed that he, as one of the elect, wouldunderstand them. It was therefore with a heavy heart that he came to saygood-by to Margaret before his return. 

I cannot imagine anything more uncomfortable for an old lover than ameeting of this sort; but I suppose the honest fellow could not resistthe inclination to see Margaret once more. I dare say she had a littleflutter of pride in receiving him, in her consciousness of the changein herself into a wider experience of the world. And she may have beena little chagrined that he was not apparently more impressed by hersurroundings, nor noticed the change in herself, but met her upon theground of simple sincerity where they had once stood. What he tried tosee, what she felt he was trying to see, was not the beautiful womanabout whose charm and hospitality the town talked, but the girl he hadloved in the old days. 

He talked a little, a very little, about himself and his work inEngland, and a great deal about what had interested him here on hissecond visit, the social drift, the politics, the organized charities;and as he talked, Margaret was conscious how little the world in whichshe lived seemed to interest him; how little importance he attached toit. And she saw, as in a momentary vision of herself, that the thingsthat once absorbed her and stirred her sympathies were now measurablyindifferent to her. Book after book which he casually mentioned, asshowing the drift of the age, and profoundly affecting modern thought, she knew only by name. "I guess, " said Carmen, afterwards, when Margaretspoke of the earl's conversation, "that he is one of those who aretrying to live in the spirit--what do they call it?--care for things ofthe mind. "

"You are doing a noble work, " he said, "in your Palace of Industry. "

"Yes, it is very well managed, " Margaret replied; "but it is uphillwork, the poor are so ungrateful for charity. "

"Perhaps nobody, Mrs. Henderson, likes to be treated as an object ofcharity. "

"Well, work isn't what they want when we give it, and they'd rather livein the dirt than in clean apartments. "

"Many of them don't know any better, and a good many of our poor resentcondescension. "

"Yes, " said Margaret, with warmth; "they are getting to demand things astheir right, and they are insolent. The last time I drove down in thatquarter I was insulted by their manner. What are you going to do withsuch people? One big fellow who was leaning against a lamp-post growled, 'You'd better stay in your own palace, miss, and not come prying roundhere. ' And a brazen girl cried out: 'Shut yer mouth, Dick; the lady'sgot to have some pleasure. Don't yer see, she's a-slummin'?'"

"It's very hard, I know, " said the earl; "perhaps we are all on thewrong track. "

"Maybe. Mr. Henderson says that the world would get on better ifeverybody minded his own business. "

"I wish it were possible, " the earl remarked, with an air of finishingthe topic. "I have just been up to Brandon, Mrs. Henderson. I fear thatI have seen the dear place for the last time. "

"You don't mean that you are tired of America?"

"Not that. I shall never, even in thought, tire of Brandon. "

"Yes, they are dear, good people. "

"I thought Miss Forsythe--what a sweet, brave woman she is!--was lookingsad and weary. "

"Oh, aunt won't do anything, or take an interest in anything. She juststays there. I've tried in vain to get her here. Do you know"--and sheturned upon the earl a look of the old playfulness--"she doesn't quiteapprove of me. "

"Oh, " he replied, hesitating a little--"I think, Mrs. Henderson, thather heart is bound up in you. It isn't for me to say that you haven't atruer friend in the world. "

"Yes, I know. If I'd only--" and she stopped, with a petulant look onher fair face--"well, it doesn't matter. She is a dear soul. "

"I--suppose, " said the earl, rising, "we shall see you again on theother side?"

"Perhaps, " with a smile. Could anything be more commonplace than such aparting? Good-by, I shall see you tomorrow or next year, or in the nextworld. Hail and farewell! That is the common experience. But, oh, thebitterness of it to many a soul!

It is quite possible that when the Earl of Chisholm said good-by, withan air of finality, Margaret felt that another part of her life wasclosed. He was not in any way an extraordinary person, he was not a veryrich peer, probably with his modesty and conscientiousness, and devotionto the ordinary duties of his station, he would never attain highrank in the government. Yet no one could be long with him withoutapprehending that his life was on a high plane. It was with a littleirritation that Margaret recognized this, and remembered, with a twingeof conscience, that it was upon that plane that her life once traveled. The time had been when the more important thing to her was the world ofideas, of books, of intellectual life, of passionate sympathy with thefortunes of humanity, of deepest interest in all the new thoughtsstruck out by the leaders who studied the profound problems of life anddestiny. 

That peace of mind which is found only in the highest activity forthe noblest ends she once had, though she thought it then unrest andstriving--what Carmen, who was under no illusions about Henderson, orUncle Jerry, or the world of fashion, and had an intuitive perception ofcant that is sometimes denied to the children of light, called "takingpleasure in the things of the mind. " To do Margaret justice, thereentered into her reflections no thought of the title and position of theEarl of Chisholm. They had never been alluring to her. If one couldtake any satisfaction in this phase of her character, her worldiness waspurely American. 

"I hardly know which I should prefer, " Carmen was saying when theywere talking over the ball and the earl's departure, "to be an Englishcountess or the wife of an American millionaire. "

"It might depend upon the man, " replied Margaret, with a smile. 

"The American, " continued Carmen, not heeding this suggestion, "has thegreater opportunities, and is not hindered by traditions. If you were acountess you would have to act like a countess. If you are an Americanyou can act--like anything--you can do what you please. That is nicer. Now, an earl must do what an earl has always done. What could you dowith such a husband? Mind! Yes, I know, dear, about things of the mind. First, you know, he will be a gentleman socialist (in the magazines), and maybe a Christian socialist, or a Christian scientist, or somethingof that sort, interested in the Mind Cure. "

"I should think that would suit you. Last I knew, you were deep in theMind Cure. "

"So I was. That was last week. Now I'm in the Faith Cure; I've found outabout both. The difference is, in the Mind Cure you don't require anyfaith; in the Faith Cure you don't require any mind. The Faith Cure justsuits me. "

"So you put your faith in an American millionaire?"

"Yes, I think I should, until an American millionaire put faith in me. That might shake me. It is such a queer world. No, I'm in doubt. Ifyou loved an earl he would stay an earl. If you loved an Americanmillionaire, ten to one he would fail. "

Margaret did not escape the responsibility of her success. Who does? Mydear Charmian, who wrote the successful novel of last year, do you notalready repent your rash act? If you do not write a better novel thisyear, will not the public flout you and jeer you for a pretender? Didthe public overpraise you at first? Its mistaken partiality becomesnow your presumption. Last year the press said you were the rival ofHawthorne. This year it is, "that Miss Charmian who set herself up as asecond Hawthorne. " When the new house was opened, it might be said thatsocially Mrs. Henderson had "arrived. " Had she? When one enters on thepath of worldliness is there any resting-place? Is not eternal vigilancethe price of position?

Henderson was apparently on good terms with the world. Many envied him, many paid him the sincerest flattery, that of imitation. He was a kingin the street, great enterprises sought his aid, all the charitiesknocked at his door, his word could organize a syndicate or a trust, his nod could smash a "corner. " There were fabulous stories about hiswealth, about his luck. This also was Margaret's world. Her ambitionexpanded in it with his. The things he set his heart on she coveted. Alas! there is always another round to the ladder. 

Seeing the means by which he gained his ends, and the public condonationof them, would not his cynicism harden into utter unbelief in generalvirtue and goodness? I don't know that Henderson changed much, accentedas his grasping selfishness was on occasion; prosperity had not impairedthat indifferent good-fellowship and toleration which had early gainedhim popularity. His presence was nowhere a rebuke to whatever was goingon. He was always accessible, often jocular. The younger members in theclub said Henderson was a devilish good fellow, whatever people said. The President of the United States used to send for him and consult him, because he wanted no office; he knew men, and it was a relief to talkwith a liberal rich man of so much bonhomie who wanted nothing. 

And Margaret, what view of the world did all this give her? Did shecome in contact with any one who had not his price, who was not going orwanting to go in the general current? Was it not natural that she shouldtake Henderson's view? Dear me, I am not preaching about her. We didnot see much of her in those days, and for one or two years of what Isuppose was her greatest enjoyment of her social triumphs. So far aswe heard, she was liked, admired, followed, envied. It could not beotherwise, for she did not lose her beauty nor her charm, and she triedto please. Once when I saw her in the city and we fell into talk--andthe talk was gay enough and unconstrained--I was struck with a certainhardness of tone, a little bitterness quite unlike her old self. It is avery hard thing to say, and I did not say it even to my wife, but I hada painful impression that she was valuing people by the money they had, by the social position they had attained. 

Was she content in that great world in which she moved? I had heardstories of slights, of stabs, of rebuffs, of spiteful remarks. Hadshe not come to know how success even in social life is sometimesattained--the meannesses, the jealousies, the cringing? Even with allher money at command, did she not know that her position was at theprice of incessant effort? Because she had taken a bold step today, shemust take a bolder one tomorrow--more display, more servants, some newinvention of luxury and extravagance. And seeing, as I say, the insideof this life and what it required, and how triumphs and notoriety weregained, was it a wonder that she gradually became in her gayety cynical, in her judgments bitter?

I am not criticising her. What are we, who have had no opportunities, to sit in judgment on her! I believe that it is true that it was ather solicitation that Henderson at last did endow a university in theSouthwest. I know that her name was on all the leading charities of thecity. I know that of all the patronesses of the charity ball her costumewas the most exquisite, and her liberality was most spoken of. I knowthat in the most fashionable house of worship (the newspapers call itthat) she was a constant attendant; that in her modest garb she nevermissed a Lenten service; and we heard that she performed a novena duringthis penitential season. 

Why protract the story of how Margaret was lost to us? Could thisinterest any but us--we who felt the loss because we still loved her?And why should we presume to set up our standard of what is valuable inlife, of what is a successful career? She had not become what we hoped, and little by little all the pleasure of intercourse on both sides, Idare say, disappeared. Could we say that life, after all, had not givenher what she most desired? Rather than write on in this strain abouther, I would like to read her story as it appeared to the companionswhose pleasures were her pleasures, whose successes were hersuccesses--her story written by one who appreciated her worldlyadvantages, and saw all the delight there was in this attractiveworldliness. 

What comfort there was in it we had in knowing that she was a favoritein the society of which we read such glowing descriptions, and that noone else bore its honors more winningly. It was not an easy life, withall its exactions and incessant movement. It demanded more physicalstrength than most women possess, and we were not surprised to hear fromtime to time that she was delicate, and that she went through her seasonwith feverish excitement. But she chose it; it had become necessary toher. Can women stop in such a career, even if they wish to stop?

Yes, she chose it. I, for one, never begrudged her any pleasure she hadin life, and I do not know but she was as happy as it is possible forhuman being to be in a full experiment of worldliness. Who is the judge?But we, I say, who loved her, and knew so well the noble possibilitiesof her royal nature under circumstances favorable to its development, felt more and more her departure from her own ideals. Her life in itsspreading prosperity seemed more and more shallow. I do not say she washeartless, I do not say she was uncharitable, I do not say that in allthe externals of worldly and religious observance she was wanting; I donot say that the more she was assimilated to the serenely worldly natureof her husband she did not love him, or that she was unlovely in theworldliness that ingulfed her and bore her onward. I do not know thatthere is anything singular in her history. But the pain of it to us wasin the certainty--and it seemed so near--that in the decay of her higherlife, in the hardening process of a material existence, in the transferof all her interests to the trivial and sensuous gratifications--time, mind, heart, ambition, all fixed on them--we should never regain ourMargaret. What I saw in a vision of her future was a dead soul--abeautiful woman in all the success of envied prosperity, with a deadsoul. 

XXII

It is difficult not to convey a false impression of Margaret at thistime. Habits, manners, outward conduct--nay, the superficial kindlinessin human intercourse, the exterior graceful qualities, may all remainwhen the character has subtly changed, when the real aims have changed, when the ideals are lowered. The fair exterior may be only a shell. I can imagine the heart retaining much tenderness and sympathy withsuffering when the soul itself has ceased to struggle for thehigher life, when the mind has lost, in regard to life, the finaldiscrimination of what is right and wrong. 

Perhaps it is fairer to Margaret to consider the general opinion of theworld regarding her. No doubt, if we had now known her for the firsttime, we should have admired her exceedingly, and probably haveaccounted her thrice happy in filling so well her brilliant position. That her loss of interest in things intellectual, in a wide range oftopics of human welfare, which is in the individual soul a sign ofwarmth and growth, made her less companionable to some is true, but hervery absorption in the life of her world made her much more attractiveto others. I well remember a dinner one day at the Hendersons', when Mr. Morgan and I happened to be in town, and the gay chat and persiflage ofthe society people there assembled. Margaret shone in it. The light anddaring touch of her raillery Carmen herself might have envied, and thespirit in which she handled the trifles and personal gossip tossed tothe surface, like the bubbles on the champagne. 

It was such a pretty picture--the noble diningroom, the table sparklingwith glass and silver and glowing with masses of choicest flowers fromthe conservatory, the animated convives, and Margaret presiding, radiantin a costume of white and gold. 

"After all, " Morgan was saying, apropos of the position of women, "menget mighty little out of it in the modern arrangement. "

"I've always said, Mr. Morgan, " Margaret retorted, "that you came intothe world a couple of centuries too late; you ought to have been here inthe squaw age. "

"Well, men were of some account then. I appeal to Henderson, " Morganpersisted, "if he gets more than his board and clothes. "

"Oh, my husband has to make his way; he's no time for idling andphilosophizing round. "

"I should think not. Come, Henderson, speak up; what do you get out ofit?"

"Oh, " said Henderson, glancing at his wife with an amused expression, "I'm doing very well. I'm very well taken care of, but I often wonderwhat the fellows did when polygamy was the fashion. "

"Polygamy, indeed!" cried Margaret. "So men only dropped the a pluribusunum method on account of the expense?"

"Not at all, " replied Henderson. "Women are so much better now thanformerly that one wife is quite enough. "

"You have got him well in hand, Mrs. Henderson, but--" Morgan began. 

"But, " continued Margaret for him, "you think as things are going thatpolyandry will have to come in fashion--a woman will need more than onehusband to support her?"

"And I was born too soon, " murmured Carmen. 

"Yes, dear, you'll have to be born again. But, Mr. Morgan, you don'tseem to understand what civilization is. "

"I'm beginning to. I've been thinking--this is entirely impersonal--thatit costs more to keep one fine lady going than it does a college. Justreckon it up. " (Margaret was watching him with sparkling eyes. ) "Thepalace in town is for her, the house in the mountains, the house bythe sea, are for her, the army of servants is for her, the horses andcarriages for all weathers are for her, the opera box is for her, andthen the wardrobe--why, half Paris lives on what women wear. I saynothing of what would become of the medical profession but for her. "

"Have you done?" asked Margaret. 

"No, but I'm taking breath. "

"Well, why shouldn't we support the working-people of Paris andelsewhere? Do you want us to make our own clothes and starve thesewing-women? Suppose there weren't any balls and fine dresses and whatyou call luxury. What would the poor do without the rich? Isn't it thehighest charity to give them work? Even with it they are ungratefulenough. "

"That is too deep for me, " said Morgan, evasively. "I suppose they oughtto be contented to see us enjoying ourselves. It's all in the way ofcivilization, I dare say. "

"It's just as I thought, " said Margaret, more lightly. "You haven't aninkling of what civilization is. See that flower before you. It is themost exquisite thing in this room. See the refinement of its color andform. That was cultivated. The plant came from South Africa. I don'tknow what expense the gardener has been to about it, what material andcare have been necessary to bring it to perfection. You may take it toMrs. Morgan as an object-lesson. It is a thing of beauty. You cannot putany of your mercantile value on it. Well, that is woman, the consummateflower of civilization. That is what civilization is for. "

"I'm sorry for you, old fellow, " said Henderson. 

"I'm sorry for myself, " Carmen said, demurely. 

"I admit all that, " Morgan replied. "Take Mr. Henderson as a gardener, then. "

"Suppose you take somebody else, and let my husband eat his dinner. "

"Oh, I don't mind preaching; I've got used to being made to point amoral. "

"But he will go on next about the luxury of the age, and theextravagance of women, and goodness knows what, " said Margaret. 

"No, I'm talking about men, " Morgan continued. "Consider Henderson--it'sentirely impersonal--as a gardener. What does he get out of hisoccupation? He can look at the flower. Perhaps that is enough. He getsa good dinner when he has time for it, an hour at his club now and then, occasionally an evening or half a day off at home, a decent wardrobe--"

"Fifty-two suits, " interposed Margaret. 

"His own brougham--"

"And a four-in-hand, " added Margaret. 

"A pass on the elevated road--"

"And a steam-yacht. "

"Which he never gets time to sail in; practically all the time on theroad, or besieged by a throng in his office, hustled about from morningtill night, begged of, interviewed, a telegraphic despatch every fiveminutes, and--"

"And me!" cried Margaret, rising. The guests all clapped their hands. 

The Hendersons liked to have their house full, something goingon--dinners, musicales, readings, little comedies in the theatre; therewas continual coming and going, calling, dropping in for a cup of tea, late suppers after the opera; the young fellows of town found noplace so agreeable for a half-hour after business as Mrs. Henderson'sreception-room. I fancied that life would be dull and hang heavily, especially for Margaret, without this perpetual movement and excitement. Henderson, who certainly had excitement enough without seeking it athome, was pleased that his wife should be a leader in society, as hewas in the great enterprises in which his fortune waxed to enormousproportions. About what we call the home life I do not know. Necessarily, as heretofore, Henderson was often absent, and whetherMargaret accompanied him or not, a certain pace of life had to be keptup. 

I suppose there is no delusion more general than that of retiring upona fortune--as if, when gained, a fortune would let a person retire, or, still more improbable, as if it ever were really attained. It is not atall probable that Henderson had set any limit to that he desired; thewildest speculations about its amount would no doubt fall shortof satisfying the love of power which he expected to gratify inimmeasurably increasing it. Does not history teach us that to be a greatgeneral, or poet, or philanthropist, is not more certain to preserveone's name than to be the richest man, the Croesus, in his age? I couldimagine Margaret having a certain growing pride in this distinction, anda glowing ambition to be socially what her husband was financially. 

Heaven often plans more mercifully for us than we plan for ourselves. Had not the Hebrew prophets a vision of the punishment by prosperity?Perhaps it applied to an old age, gratified to the end by possessionof everything that selfishness covets, and hardened into absoluteworldliness. I knew once an old lady whose position and wealth hadalways made her envied, and presumably happy, who was absolutely to bepitied for a soul empty of all noble feeling. 

The sun still shone on Margaret, and life yielded to her its specioussweets. She was still young. If in her great house, in her dazzlingcareer, in the whirl of resplendent prosperity, she had hours ofunsatisfied yearning for something unattainable in this direction, theworld would not have guessed it. Whenever we heard of her she was thecentre and star of whatever for the moment excited the world of fashion. It was indeed, at last, in the zenith of her gay existence thatI, became aware of a certain feminine anxiety about her in ourneighborhood. She had been, years before, very ill in Paris, and theapprehensions for her safety now were based upon the recollection ofher peril then. The days came when the tender-hearted Miss Forsythe wentabout the house restless, impatient, tearful, waiting for a summons thatwas sure to come when she was needed. She thought only of her child, asshe called her, and all the tenderness of her nature was stirred-theseyears of cloud and separation and pain were as they had not been. LittleMargaret had promised to send for her. She would not obtrude beforeshe was wanted, but Margaret was certain to send. And she was ready fordeparture the instant the despatch came from Henderson--"Margaret wantsyou to come at once. " I went with her. 

In calamity, trouble, sorrow, it is wonderful how the ties of bloodassert themselves. In this hour I am sure that Margaret longed for noone more than her dear aunt, in whose arms, as a child, she had so oftenforgotten her griefs. She had been able to live without her--nay, for along time her presence had been something of a restraint and a rebuke, and her feelings had hardened towards her. Why is it that the hearthardens in prosperity?

When we arrived Margaret was very ill. The house itself had a seriousair: it was no longer the palace of festivity and gayety, precautionshad been taken to secure quiet, the pavement was littered, and withinthe hushed movements and the sombre looks spoke of apprehension and theabsence of the spirit that had been the life and light of the house. Ourarrival seemed to be a relief to Henderson. Little was said. I had neverbefore seen him nervous, never before so restless and anxious, probablynever before in all his career had he been unnerved with a sense of hisown helplessness. 

"She has been asking for you this moment, " he said, as he accompaniedMiss Forsythe to Margaret's apartment. 

"Dear, dear aunt, I knew you would come--I love you so;" she had triedto raise herself a little in her bed, and was sobbing like a child inher aunt's arms. 

"You must have courage, Margaret; it will all be well. "

"Yes, but I'm so discouraged; I'm so tired. "

The vigil began. The nurses were in waiting. The family physician wouldnot leave the house. He was a man of great repute in his profession. Dr. Seftel's name was well known to me, but I had never met him before; aman past middle life, smooth shaven, thin iron-gray hair, grave, usuallytaciturn, deliberate in all his movements, as if every gesture wereimportant and significant, but with a kindly face. Knowing that everymoment of his waking life was golden, I could not but be impressed withthe power that could command his exclusive service for an indefinitetime. When he came down, we talked together in Henderson's room. 

"It is a question of endurance, of constitution, " he said; "many weakwomen have this quality of persistence; many strong women go to piecesat once; we know little about it. Mrs. Henderson"--glancing abouthim--"has everything to live for; that's in her favor. I suppose thereare not two other men in the country whose fortune equals Henderson's. "

I do not know how it was, probably the patient was not forgotten, but ina moment the grave doctor was asking me if I had seen the last bulletinabout the yacht regatta. He took the keenest interest in the contest, and described to me the build and sailing qualities of the differentyachts entered, and expressed his opinion as to which would win, and why. From this he passed to the city government and the recentelection--like a true New Yorker, his chief interest centred in the citypolitics and not in the national elections. Without the least unbendingfrom his dignity, he told me many anecdotes about city politicians, which would have been amusing if I had not been anxious about otherthings. 

The afternoon passed, and the night, and the day, I cannot tell how. But at evening I knew by the movements in the house that the crisishad come. I was waiting in Henderson's library. An hour passed, whenHenderson came hurrying in, pale, excited, but joyous. 

"Thank God, " he cried, "it is a boy!"

"And Margaret?" I gasped. 

"Is doing very well!" He touched a bell, and gave an order to theservant. "We will drink to the dear girl and to the heir of the house. "

He was in great spirits. The doctor joined us, but I noticed that he wasanxious, and he did not stay long. Henderson was in and out, talking, excited, restless. But everything was going very well, he thought. At last, as we sat talking, a servant appeared at the door, with afrightened look. 

"The baby, sir!"

"What?"

Alas! there had been an heir of the house of Henderson for just twohours; and Margaret was not sustaining herself. 

Why go on? Henderson was beside himself; stricken with grief, enraged, I believe, as well, at the thought of his own impotence. Messengers weredespatched, a consultation was called. The best skill of the city, atany cost, was at Margaret's bedside. Was there anything, then, thatmoney could not do? How weak we are!

The next day the patient was no better, she was evidently sinking. Thenews went swiftly round the city. It needed a servant constantly atthe door to answer the stream of sympathetic inquirers. Reporters werewatching the closed house from the opposite pavement. I undertook tosatisfy some of them who gained the steps and came forward, civil enoughand note-books in hand, when the door was opened. This intrusion ofcuriosity seemed so dreadful. 

The great house was silent. How vain and empty and pitiful it all seemedas I wandered alone through the gorgeous apartments! What a mockery itall was of the tragedy impending above-stairs--the approach on list-shodfeet of the great enemy! Let us not be unjust. He would have come justthe same if his prey had lain in a farmhouse among the hills, or in atenement-house in C Street. 

A day and a night, and another day--and then! It was Miss Forsythe whocame down to me, with strained eyes and awe in her face. It needed nowords. She put her face upon my shoulder, and sobbed as if her heartwere broken. 

I could not stay in the house. I went out into the streets, the streetsbrilliant in the sun of an autumn day, into the town, gay, bustling, crowded, pulsing with vigorous life. How blue the sky was! The sparrowstwittered in Madison Square, the idlers sat in the sun, the childrenchased their hoops about the fountain. 

I wandered into the club. The news had preceded me there. More thanone member in the reading-room grasped my hand, with just a word ofsympathy. Two young fellows, whom I had last seen at the Hendersondinner, were seated at a small table. 

"It's rough, Jack"--the speaker paused, with a match in his hand--"it'srough. I'll be if she was not the finest woman I ever knew. "

My wife and I were sitting in the orchestra stalls of the Metropolitan. The opera was Siegfried. At the close of the first act, as we turnedto the house, we saw Carmen enter a box, radiant, in white. Hendersonfollowed, and took a seat a little in shadow behind her. There wereothers in the box. There was a little movement and flutter as they camein and glasses were turned that way. 

"Married, and it is only two years, " I said. 

"It is only a year and eight months, " my wife replied. 

And the world goes on as cheerfully and prosperously as ever.