Little Journey in the World...............................................................................................................................1

Charles Dudley Warner ............................................................................................................................1

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The title naturally suggested for this story was "A Dead Soul," but it was discarded because of the similarity

to that of the famous novel by Nikolai Gogol"Dead Souls"though the motive has nothing in common

with that used by the Russian novelist. Gogol exposed an extensive fraud practiced by the sale, in connection

This story is an attempt to trace the demoralization in a woman's soul of certain wellknown influences in our

existing social life. In no other way could certain phases of our society be made to appear so distinctly as

The character of Margaret is the portrait of no one woman. But it was suggested by the career of two women

(among others less marked) who had begun life with the highest ideals, which had been gradually eaten away

and destroyed by "prosperous" marriages and association with unscrupulous methods of acquiring money.

The deterioration was gradual. The women were in all outward conduct unchanged, the conventionalities of

life were maintained, the graces were not lost, the observances of the duties of charities and of religion were

even emphasized, but worldliness had eaten the heart out of them, and they were "dead souls." The tragedy of

the withered life was a thousandfold enhanced by the external show of prosperous respectability.

The story was first published (in 1888) in Harper's Monthly. During its progressand it was printed as soon

as each installment was ready (a very poor plan)I was in receipt of the usual letters of sympathy, or protest,

and advice. One sympathetic missive urged the removal of Margaret to a neighboring city, where she could

be saved by being brought under special Christian influences. The transfer, even in a serial, was impossible,

And yet, if the reader will pardon the confidence, pity intervened to shorten it. I do not know how it is with

other writers, but the persons that come about me in a little drama are as real as those I meet in everyday

life, and in this case I found it utterly impossible to go on to what might have been the bitter, logical

development of Margaret's career. Perhaps it was as well. Perhaps the writer should have no despotic power

over his creations, however slight they are. He may profitably recall the dictum of a recent essayist that "there

We were talking about the want of diversity in American life, the lack of salient characters. It was not at a

club. It was a spontaneous talk of people who happened to be together, and who had fallen into an

uncompelled habit of happening to be together. There might have been a club for the study of the Want of

Diversity in American Life. The members would have been obliged to set apart a stated time for it, to attend

as a duty, and to be in a mood to discuss this topic at a set hour in the future. They would have mortgaged

another precious portion of the little time left us for individual life. It is a suggestive thought that at a given

hour all over the United States innumerable clubs might be considering the Want of Diversity in American

Life. Only in this way, according to our present methods, could one expect to accomplish anything in regard

to this foreignfelt want. It seems illogical that we could produce diversity by all doing the same thing at the

same time, but we know the value of congregate effort. It seems to superficial 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 intelligent and in

circumstances of leisure, they have such a sense of their responsibility 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, a day for the display of teagowns, a day for Dante, a day for the

Greek drama, a day for the Dumb Animals' Aid Society, a day for the Society for the Propagation of Indians,

and so on. When the year is over, the amount that has been accomplished by this incessant activity can hardly

be estimated. Individually it may not be much. But consider where Chaucer would be but for the work of the

Chaucer clubs, and what an effect upon the universal progress of things is produced by the associate

A cynic says that clubs and circles are for the accumulation of superficial information and unloading it on

others, without much individual absorption in anybody. This, like all cynicism, contains only a halftruth,

and simply means that the general diffusion of half digested information does not raise the general level of

intelligence, which can only be raised to any purpose by thorough selfculture, by assimilation, digestion,

meditation. The busy bee is a favorite simile with us, and we are apt to overlook the fact that the least

important part of his example is buzzing around. If the hive simply got together and buzzed, or even brought

unrefined treacle from some cyclopaedia, let us say, of treacle, there would be no honey added to the general

It occurred to some one in this talk at last to deny that there was this tiresome monotony in American life.

And this put a new face on the discussion. Why should there be, with every race under the heavens

represented here, and each one struggling to assert itself, and no homogeneity as yet established even

between the people of the oldest States? The theory is that democracy levels, and that the anxious pursuit of a

common object, money, tends to uniformity, and that facility of communication spreads all over the land the

same fashion in dress; and repeats everywhere the same style of house, and that the public schools give all the

children in the United States the same superficial smartness. And there is a more serious notion, that in a

society without classes there is a sort of tyranny of public opinion which crushes out the play of individual

peculiarities, without which human intercourse is uninteresting. It is true that a democracy is intolerant of

variations from the general level, and that a new society allows less latitude in eccentricities to its members

But with all these allowances, it is also admitted that the difficulty the American novelist has is in hitting

upon what is universally accepted as characteristic of American life, so various are the types in regions

widely separated from each other, such different points of view are had even in conventionalities, and

conscience operates so variously on moral problems in one community and another. It is as impossible for

one section to impose upon another its rules of taste and propriety in conductand taste is often as strong to

determine conduct as principle as it is to make its literature acceptable to the other. If in 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 the ruling emotions of life, ought we not to thank Heaven for the diversity of temperament as well as

of climate which will in the longrun save us from that sameness into which we are supposed to be drifting?

When I think of this vast country with any attention to local developments I am more impressed with the

unlikenesses than with the resemblances. And besides this, if one had the ability to draw to the life a single

individual in the most homogeneous community, the product would be sufficiently startling. We cannot

flatter ourselves, therefore, that under equal laws and opportunities we have rubbed out the saliencies of

human nature. At a distance the mass of the Russian people seem as monotonous as their steppes and their

commune villages, but the Russian novelists find characters in this mass perfectly individualized, and,

indeed, give us the impression that all Russians are irregular polygons. Perhaps if our novelists looked at

individuals as intently, they might give the world the impression that social life here is as unpleasant as it

This is partly the substance of what was said one winter evening. before the wood fire in the library of a

house in Brandon, one of the lesser New England cities. Like hundreds of residences of its kind, it stood in

the suburbs, amid foresttrees, commanding a view of city spires and towers on the one hand, and on the

other of a broken country of clustering trees and cottages, rising towards a range of hills which showed purple

and warm against the pale strawcolor of the winter sunsets. The charm of the situation was that the house

was one of many comfortable dwellings, each isolated, and yet near enough together to form a neighborhood;

that is to say, a body of neighbors who respected each other's privacy, and yet flowed together, on occasion,

without the least conventionality. And a real neighborhood, as our modern life is arranged, is becoming more

I am not sure that the talkers in this conversation expressed their real, final sentiments, or that they should be

held accountable for what they said. Nothing so surely kills the freedom of talk as to have some

matteroffact person instantly bring you to book for some impulsive remark flashed out on the instant,

instead of playing with it and tossing it about in a way that shall expose its absurdity or show its value.

Freedom is lost with too much responsibility and seriousness, and the truth is more likely to be struck out in a

lively play of assertion and retort than when all the words and sentiments are weighed. A person very likely

cannot tell what he does think till his thoughts are exposed to the air, and it is the bright fallacies ,and

impulsive, rash ventures in conversation that are often most fruitful to talker and listeners. The talk is always

tame if no one dares anything. I have seen the most promising paradox come to grief by a simple "Do you

think so?" Nobody, I sometimes think, should be held accountable for anything said in private conversation,

the vivacity of which is in a tentative play about the subject. And this is a sufficient reason why one should

repudiate any private conversation reported in the newspapers. It is bad enough to be held fast forever to what

one writes and prints, but to shackle a man with all his flashing utterances, which may be put into his mouth

by some imp in the air, is intolerable slavery. A man had better be silent if he can only say today what he will

stand by tomorrow, or if he may not 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 man responsible for the thronging

thoughts that contradict and displace each other in his mind. Probably no one ever actually makes up his

mind until he either acts or puts out his conclusion beyond his recall. Why should one be debarred the

privilege of pitching his crude ideas into a conversation where they may have a chance of being precipitated?

I remember that Morgan said in this talk that there was too much diversity. "Almost every church has trouble

An Englishman who was present prickedup his ears at this, as if he expected to obtain a note on the

character of Dissenters. "I thought all the churches here were organized on social affinities?" he inquired.

"Oh, no; it is a good deal a matter of vicinage. When there is a real estate extension, a necessary part of the

"I declare, Page," said Mrs. Morgan, "you'll give Mr. Lyon a totally erroneous notion. Of course there must

"That is just what I was saying, my dear: As the settlement is not drawn together on religious grounds, but

perhaps by purely worldly motives, the elements that meet in the church are apt to be socially incongruous,

"Then it isn't the peculiarity of the church that has attracted to it worshipers who would naturally come

together, but the church is a neighborhood necessity?" still further inquired Mr. Lyon.

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

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Morgan; " I'm talking about the kind of want that creates them. If it's the same

that builds a music hall, or a gymnasium, or a railway waitingroom, I've nothing more to say."

"Is it your American idea, then, that a church ought to be formed only of people socially agreeable together?"

"I have no American idea. I am only commenting on facts; but one of them is that it is the most difficult thing

in the world to reconcile religious association with the real or artificial claims of social life."

"I don't think you try much," said Mrs. Morgan, who carried along her traditional religious observance with

Mr. Page Morgan had inherited money, and a certain advantageous position for observing life and criticising

it, humorously sometimes, and without any serious intention of disturbing it. He had added to his fair fortune

by marrying the daintily reared daughter of a cottonspinner, and he had enough to do in attending meetings

of directors and looking out for his investments to keep him from the operation of the State law regarding

vagrants, and give greater social weight to his opinions than if he had been compelled to work for his

maintenance. The Page Morgans had been a good deal abroad, and were none the worse Americans for

having come in contact with the knowledge that there are other peoples who are reasonably prosperous and

"It seems to me," said Mr. Lyon, who was always in the conversational attitude of wanting to know, "that you

Americans are disturbed by the notion that religion ought to produce social equality."

Mr. Lyon had the air of conveying the impression that this question was settled in England, and that America

was interesting on account of numerous experiments of this sort. This state of mind was not offensive to his

interlocutors, because they were accustomed to it in transatlantic visitors. Indeed, there was nothing whatever

offensive, and little defensive, in Mr. John Lyon. What we liked in him, I think, was his simple acceptance of

a position that required neither explanation nor apologya social condition that banished a sense of his own

personality, and left him perfectly free to be absolutely truthful. Though an eldest son and next in succession

to an earldom, he was still young. Fresh from Oxford and South Africa and Australia and British Columbia

he had come to study the States with a view of perfecting himself for his duties as a legislator for the world

when he should be called to the House of Peers. He did not treat himself like an earl, whatever consciousness

he may have had that his prospective rank made it safe for him to flirt with the various forms of equality

"I don't know what Christianity is expected to produce," Mr. Morgan replied, in a meditative way; "but I have

an idea that the early Christians in their assemblies all knew each other, having met elsewhere in social

intercourse, or, if they were not acquainted, they lost sight of distinctions in one paramount interest. But then

"Were the Pilgrims and the Puritans?" asked Mrs. Fletcher, who now joined the talk, in which she had been a

most animated and stimulating listener, 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, we should have avoided a good deal of confusion. The meetinghouse, you

remember, had a committee for seating people according to their quality. They were very shrewd, but it had

not occurred to them to give the best pews to the sitters able to pay the most money for them. They escaped

"At any rate," said Mrs. Fletcher, "they got all sorts of people inside the same meetinghouse."

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

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

"Not at all. We have in the cities rich churches and poor churches, with prices of pews according to the means

of each sort, and the rich are always glad to have the poor come, and if they do not give them the best seats,

"Mr. Lyon," Mrs. Morgan interrupted, "you are getting a travesty of the whole thing. I don't believe there is

elsewhere in the world such a spirit of Christian charity as in our churches of all sects."

"There is no doubt about the charity; but that doesn't seem to make the social machine run any more smoothly

in the church associations. I'm not sure but we shall have to go back to the old idea of considering the

churches places of worship, and not opportunities for sewingsocieties, and the cultivation of social

"I found the idea in Rome," said Mr. Lyon, "that the United States is now the most promising field for the

"A high functionary at the Propaganda gave as a reason that the United States is the most democratic country

and the Roman Catholic is the most democratic religion, having this one notion that all men, high or low, are

equally sinners and equally in need of one thing only. And I must say that in this country I don't find the

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

"Now, we think that the nearer we approach the kingdomofheaven idea on earth, the better off we shall be

"It is an idea that is giving us a great deal of trouble. We've got into such a sophisticated state that it seems

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

"Yes, I know," insisted Mr. Morgan; "it's the modern notion of accumulation and compensationtake care

of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselvesthe gospel of Benjamin Franklin."

"Ah," I said, looking up at the entrance of a newcomer, "you are just in 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 is getting

The girl stood a moment, her slight figure framed in the doorway, while the company rose to greet her, with a

halfhesitating, halfinquiring look in her bright face which I had seen in it a thousand times.

I remember that it came upon me with a sort of surprise at the moment that we had never thought or spoken

much of Margaret Debree as beautiful. We were so accustomed to her; we had known her so long, we had

known her always. We had never analyzed our admiration of her. She had so many qualities that are better

than beauty that we had not credited her with the more obvious attraction. And perhaps she had just become

visibly beautiful. It may be that there is an instant in a girl's life corresponding to what the Puritans called

conversion in the soul, when the physical qualities, long maturing, suddenly glow in an effect which we call

beauty. It cannot be that women do not have a consciousness of it, perhaps of the instant of its advent. I

remember when I was a child that I used to think that a stick of peppermint candy must burn with a

Margaret was just turned twenty. As she paused there in the doorway her physical perfection flashed upon me

for the first time. Of course I do not mean perfection, for perfection has no promise in it, rather the sad note

of limit, and presently recession. In the rounded, exquisite lines of her figure there was the promise of that

ineffable fullness and delicacy of womanhood which all the world raves about and destroys and mourns. It is

not fulfilled always in the most beautiful, and perhaps never except to the woman who loves passionately,

and believes she is loved with a devotion that exalts her body and soul above every other human being.

It is certain that Margaret's beauty was not classic. Her features were irregular even to piquancy. The chin had

strength; the mouth was sensitive and not too small; the shapely nose with thin nostrils had an assertive

quality that contradicted the impression of humility in the eyes when downcast; the large gray eyes were

uncommonly soft and clear, an appearance of alternate tenderness and brilliancy as they were veiled or

uncovered by the long lashes. They were gently commanding eyes, and no doubt her most effective point.

Her abundant hair, brown with a touch of red in it in some lights, fell over her broad forehead in the fashion

of the time. She had a way of carrying her head, of throwing it back at times, that was not exactly imperious,

and conveyed the impression of spirit rather than of mere vivacity. These details seem to me all inadequate

and misleading, for the attraction of the face that made it interesting is still undefined. I hesitate to say that

there was a dimple near the corner of her mouth that revealed itself when she smiled lest this shall seem mere

prettiness, but it may have been the keynote of her face. I only knew there was something about it that won

the heart, as a too conscious or assertive beauty never does. She may have been plain, and I may have seen

the loveliness of her nature, which I knew well, in features that gave less sign of it to strangers. Yet I noticed

that Mr. Lyon gave her a quick second glance, and his manner was instantly that of deference, or at least

attention, which he had shown to no other lady in the room. And the whimsical idea came into my mindwe

are all so warped by international possibilitiesto observe whether she did not walk like a countess (that is,

as a countess ought to walk) as she advanced to shake hands with my wife. It is so easy to turn life into a

Margaret's greatgrandmotherno, it was her greatgreatgrandmother, but we have kept the Revolutionary

period so warm lately that it seems nearwas a Newport belle, who married an officer in the suite of

Rochambeau what time the French defenders of liberty conquered the women of Rhode Island. After the war

was over, our officer resigned his love of glory for the heart of one of the loveliest women and the care of the

best plantation on the Island. I have seen a miniature of her, which her lover wore at Yorktown, and which he

always swore that Washington coveteda miniature painted by a wandering artist of the day, which entirely

justifies the French officer in his abandonment of the trade of a soldier. Such is man in his best estate. A

charming face can make him campaign 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 the domesticity of a drawingroom cat. There is

this noble capacity in man to respond to the divinest thing visible to him in this world. Etienne Debree

became, I believe, a very good citizen of the republic, and in '93 used occasionally to shake his head with

satisfaction to find that it was still on his shoulders. I am not sure that he ever visited Mount Vernon, but after

Washington's death Debree's intimacy with our first President became a more and more important part of his

life and conversation. There is a pleasant tradition that Lafayette, when he was here in 1784, embraced the

young bride in the French manner, and that this salute was valued as a sort of heirloom in the family.

I always thought that Margaret inherited her New England conscience from her greatgreatgrandmother,

and a certain esprit or gayetythat is, a subgayety which was never frivolityfrom her French ancestor.

Her father and mother had died when she was ten years old, and she had been reared by a maiden aunt, with

whom she still lived. The combined fortunes of both required economy, and after Margaret had passed her

school course she added to their resources by teaching in a public school. I remember that she taught history,

following, I suppose, the American notion that any one can teach history who has a textbook, just as he or

she can teach literature with the same help. But it happened that Margaret was a better teacher than many,

because she had not learned history in school, but in her father's wellselected library.

There was a little stir at Margaret's entrance; Mr. Lyon was introduced to her, and my wife, with that subtle

feeling for effect which women have, slightly changed the lights. Perhaps Margaret's complexion or her black

dress made this readjustment necessary to the harmony of the room. Perhaps she felt the presence of a

I never can tell exactly what it is that guides her in regard to the influence of light and color upon the

intercourse of people, upon their conversation, making it take one cast or another. Men are susceptible to

these influences, but it is women alone who understand how to produce them. 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 the

glare of disenchanting sunlight as indifferent to the exposure as a man would be. I know in a general way that

a sunset light induces one kind of talk and noonday light another, and I have learned that talk always

brightens 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 I think I had as distinct an impression of her personality as had my wife. There

was nothing disturbing in it; indeed, I never saw her otherwise than serene, even when her voice betrayed

strong emotion. The quality that impressed me most, however, was her sincerity, coupled with intellectual

courage and clearness that had almost the effect of brilliancy, though I never thought of her as a brilliant

"What mischief have you been attempting, Mr. Morgan?" asked Margaret, as she took a chair near him.

"Oh, I'm sure you needn't mind me," said Mr. Lyon, goodhumoredly. "I landed in Boston, and the first thing

I went to see was the Monument. It struck me as so odd, you know, that the Americans should begin life by

"That is our way," replied Margaret, quickly. "We have started on a new basis over here; we win by losing.

He who loses his life shall find it. If the red slayer thinks he slays he is mistaken. You know the Southerners

say that they surrendered at last simply because they got tired of beating the North."

"Miss Debree simply means," I exclaimed, "that we have inherited from the English an inability to know

"But we were not fighting the battle of Bunker Hill, or fighting about it, which is more serious, Miss Debree.

What I wanted to ask you was whether you think the domestication of religion will affect its power in the

"Domestication? You are too deep for me, Mr. Morgan. I don't any more understand you than I comprehend

"Well, taking the mystery out of it, the predominant element of worship, making the churches sort of

goodwill charitable associations for the spread of sociability and goodfeeling."

"Partially that. It is a part of the general problem of what women are going to make of the world, now they

have got hold of it, or are getting hold of it, and are discontented with being women, or with being treated as

"I'm not sure of that. Robustness is needed in churches as much as in government. I don't know how much the

cause of religion is advanced by these church clubs of Christian Endeavor if that is the name, associations of

young boys and girls who go about visiting other like clubs in a sufficiently hilarious manner. I suppose it's

the spirit of the age. I'm just wondering whether the world is getting to think more of having a good time than

"And you think woman's influencefor you cannot mean anything elseis somehow 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 mush

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

"That is not an argument; that is a stab. I fancy you are altogether skeptical about woman. Do you believe in

"That's it," spoke up my wife, shading her eyes from the fire with a fan. "I begin to have my doubts about

education as a panacea. I've noticed that girls with only a smatteringand most of them in the nature of

"That is because 'education' is mistaken for the giving of information without training, as we are finding out

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

"That is a beautiful sentiment," Margaret exclaimed, throwing back her head, with a flash from her eyes.

"That ought to shut out women entirely. Only I cannot see how teaching women what men know is going to

give them any less principle than men have. It has seemed to me a long while that the time has come for

treating women like human beings, and giving them the responsibility of their position."

"I don't know exactly what I do want," she answered, sinking back in her chair, sincerity coming to modify

her enthusiasm. "I don't want to go to Congress, or be a sheriff, or a lawyer, or a locomotive engineer. I want

the freedom of my own being, to be interested in everything in the world, to feel its life as men do. You don't

know what it is to have an inferior person condescend to you simply because he is a man."

"You are right, my dear," said my wife. "The only thing that makes society any better than an industrial

anthill is the love between women and men, blind and destructive as it often is."

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

When the others had gone, Margaret sat by the fire, musing, as if no one else were in the room. The

Englishman, still alert and eager for information, regarded her with growing interest. It came into my mind as

odd that, being such an uninteresting people as we are, the English should be so curious about us. After an

"I beg your pardon, Miss Debree, but would you mind telling me whether the movement of Women's Rights

"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Lyon," Margaret replied, after a pause, with a look of weariness. "I'm tired of all

the talk about it. I wish men and women, every soul of them, would try to make the most of themselves, and

"Oh, nothing. Neither did I. But you have a right to, you know. I should like to ask you one question, Mr.

"II never thought of that," he stammered, reddening. "Perhapsperhaps it's because of American

"Thank you," said Margaret, with a little courtesy. "It's very nice of you to say that. I can begin to see now

It was quite evident the next day that Margaret had made an impression on our visitor, and that he was

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

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

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

"Thank you," said my wife. And Mr. Lyon looked as if he couldn't see why she 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 its vineshaded veranda across the front; and even in winter, with the inevitable

raggedness of deciduous vines, it had an air of refinement, a promise which the cheerful interior more than

fulfilled. Margaret's parting word to my wife the night before had been that she thought her aunt would like to

see the "chrysalis earl," and as Mr. Lyon had expressed a desire to see something more of what he called the

It was one of the winter days which are rare in New England, but of which there had been a succession all

through the Christmas holidays. Snow had not yet come, all the earth was brown and frozen, whichever way

you looked the interlacing branches and twigs of the trees made a delicate lacework, the sky was grayblue,

and the lowsailing sun had just enough heat to evoke moisture from the frosty ground and suffuse the

atmosphere into softness, in which all the landscape became poetic. The phenomenon known as "red sunsets"

was faintly repeated in the greenish crimson glow along the violet hills, in which Venus burned like a jewel.

There was a fire smoldering on the hearth in the room they entered, which seemed to be sittingroom, library,

parlor, all in one; the old table of oak, too substantial for ornament, was strewn with late periodicals and

pamphletsEnglish, American, and Frenchand with books which lay unarranged as they were thrown

down from recent reading. In the centre was a bunch of red roses in a paleblue Granada jug. Miss Forsythe

rose from a seat in the western window, with a book in her hand, to greet her callers. She was slender, like

Margaret, but taller, with soft brown eyes and hair streaked with gray, which, sweeping plainly aside from her

forehead in a fashion then antiquated, contrasted finely with the flush of pink in her cheeks. This flush did not

suggest youth, but rather ripeness, the tone that comes with the lines made in the face by gentle acceptance of

the inevitable in life. In her quiet and selfpossessed manner there was a little note of graceful timidity, not

perhaps noticeable in itself, but in contrast with that unmistakable air of confidence which a woman married

always has, and which in the unrefined becomes assertive, an exaggerated notion of her importance, of the

value added to her opinions by the act of marriage. You can see it in her air the moment she walks away from

the altar, keeping step to Mendelssohn's tune. Jack Sharpley says that she always seems to be saying, "Well,

I've done it once for all." This assumption of the married must be one of the hardest things for single women

I have no doubt that Georgiana Forsythe was a charming girl, spirited and handsome; for the beauty of her

years, almost pathetic in its dignity and selfrenunciation, could not have followed mere prettiness or a

commonplace experience. What that had been I never inquired, but it had not soured her. She was not

communicative nor confidential, I fancy, with any one, but she was always friendly and sympathetic to the

trouble of others, and helpful in an undemonstrative way. If she herself had a secret feeling that her life was a

failure, it never impressed her friends so, it was so even, and full of good offices and quiet enjoyment.

Heaven only knows, however, the pathos of this apparently undisturbed life. For did a woman ever live who

would not give all the years of tasteless serenity, for one year, for one month, for one hour, of the

uncalculating delirium of love poured out upon a man who returned it? It may be better for the world that

there are these women to whom life has still some mysteries, who are capable of illusions and the sweet

Although the recent books were on Miss Forsythe's table, her tastes and culture were of the past age. She

admired Emerson and Tennyson. One may keep current with the news of the world without changing his

principles. I imagine that Miss Forsythe read without injury to herself the passionate and the pantheistic

novels of the young women who have come forward in these days of emancipation to teach their

grandmothers a new basis of morality, and to render meaningless all the consoling epitaphs on the mossy

New England gravestones. She read Emerson for his sweet spirit, for his belief in love and friendship, her

simple Congregationalist faith remaining undisturbed by his philosophy, from which she took only a habit of

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

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

"Oh, yes, to the ancient aristocratic church of colonial times," she replied, with a little smile of amusement.

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

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

"I'm afraid I could not help you, Mr. Lyon. I fancy an Englishman would have to be born again, as the phrase

While Mr. Lyon was still unsatisfied on this point, he found the conversation shifted to the other side.

Perhaps it was a new experience to him that women should lead and not follow in conversation. At any rate,

it was an experience that put him at his ease. Miss Forsythe was a great admirer of Gladstone and of General

Gordon, and she expressed her admiration with a knowledge that showed she had read the English

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

"Perhaps," interposed my wife, "it would have been better for Gordon if he had trusted Providence more and

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

"Yes, we regard Mr. Gladstone as a very great man, Miss Forsythe. He is 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 spirit ran as high in England as it does with

Mr. Lyon disclaimed any personal feeling, and the talk drifted into a comparison of English and American

politics, mainly with reference to the social factor in English politics, which is so little an element here.

In the midst of the talk Margaret came in. The brisk walk in the rosy twilight had heightened her color, and

given her a glowing expression which her face had not the night before, and a tenderness and softness, an

She greeted the stranger with a Puritan undemonstrativeness, and as if not 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 vesper mood," she added, looking out the west

In truth Nature herself at the moment suggested that talk was an impertinence. The callers rose to go, with an

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

Mr. Lyon's invitation was for a week. Before the end of the week I was called to New York to consult Mr.

Henderson in regard to a railway investment in the West, which was turning out more permanent than

profitable. Rodney Hendersonthe name later became very familiar to the public in connection with a

certain Congressional investigationwas a graduate of my own college, a New Hampshire boy, a lawyer by

profession, who practiced, as so many American lawyers do, in Wall Street, in political combinations, in

When I returned Mr. Lyon was still at our house. I understood that my wife had persuaded him to extend his

visita proposal he was little reluctant to fall in with, so interested had he become in studying social life in

America. I could well comprehend this, for we are all making a "study" of something in this age, simple

enjoyment being considered an unworthy motive. I was glad to see that the young Englishman was improving

himself, broadening his knowledge of life, and not wasting the golden hours of youth. Experience is what we

all need, and though love or lovemaking cannot be called a novelty, there is something quite fresh about the

Mr. Lyon had made himself very agreeable to the little circle, not less by his inquiring spirit than by his

unaffected manners, by a kind of simplicity which women recognize as unconscious, the result of an inherited

habit of not thinking about one's position. In excess it may be very disagreeable, but when it is combined with

genuine goodnature and no selfassertion, it is attractive. And although American women like a man who is

aggressive towards the world and combative, there is the delight of novelty in one who has leisure to be

agreeable, leisure for them, and who seems to their imagination to have a larger range in life than those who

are driven by businessone able to offer the peace and security of something attained.

There had been several little neighborhood entertainments, dinners at the Morgans' and at Mrs. Fletcher's, and

an evening cup of tea at Miss Forsythe's. In fact Margaret and Mr. Lyon had been thrown much together. He

had accompanied her to vespers, and they had taken a wintry walk or two together before the snow came. My

wife had not managed itshe assured me of that; but she had not felt authorized to interfere; and she 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 in a strange

land, that he was far from home, and had perhaps a weakened sense of those powerful social influences

which must, after all, control him in the end. The only response to this was, "I think, dear, you'd better wrap

Among her other activities Margaret was interested in a mission school in the city, to which she devoted an

occasional evening and Sunday afternoons. This was a new surprise for Mr. Lyon. Was this also a part of the

restlessness of American life? At Mrs. Howe's german the other evening the girl had seemed wholly absorbed

in dress, and the gayety of the serious formality of the occasion, feeling the responsibility of it scarcely less

than the "leader." Yet her mind was evidently much occupied with the "condition of women," and she taught

in a public school. He could not at all make it out. Was she any more serious about the german than about the

mission school? It seemed odd at her age to take life so seriously. And was she serious in all her various

occupations, or only experimenting? There was a certain mocking humor in the girl that puzzled the

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

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

"I can tell you, Mr. Lyon," my wife interrupted, "you will get no information out of Mr. Morgan; he is a

"Not at all, I do assure you," Morgan replied. "I am just a humble observer. I see that there is a change going

on, but I cannot comprehend it. When I was young, girls used to go in for society; they danced their feet off

from seventeen to twentyone. I never heard anything about any occupation; they had their swing and their

fling, and their flirtations; they appeared to be skimming off of those impressionable, joyous years the cream

"Well, I am under the impression that very good women came out of that society. I got one out of that

"I'm content. But probably I'm oldfashioned. There is quite another spirit now. Girls out of pinafores must

begin seriously to consider some calling. All their flirtation from seventeen to twentyone is with some

occupation. All their dancing days they must go to college, or in some way lay the foundation for a useful

life. I suppose it's all right. No doubt we shall have a much higher style of women in the future than we ever

"You allow nothing," said Mrs. Fletcher, "for the necessity of earning a living in these days of competition.

Women never will come to their proper position in the world, even as companions of men, which you regard

"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 shifting all round of this burden of earning a living, I am not so sure. It does not

appear yet to make competition any less; perhaps competition would disappear if everybody did earn his own

living and no more. I wonder, bytheway, if the girls, the young women, of the class we seem to be

discussing ever do earn as much as would pay the wages of the servants who are hired to do the housework in

"That is a most ignoble suggestion," I could not help saying, "when you know that the object in modern life is

the cultivation of the mind, the elevation of women, and men also, in intellectual life."

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

"One would think," I said, "that you didn't know that the spinningjenny and the stockingknitter had been

"Oh, I'm a believer in all kinds of machinery anything to save labor. Only, I have faith that neither the jenny

"So have I," said my wife. "I've heard two things affirmed: that women who receive a scientific or

professional education lose their faith, become usually agnostics, having lost sensitiveness to the mysteries of

"No, unless all scientific prying into things is a mistake. Women may be more likely at first to be upset than

men, but they will recover their balance when the novelty is worn off. No amount of science will entirely

change their emotional nature; and besides, with all our science, I don't see that the supernatural has any less

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

"Why, that coeducation is likely to diminish marriages among the co educated. Daily familiarity in the

classroom at the most impressionable age, revelation of all the intellectual weaknesses and petulances,

absorption of mental routine on an equality, tend to destroy the sense of romance and mystery that are the

most powerful attractions between the sexes. It is a sort of disenchanting familiarity that rubs off the bloom."

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

"Yes, and I fancy that coeducation will have about as much effect on life generally as that solemn meeting

of a society of intelligent and fashionable women recently in one of our great cities, who met to discuss the

I was less anxious about the vagaries of it when I saw the very old fashioned way in which the international

drama was going on in our neighborhood. Mr. Lyon was increasingly interested in Margaret's mission work.

Nor was there much affectation in this. Philanthropy, anxiety about the workingclasses, is nowhere more

serious or in the fashion than it is in London. Mr. Lyon, wherever he had been, had made a special study of

the various aid and relief societies, especially of the work for young waifs and strays.

One Sunday afternoon they were returning from the Bloom Street Mission. Snow covered the ground, the sky

was leaden, and the air had a penetrating chill in it far more disagreeable than extreme cold.

"We also," Mr. Lyon was saying, in continuation of a conversation, "are making a great effort for the

"But we haven't any common people here," replied Margaret, quickly. "That bright boy you noticed in my

class, who was a terror six months ago, will no doubt be in the City Council in a few years, and likely enough

"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 differed much from that in London. We who have leisure ought to do something for the

"I sometimes doubt if it is not all a mistake most of our charitable work. The thing is to get people to do

"I suppose not, so long as so many people are born vicious, or incompetent, or lazy. But, Mr. Lyon, how

much good do you suppose condescending charity does?" asked Margaret, firing up in a way the girl had 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 be an annoyance to the folks you try to help by the little palliatives of charity.

What effect upon a wretched city neighborhood do you suppose is produced by the advent in it of a stylish

carriage and a lady in silk, or even the coming of a welldressed, prosperous woman in a horsecar, however

gentle and unassuming she may be in this distribution of sympathy and bounty? Isn't the feeling of inequality

intensified? And the degrading part of it may be that so many are willing to accept this sort of bounty. And

your men of leisure, your club men, sitting in the windows and seeing the world go by as a spectaclemen

who never did an hour's necessary work in their liveswhat effect do you suppose the sight 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

"I think it would be better if there were no idle people. I'm half ashamed that I have leisure to go every time I

go to that mission. And I'm almost sorry, Mr. Lyon, that I took you there. The boys knew you were 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 the spying into their world of an 'English juke,' and they may take it in the light of a show."

Mr. Lyon laughed. And then, perhaps after a little reflection upon the possibility that the nobility was

"I begin to think I'm very unfortunate, Miss Debree. You seem to remind me that I am in a position in which I

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

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

Their way lay through the little city park. It is a pretty place in summera varied surface, well planted with

forest and ornamental trees, intersected by a winding stream. The little river was full now, and ice had formed

on it, with small openings here and there, where the dark water, hurrying along as if in fear of arrest, had a

more chilling aspect than the icy cover. The ground was white with snow, and all the trees were bare except

for a few frozen oakleaves here and there, which shivered in the wind and somehow added to the desolation.

Leaden clouds covered the sky, and only in the west was there a gleam of the departing winter day.

Upon the elevated bank of the stream, opposite to the road by which they approached, they saw a group of

peopleperhaps twentydrawn closely together, either in the sympathy of segregation from an unfeeling

world, or for protection from the keen wind. On the hither bank, and leaning on the 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 remarks in an undertone. A serious

ceremony was evidently in progress. The separate group had not a prosperous air. The women were thinly

clad for such a day. Conspicuous in the little assembly was a tall, elderly man in a shabby long coat and a

broad felt hat, from under which his white hair fell upon his shoulders. He might be a prophet in Israel come

out to 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 bankcome and see what happiness it is to serve the Lord.

As they waited, a faint tune was started, a quavering hymn, whose feeble notes the wind blew away of first,

Before the first stanza was finished a carriage appeared in the rear of the group. From it descended a

middleaged man and a stout woman, and they 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 icy stream; but it was only a protest of the poor body; the face had the rapt,

For a few moments there was prayer, inaudible at a distance. Then the tall man, taking the girl by the hand,

advanced down the slope to the stream. His hat was laid aside, his venerable locks streamed in the breeze, his

eyes were turned to heaven; the girl walked as in a vision, without a tremor, her wideopened eyes fixed

upon invisible things. As they moved on, the group behind set up a joyful hymn in a kind of mournful chant,

in which the tall man joined with a strident voice. Fitfully the words came on the wind, in an almost

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

They were entering the stream where there was an opening clear of ice; the footing was not very secure, and

The girl grew paler and shuddered. The tall man sustained her with an attitude of infinite sympathy, and

seemed to speak words of encouragement. They were in the midstream; the cold flood surged about their

The strong, tender arms of the tall man gently lowered the white form under the cruel water; he staggered a

moment in the swift stream, recovered himself, raised her, white as death, and the voices of the wailing tune

And the tall man, as he struggled to the shore with his almost insensible burden, could be heard above the

The girl was hurried into the carriage, and the group quickly dispersed. "Well, I'll be" The tenderhearted

little wife of the rough man in the crowd who began that sentence did not permit him to finish it. "That'll be a

case for a doctor right away," remarked a wellknown practitioner who 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."

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

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

"How do we know what is necessary to any poor soul? What impressed me most strongly was that there is in

the world still this longing to suffer 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 no loud jeering, that no snowballs were thrown by the boys."

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

"I rather think," Margaret replied, "that the spectators for a moment came under the spell of the hour, and

"No doubt," said my wife, after a little pause. "I believe that there is as much sense of mystery in the world as

ever, and as much of what we call faith, only it shows itself eccentrically. Breaking away from traditions and

not going to church have not destroyed the need in the minds of the mass of people for something outside

"Did I tell you," interposed Morgan"it is almost in the line of your thoughtof a girl I met the other day

on the train? I happened to be her seatmate in the carthin face, slight little figurea commonplace girl,

whom I took at first to be not more than twenty, but from the lines about her large eyes she was probably

nearer forty. She had in her lap a book, which she conned from time to time, and seemed to be committing

verses to memory as she looked out the window. At last I ventured to ask what literature it was that interested

her so much, when she turned and frankly entered into conversation. It was a little Advent songbook. 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 rode thirty miles to her work, and thirty miles back every evening. Her work was that of clerk

and copyist in a freight office, and she earned nine dollars a week, on which she supported herself and her

mother. It was hard 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 been an Adventist twenty years, and I've been perfectly happy ever

since I joined perfectly,' she added, turning her plain face, now radiant, towards me. 'Are you one?' she

asked, presently. 'Not an immediate Adventist,' I was obliged to confess. 'I thought you might be, there are so

many now, more and more.' I learned that in our little city there were two Advent societies; there had been a

split on account of some difference in the meaning of original sin. 'And you are not discouraged by the

repeated failure of the predictions of the end of the world?' I asked. 'No. Why should we be? We don't fix any

certain day now, but all the signs show that it is very near. We are all free to think as we like. Most of our

members now think it will be next year.' ' I hope not!' I exclaimed. 'Why?' she asked, turning to me with a

look of surprise. 'Are you afraid?' I evaded by saying that I supposed the good had nothing to fear. 'Then you

must be an Adventist, you have so much sympathy.' 'I shouldn't like to have the world come to an end next

year, because there are so many interesting problems, and I want to see how they will be worked out.' 'How

can you want to put it off'and there was for the first time a little note of fanaticism in her voice'when

there is so much poverty and hard work? It is such a hard world, and so much suffering and sin. And it could

all be ended in a moment. How can you want it to go on?' The train approached the station, and she rose to

say goodby. 'You will see the truth some day,' she said, and went away as cheerful as if the world was

"And nothing marks it more," Morgan added, "than the popular expectation among the scientific and the

ignorant of something to come out of the dimly understood relation of body and mind. It is like the

"I was going on to say," I continued, "that wherever I walk in the city of a Sunday afternoon, I am struck with

the number of little meetings going on, of the faithful and the unfaithful, Adventists, socialists, spiritualists,

culturists, Sons and Daughters of Edom; from all the open windows of the tall buildings come notes of

praying, of exhortation, the melancholy wail of the inspiring Sankey tunes, total abstinence melodies,

overtheriver melodies, songs of entreaty, and songs of praise. There is so much going on outside of the

"Yes, fairly, at least once a day, and if there is sensational preaching, twice. But there is nothing that will so

pack the biggest hall in the city as the announcement of inspirational preaching by some young woman who

speaks at random on a text given her when she steps upon the platform. There is something in her rhapsody,

"How much of it is curiosity?" Morgan asked. "Isn't the hall just as jammed when the clever attorney of

Nothingism, Ham Saversoul, jokes about 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

"Isn't it natural," spoke up Mr. Lyon, who had hitherto been silent, "that you should drift into this condition

"Perhaps it's natural," Morgan retorted, "that people dissatisfied with an established religion should drift over

here. Great Britain, you know, is a famous recruitingground for our socialistic experiments."

"Ah, well," said my wife, "men will have something. If what is established repels to the extent of getting

itself disestablished, and all churches should be broken up, society would somehow precipitate itself again

spiritually. I heard the other day that Boston, getting a little weary of the Vedas, was beginning to take up the

After a little the talk drifted into psychic research, and got lost in stories of "appearances" and

"longdistance" communications. It appeared to me that intelligent people accepted this sort of story as true

on evidence on which they wouldn't risk five dollars if it were a question of money. Even scientists swallow

tales of prehistoric bones on testimony they would reject if it involved the title to a piece of real estate.

Mr. Lyon still lingered in the lap of a New England winter as if it had been Capua. He was anxious to visit

Washington and study the politics of the country, and see the sort of society produced in the freedom of a

republic, where there was no court to give the tone and there were no class lines to determine position. He

was restless under this sense of duty. The future legislator for the British Empire must understand the

Constitution of its great rival, and thus be able to appreciate the social currents that have so much to do with

In fact he had another reason for uneasiness. His mother had written him, asking why he stayed so long in an

unimportant city, he who had been so active a traveler hitherto. Knowledge of the capitals was what he

needed. Agreeable people he could find at home, if his only object was to pass the time. What could he reply?

Could he say that he had become very much interested in studying a schoolteachera very charming

school teacher? He could see the vision raised in the minds of his mother and of the earl and of his elder

sister as they should read this precious confessiona vision of a schoolma'am, of an American girl, and an

American girl without any money at that, moving in the little orbit of Chisholm House. The thing was absurd.

And yet why was it absurd? What was English politics, what was Chisholm House, what was everybody in

England compared to this noble girl? Nay, what would the world be without her? He grew hot in thinking of

The situation was almost humiliating. He began, to doubt the stability of his own position. Hitherto he had

met no obstacle: whatever he had desired he had obtained. He was a sensible fellow, and knew the world was

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 of his interest in Margaret. For love is humble, and undervalues self in contrast with

that which it desires. At this touchstone rank, fortune, all that go with them, seemed poor. What were all these

to a woman's soul? But there were women enough, women enough in England, women more beautiful than

Margaret, doubtless as amiable and intellectual. Yet now there was for him only one woman in the world.

And Margaret showed no sign. Was he about to make a fool of himself? If she should reject him he would

seem a fool to himself. If she accepted him he would seem a fool to the whole circle that made his world at

But he did not go. If he went today he could not see her tomorrow. To a lover 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 her

And a man is still reduced to this in the latter part of the nineteenth century, notwithstanding all our science,

all our analysis of the passion, all our wise jabber about the failure of marriage, all our commonsense about

the relation of the sexes. Love is still a personal question, not to be reasoned about or in any way disposed of

except in the old way. Maidens dream about it; diplomats yield to it; stolid men are upset by it; the aged

become young, the young grave, under its influence; the student loses his appetiteGod bless him! I like to

hear the young fellows at the club rattle on bravely, indifferent to the whole thingskeptical, in fact, about

it. And then to see them, one after another, stricken down, and looking a little sheepish and not saying much,

and byandby radiant. You would think they owned the world. Heaven, I think, shows us no finer sarcasm

And their talk, as always happens when two persons find themselves much together, became more and more

personal. It is only in books that dialogues are abstract and impersonal. The Englishman told her about his

family, about the set in which he movedand he had the English frankness in setting it out

unreservedlyabout the life he led at Oxford, about his travels, and so on to what he meant to do in the

world. Margaret in return had little to tell, her own life had been so simplenot much except the maidenly

reserves, the discontents with herself, which interested him more than anything else; and of the future she

would not speak at all. How can a woman, without being misunderstood? All this talk had a certain danger in

it, for sympathy is unavoidable between two persons who look ever so little into each other's hearts and

"I cannot quite understand your social life over here," Mr. Lyon was saying one day. "You seem to make

"Perhaps they make themselves. Your social orders seem able to resist Darwin's theory, but in a republic

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

"And I was told in Boston by an acquaintance of very old family and little fortune that 'blood' is considered

"You see, Mr. Lyon, how difficult it is to get correct information about us. I think we worship wealth a good

deal, and we worship family a good deal, but if any one presumes too much upon either, he is likely to come

"Not altogether; but more now than formerly. I suppose the distinction is this: family will take a person

everywhere, money will take him almost everywhere; but money is always at this disadvantageit takes

more and more of it to gain position. And then you will find that it is a good deal a matter of locality. For

instance, in Virginia and Kentucky family is still very powerful, stronger than any distinction in letters or

politics or success in business; and there is a certain diminishing number of people in New York,

Philadelphia, Boston, who cultivate a good deal of exclusiveness on account of descent."

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

"Well, it is more and more difficult to maintain a position without money. Mr. Morgan says that it is a

disheartening thing to be an aristocrat without luxury; he declares that he cannot tell whether the

Knickerbockers of New York or the plutocrats are more uneasy just now. The one is hungry for social

position, and is morose if he cannot buy it; and when the other is seduced by luxury and yields, he finds that

his distinction is gone. For in his heart the newly rich only respects the rich. A story went about of one of the

Bonanza princes who had built his palace in the city, and was sending out invitations to his first

entertainment. 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 thing is unknown in

"I saw a picture in Punch of an auction, intended as an awful satire on American women. It struck me that it

"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 Western man changes his pork in New York for pictures. I suppose thatwhat do

you call it?the balance of trade is against us, and we have to send over cash and beauty."

"We got that out of books in school. Another thing we learned is that England wants raw material; I thought I

"Oh, I'm capable of saying anything, if provoked. But we have got away from the point. As far as I can see,

all sorts of people intermarry, and I don't see how you can discriminate sociallywhere the lines are."

Mr. Lyon saw the moment that he had made it that this was a suggestion little likely to help him. And

"Oh, we do not try to discriminateexcept as to foreigners. There is a popular notion that Americans had

"Then the best way for a foreigner to break your exclusiveness is to be naturalized." Mr. Lyon tried to adopt

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

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

"Oh, the man, of course. It has always been so. My greatgreat grandfather was a Frenchman, but he

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

"Perhaps not. And then the marriage would have been unhappy. Did you never take notice that a woman's

happiness, and consequently the happiness of marriage, depends upon a woman's having her own way in all

social matters? Before our war all the men who married down South took the Southern view, and all the

Southern women who married up North held their own, and sensibly controlled the sympathies of their

"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 they are not happy and not doing it from choice."

"Doubtless some; I doubt if many do; but women do not confess mistakes of that kind. Woman's happiness

depends so much upon the continuation of the surroundings and sympathies in which she is bred. There are

always exceptions. Do you know, Mr. Lyon, it seems to me that some people do not belong in the country

where they were born. We have men who ought to have been born in England, and who only find themselves

really they go there. There are who are ambitious, and court a career different from any that a republic can

give them. They are not satisfied here. Whether they are happy there I do not know; so few trees, when at all

"I didn't know," said Margaret, with a laugh that was too genuine to be consoling, "that you were traveling for

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

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

This was not much of an admission, after all, but it was the most that Margaret had ever made, and Mr. Lyon

tried to get some encouragement out of it. But he felt, as any man would feel, that this beating about the bush,

this talk of nationality and all that, was nonsense; that if a woman loved a man she wouldn't care where he

was born; that all the world would be as nothing to him; that all conditions and obstacles society and family

could raise would melt away in the glow of a real passion. And he wondered for a moment if American girls

were not "calculating"a word to which he had learned over here to attach a new and comical meaning.

The afternoon after this conversation Miss Forsythe was sitting reading in her favorite windowseat when

Mr. Lyon was announced. Margaret was at her school. There was nothing un usual in this afternoon call; Mr.

Lyon's visits had become frequent and informal; but Miss Forsythe had a nervous presentiment that

something important was to happen, that showed itself in her greeting, and which was perhaps caught from a

Perhaps the maiden lady preserves more than any other this sensitiveness, inborn in women, to the approach

of the critical moment in the affairs of the heart. The day may some time be past when sheis sensitive for

herselfphilosophers say otherwisebut she is easily put in a flutter by the affair of another. Perhaps this is

because the negative (as we say in these days) which takes impressions retains all its 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 heart

unsatisfied should awaken lively apprehensive curiosity and sympathy about the manifestation of the tender

passion in others. It certainly is a note of the kindliness and charity of the maiden mind that its sympathies are

so apt to be most strongly excited in the success of the wooer. This interest may be quite separable from the

common feminine desire to make a match whenever there is the least chance of it. Miss Forsythe was not a

matchmaker, but Margaret herself would not have been more embarrassed than she was at the beginning of

When Mr. Lyon was seated she made the book she had in her hand the excuse for beginning a talk about the

confidence young novelists seem to have in their ability to upset the Christian religion by a fictitious

representation of life, but her visitor was too preoccupied to join in it. He rose and stood leaning his arm upon

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

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

"You must have seen my interest in her. You must have known why I stayed on and on. But it was, it is, all so

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

"I know. I don't ask you her feeling." Mr. Lyon was standing quietly looking 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 a flush

"Oh, no! no!" exclaimed Miss Forsythe, with another access of timidity. "I shouldn't take the responsibility of

being against you, oror otherwise. It is very manly in you to come to me, and I am sure Iwe all wish

"My permission, Mr. Lyon? why, it is so new to me, I scarcely realized that I had any permission," she said,

with a little attempt at pleasantry. "But as her auntand guardian, as one may saypersonally I should have

the greatest satisfaction to know that Margaret's destiny was in the hands of one we all esteem and know as

"But you must let me say, let me suggest, that there are a great many things to be thought of. There is such a

difference in education, in all the habits of your lives, in all your relations. Margaret would never be happy in

a position where less was accorded to her than she had all her life. Nor would her pride let her take such a

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

"And does it seem a little difficult to do so?" This was a probe that went even deeper than the questioner

knew. Mr. Lyon hesitated, seeing again as in a vision the astonishment of his family. He was conscious of an

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

"Margaret is, of course, perfectly free to act for herself. She has a very ardent nature, but at the same time a

great deal of what we call common sense. Though her heart might be very much engaged, she would hesitate

to put herself in any society which thought itself superior to her. You see I speak with great frankness."

It was a new position for Mr. Lyon to find his prospective rank seemingly an obstacle to anything he desired.

For a moment the whimsicality of it interrupted the current of his feeling. He thought of the probable

comments of the men of his London club upon the drift his conversation was taking with a New England

spinster about his fitness to marry a schoolteacher. With a smile that was summoned to hide his annoyance,

"Oh," she replied, with an answering smile that recognized his view of the humor of the situation, " I was not

thinking of you, Mr. Lyon, but of the family and the society that my niece might enter, to which rank is of the

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

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 to her by the, air of half banter with which the sentence concluded. She said,

with a little stillness and formality: "I fear, Mr. Lyon, that your sarcasm is too well merited. But there are

Americans who make a distinction between rank and blood. Perhaps it is very undemocratic, but there is

nowhere else more pride of family, of honorable descent, than here. We think very much of what we call

good blood. And you will pardon me for saying that we are accustomed to speak of some persons and

families abroad which have the highest rank as being thoroughly bad blood. If I am not mistaken, you also

recognize the historic fact of ignoble blood in the owners of noble titles. I only mean, Mr. Lyon," she added,

with a softening of manner, "that all Americans do not think that rank covers a multitude of sins."

"Yes, I think I get your American point of view. But to return to myself, if you will allow me; if I am so

fortunate as to win Miss Debree's love, I have no fear that she would not win the hearts of all my family. Do

"Not your position, no; if her heart were engaged. But expatriation, involving a surrender of all the habits and

traditions and associations of a lifetime and of one's kindred, is a serious affair. One would need to be very

much in love"and Miss Forsythe blushed a little as she said it"to make such a surrender."

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

"Most sincerely," said Miss Forsythe, rising and giving him her hand. "I could 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." Her tone was wholly frank and cordial, but there was a wistful look in her face, as of one who knew

When John Lyon walked away from her door his feelings were very much mixed. At one instant his pride

rebelled against the attitude he had just assumed. But this was only a flash, which he put away as unbecoming

a man towards a true woman. The next thought was one of unselfish consideration for Margaret herself. He

would not subject her to any chance of social mortifications. He would wait. He would return home and test

his love by renewing his lifelong associations, and by the reception his family would give to his proposal.

And the next moment he 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 paltry considerations to his love?

Was there ever a young man who could see any reasons against the possession of the woman he loved? Was

there ever any love worth the name that could be controlled by calculations of expediency? I have no doubt

that John Lyon went through the usual process which is called weighing a thing in the mind. It is generally an

amusing process, and it is consoling to the conscience. The mind has little to do with it except to furnish the

platform on which the scales are set up. A humorist says that he must have a great deal of mind, it takes him

so long to make it up. There is the same apparent deliberation where love is concerned. Everything "contra"

is carefully placed in one scale of the balance, and it is always satisfactory and convincing to see how quickly

it kicks the beam when love is placed in the other scale. The lightest love in the world, under a law as

invariable as gravitation, is heavier than any other known consideration. It is perhaps doing injustice to Mr.

Lyon not to dwell upon this struggle in his mind, and to say that in all honesty he may not have known that

the result of it was predetermined. But interesting and commendable as are these processes of the mind, I

confess that I should have respected him less if the result had not been predetermined. And this does not in

Philosophizers on this topic say that a man ought always to be able to tell by a woman's demeanor towards

him whether she is favorably inclined, and that he need run no risk. Little signs, the eyes alone, draw people

together, and make formal language superfluous. This theory is abundantly sustained by examples, and we

might rest on it if all women knew their own minds, and if, on the other hand, they could always tell whether

a man was serious before he made a definite avowal. There is another notion, fortunately not yet extinct, that

the manliest thing a man can do is to take his life in his hand, pay the woman he loves the 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 to herself her own feeling. In our conventional life women must move behind a mask in a world of

uncertainties. What wonder that many of them learn in their defensive position to play a game, and

sometimes experiment upon the honest natures of their admirers! But even this does not absolve the

chivalrous man from the duty of frankness and explicitness. Life seems ideal in that far country where the

handsome youth stops his carriage at the gate of the vineyard, and says to the laughing girl carrying a basket

of grapes on her head, " My pretty maid, will you marry me?" And the pretty maid, dropping a courtesy, says,

"Thank you, sir; I am already bespoken," or "Thank you; I will consider of it when I know you better."

Not for a moment, I suppose, is a woman ever ignorant of a man's admiration of her, however uncertain she

may be of his intentions, and it was with an unusual flutter of the heart that Margaret received Mr. Lyon that

afternoon. If she had doubts, they were dissipated by a certain constraint in his manner, and the importance he

seemed to be attaching to his departure, and she was warned to go within her defenses. Even the most

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

"Yes. We send Representatives and strangers there to be educated. I have never been there myself."

"Very much. All Americans want to go to Washington. It is the great social opportunity; everybody there is in

society. You will be able to see there, Mr. Lyon, how a republican democracy manages social life.

"Oh, no; there are plenty of official distinctions, and a code that is very curious and complicated, I believe.

"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 the principle of natural selection applies to society; that it is there shown for the

first time that society is able to take care of itself in the free play of democratic opportunities."

"I hope you will find it so. The resident diplomats, I have heard, say that they find society there more

agreeable than at any other capitalat least those who have the qualities to make themselves agreeable

"Officially there may be something like a court, but it can be only temporary, for the personnel of it is

dissolved every four years. And society, always forming and reforming, as the voters of the republic dictate,

is almost independent of the Government, and has nothing of the social caste of Berlin or London."

"Oh, I dare say it is not at all ideal; only it is rather fluid, and interesting, to see how society, without caste

and subject to such constant change, can still be what is called 'society.' And I am told that while it is all open

in a certain way, it nevertheless selects itself into agreeable groups, much as society does elsewhere. Yes, you

"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 late husband was once a Representative in Washington, says that life is not

nearly so simple there as it used to be, and that rich men in the Government, vying with rich men who have

built fine houses and who live there permanently without any Government position, have introduced an

element of expense and display that interferes very much with the natural selection of which Mr. Morgan

speaks. But you will see. We are all right sorry to have you leave us," Margaret added, turning towards him

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

"Don't mock me, Miss Debree. I hoped I had awakened something more valuable to me than conceit," Lyon

"You have, I assure you: gratitude. You have opened quite another world to us. Reading about foreign life

does not give one at all the same impression of it that seeing one who is a part of it does."

"Of course," Margaret said, interrupting; "all Americans expect to go to Europe. I have a friend who says she

should be mortified if she reached heaven and there had to confess that she never had seen Europe. It is one

of the things that is expected of a person. Though you know now that the embarrassing question that

everybody has to answer is, 'Have you been to Alaska?' Have you been to Alaska, Mr. Lyon?"

This icy suggestion seemed very inopportune to Lyon. He rose and walked a step or two, and stood by the

fire facing her. He confessed, looking down, 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, "I fear I am not in a geographical mood today.

" No, I beg; I had something to say that concerns us; that is, that concerns myself. I couldn't go away without

The color rose in Margaret's cheek, and she made a movement of embarrassment, and said, with haste: "Some

"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 of protest; he stood nearer her now, his face flushed and his eyes eager

with determination"the one woman I care for. Margaret, Miss Debree, I love you!"

Her hand that rested on the table trembled, and the hot blood rushed to her face, flooding her in an agony of

shame, pleasure, embarrassment, and anger that her face should contradict the want of tenderness in her eyes.

In an instant selfpossession came back to her mind, but not strength to her body, and she sank into the chair,

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, the worst a man can receivea bludgeon on the head is nothing to it. He half turned,

he looked again for an instant at the form that was more to him than all the world besides, unable to face the

"That is all, Mr. Lyon," Margaret answered, not looking up, and in a voice 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 turned almost immediately back from the passage. Margaret was still sitting, with no

"I beg you will make my excuses, and say goodby to Miss Forsythe. I had mentioned it to her. I thought

perhaps she had told you, perhapsI should like to know if it is anything about difference inin nationality,

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

And then, with a forced cheerfulness: "You will no doubt thank me some day. Your life must be so different

from mine. And you must not doubt my esteem, my appreciation," (her sense of justice forced this from her),

"my good wishes. Goodby." She gave him her hand. He held it for a second, and then was gone.

She heard his footstep, rapid and receding. So he had really gone! She was not sorryno. If she could have

No, she could not love him. The man to command her heart must be of another type. But the greatest

experience in a woman's life had come to her here, just now, in this commonplace room. A man had said he

loved her. A thousand times as a girl she had dreamed of that, hardly confessing 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 her face burned

at the thought. Was it with pleasure? Yes, and with womanly pain. What an awful thing it was! Why couldn't

he have seen? A man had said he loved her. Perhaps it was not in her to love any one. Perhaps she should live

on and on like her aunt Forsythe. Well, it was over; and Margaret roused herself as her aunt entered the room.

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

"Oh yes, he said a great deal," answered this accomplished hypocrite, looking frankly in her aunt's eyes. "He

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

Margaret hastened to her chamber. Was the air oppressive? She opened the window and sat down by it. A

soft south wind was blowing, eating away the remaining patches of snow; the sky was full of fleecy clouds.

Where do these days come from in January? Why should nature be in a melting mood? Margaret instinctively

would have preferred a wild storm, violence, anything but this elemental languor. Her emotion was incredible

It was only an incident. It had all happened in a moment, and it was over. 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 she would be

changed. She never again would be as she was before. Would her heart 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 he loved

her. Unwittingly she was following him in her thought. She had rejected plain John Lyon, amiable,

intelligent, unselfish, kindly, deferential. She had rejected also the Earl of Chisholm, a conspicuous position,

an honorable family, luxury, a great opportunity in life. It came to the girl in a flash. She moved nervously in

her chair. She put down the thought as unworthy of her. But she had entertained it for a moment. In that

second, ambition had entered the girl's soul. She had a glimpse of her own nature that seemed new to her.

Was this, then, the meaning of her restlessness, of her charitable activities, of her unconfessed dreams of

some career? Ambition had entered her soul in a definite form. She expelled it. It would come again in some

form or other. She was indignant at herself as she thought of it. How odd it was! Her privacy had been

invaded. The even tenor of her life had been broken. Henceforth would she be less or more sensitive to the

suggestion of love, to the allurements of ambition? Margaret tried, in accordance with her nature, to be

After all, what nonsense it was! Nothing really had happened. A stranger of a few weeks before had declared

himself. She did not love him; he was no more to her than any other man. It was a common occurrence. Her

judgment accorded with her feeling in what she had done. How was she to know that she had made a mistake,

if mistake it was? How was she to know that this hour was a crisis in her life? Surely the little tumult would

pass; surely the little whisper of worldliness could not disturb her ideals. But all the power of exclusion in her

mind could not exclude the returning thought of what might have been if she had loved him. Alas 1 in that

moment was born in her heart something that would make the idea of love less simple than it had been in her

mind. She was heartfree, but her nature was too deep not to be profoundly affected by this experience.

Looking back upon this afternoon in the light of afteryears, she probably could not feelno one could

saythat she had done wrong. How was she to tell? Why is it that to do the right thing is often to make the

mistake of a life? Nothing could have been nobler than for Margaret indignantly to put aside a temptation that

I ought to ask pardon, perhaps, for dwelling upon a thing so slight as the entrance of a thought in a woman's

life. For as to Margaret, she seemed 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, and that he seemed to anticipate nothing but the fulfillment of a duty in his visit to

What had happened was regarded as only an episode. In fact, however, I doubt if there are any episodes in

our lives, any asides, that do not permanently affect our entire career. Are not the episodes, the casual

thoughts, the fortuitous, unplanned meetings, the brief and maybe at the moment unnoted events, those which

exercise the most influence on our destiny? To all observation the career of Lyon, and not of Margaret, was

most affected by their interview. But often the implanting of an idea in the mind is more potent than the

frustration of a plan or the gratification 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 alone or chiefly concerned took me from

home. One of the most curious and interesting places in the world is a Chamber in the business heart of New

Yorkif that scene of struggle and passion can be said to have a heart situated midway where the currents

of eagerness to acquire the money of other people, not to make it, ceaselessly meet and dash against each

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 and more 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

nervecentresone in the brain, to which and from which are telegraphed all movements depending upon

the will, and another in the small of the back, the centre of the involuntary operations of respiration,

digestion, and so on. It may be fanciful to suppose that in the national system Washington is the one nervous

centre and New York the other. And yet it does sometimes seem that the nerves and ganglions in the small of

the back in the commercial metropolis act automatically and without any visible intervention of intelligence.

For all that, their operations may be as essential as the other, in which the willpower sometimes gets into a

deadlock, and sometimes telegraphs the most eccentric and incomprehensible orders. Puzzled by these

contradictions, some philosophers have said that there may be somewhere outside of these two material

This noble Chamber has a large irregular area of floor space, is very high, and has running round three sides a

narrow elevated gallery, from which spectators can look down upon the throng below. Upon a raised dais at

one side sits the presiding genius of the place, who rules very much as Jupiter was supposed to govern the

earthly swarms, by letting things run and occasionally launching a thunderbolt. High up on one side, in an

Olympian seclusion, away from the noise and the strife, sits a Board, calm as fate, and panoplied in the

responsibility of chance, whose function seems to be that of switchshifters in their windowed cubby at a

At both ends of the floor and along one side are narrow railedoff spaces full of clerks figuring at desks, of

telegraph operators clicking their machines, of messengerboys arriving and departing in haste, of

unprivileged operators nervously watching the scene and waiting the chance of a word with some one on the

floor; through noiseless swinging doors men are entering and departing every momentmen in a hurry, men

with anxious faces, conscious that the fate of the country is in their hands. On the floor itself are five hundred,

perhaps a thousand, men, gathered for the most part in small groups about little stands upon the summit of

which is a rallying legend, talking, laughing, screaming, good natured, indifferent, excited, running hither

and thither in response to changing figures in the checkerboard squares on the great wall opposite calm,

cynical one moment, the next violently agitated, shouting, gesticulating, rushing together, shaking their fists

The swarms ebb and flow about these little standsbees, not bringing any honey, but attracted to the hive

where it is rumored most honey is to be had. By habit some always stand or sit about a particular hive,

waiting for the show of comb. Byandby there is a stir; the crowd thickens; one beardless youth shouts out

the figure "onehalf"; another howls, "three eighths." The first one nods. It is done. The electric wire

running up the stand quivers and takes the figure, passes it to all the other wires, transmits it to every office

and hotel in the city, to all the "tickers" in ten thousand chambers and "bucketshops" and offices in the

republic. Suddenly on the bulletinboards in New Orleans, Chicago, San Francisco, Podunk, Liverpool,

appear the mysterious "threeeighths," electrifying the watchers of these boards, who begin to jabber and

What induced the beardless young man to make this "investment" in "three eighths"who can tell? Perhaps

he had heard, as he came into the room, that the Secretary of the Treasury was going to make a call of Fives;

perhaps he had heard that Bismarck had said that the French blood was too thin and needed a little more iron;

perhaps he had heard that a norther in Texas had killed a herd of cattle, or that two grasshoppers had been

seen in the neighborhood of Fargo, or that Jay Hawker had been observed that morning hurrying to his

brokers with a scowl on his face and his hat pulled over his eyes. The young man sold what he did not have,

This is business of the higher and almost immaterial sort, and has an element of faith in it, and, as one may

say, belief in the unseen, whence it is characterized by an expression"dealing in futures." It is not

gambling, for there are no "chips" used, and there is no roulettetable in sight, and there are no piles of

money or piles of anything else. It is not a lottery, for there is no wheel at which impartial men preside to

insure honest drawings, and there are no predestined blanks and prizes, and the man who buys and the man

who sells can do something, either in the newspapers or elsewhere, to affect the worth of the investment,

whereas in a lottery everything depends upon the turn of the blind wheel. It is not necessary, however, to

attempt a defense of the Chamber. It is one of the recognized ways of becoming important and powerful in

this world. The privilege of the floora seat, as it is calledin this temple of the god Chance to be Rich is

worth more than a seat in the Cabinet. It is not only true that a fortune may be made here in a day or lost here

in a day, but that a nod and a wink here enable people all over the land to ruin others or ruin themselves with

celerity. The relation of the Chamber to the business of the country is therefore evident. If an earthquake

should suddenly sink this temple and all its votaries into the bowels of the earth, with all its nervousness and

all its electricity, it is appalling to think what would become of the business of the country.

Not far from this vast Chamber, where great financial operations are conducted on the highest principles of

honor, and with the strictest regard to the Marquis of Dusenbury's rules, there is another less pretentious

Chamber, known as "open," a sort of overflow meeting. Those who have not quite left hope behind can go in

here. Here are the tickers communicating with the Chamber, tended by lads, who transfer the figures to big

blackboards on the wall. In front of these boards sit, from morning to night, rows, perhaps relays, of men

intently or listlessly watching the figures. Many of them, who seldom make a sign, come here from habit;

they have nowhere else to go. Some of them were once lords in the great Chamber, who have been, as the

phrase is, "cleaned out." There is a graybearded veteran in seedy clothes, with sunken fiery eyes, 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 his office with coachman and footman in livery, and his wife headed the list of charities. Now he

spends his old age watching this blackboard, and considers it a good day that brings him five dollars and his

carfare. At one end of the lowceiled apartment are busy clerks behind a counter, alert and cheerful. If one

should go through a side door and down a passage he might encounter the smell of rum. Smart young men,

clad in the choicest raiment from the misfit counters, with greed stamped on their astute faces, bustle about,

watch the blackboards, and make investments with each other. Middleaged men in slouch hats lounge

around with hungry eyes. The place is feverish rather than exciting. A tall fellow, whose gait and clothes

proclaim him English, with a hard face and lacklustre eyes, saunters about; his friends at home suppose he is

making his fortune in America. A dapper young gentleman, quite in the mode, and with the quick air of

prosperity, rapidly enters the room and 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 side transactionthere are so many ways open to enterprising young men in the

city; at any rate, his entrance is regarded as significant: This is not a hospital for the broken down and

"cleaned out" of the Chamber, but it 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 advent of the "ticker" is a wonder.

But the Chamber, the creator of lowpressure and highpressure, the inspirer of the "ticker," is the great

generator of business. Here I found Henderson in the morning hour, and he came up to me on the call of a

messenger. He approached, nonchalant and smiling as usual. "Do you see that man," he said, as we stood a

moment looking down, "sitting there on a side benchbig body, small head, hair grayish, long beard

That's Flink, who made the corner in O. B. one of the longestheaded operators in the Chamber. He is

about the only man who dare try a hold with Jay Hawker. And for some reason or another, though they have

apparent tussles, Hawker rather favors him. Five years ago he could just raise money enough to get into the

Chamber. Now he is reckoned at anywhere 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 good slice of the island in ten years. His wife, whom I complimented, and who

"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 preacher described 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 must have felt it.' These men rather like that sort of

"I don't come here often," Henderson resumed, as we walked away. "The market is flat today. There

We walked to his downtown club to lunch. Everybody, I noticed, seemed to know Henderson, and his

presence was hailed with a cordial smile, a goodhumored nod, or a hearty grasp of the hand. I never knew a

more prepossessing man; his bonhomie was infectious. Though his demeanor was perfectly quiet and modest,

he carried the air of goodfellowship. He was entirely frank, cordial, and had that sort of sincerity which one

can afford to have who does not take life too seriously. Tallat least six feetwith a wellshaped head set

on square shoulders, brown hair inclined to curl, large blue eyes which could be merry or exceedingly grave,

I thought him a picture of manly beauty. Goodnatured, clever, prosperous, and not yet thirty. What a dower!

After we had disposed of our little matter of business, which I confess was not exactly satisfactory to me,

although when I was told that "the first bondholders will be obliged to come in," he added that "of course we

shall take care of our friends," we went to his bachelor quarters up town. "I want you to see," he said, "how

The apartments were not my idea of a hermitageexcept in the city. A charming library, spacious, but so

full as to be cozy, with an open fire; chamber, dressingroom, and bathroom connecting, furnished with

everything that a luxurious habit could suggest and good taste would not refuse, made a retreat that could

almost reconcile a sinner to solitude. There were a few good paintings, many rare engravings, on the walls, a

notable absence, even in the sleepingroom, of photographs of actresses and professional beauties, but here

and there souvenirs of travel and evidences that the gentler sex had contributed the skill of their slender

fingers to the cheerfulness of the bachelor's home. Scattered about were the daily and monthly products of the

press, the newest sensations, the things talked about at dinners, but the walls for the most part were lined with

books that are recognized as the proper possessions of the lover of books, and most of them in exquisite

bindings. 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 peculiar value.

In this atmosphere, when we were prepared to take our ease, the talk was no longer of stocks, or railways, or

schemes, but of books. Whether or not Henderson loved literature I did not then make up my mind, but he

had a passion for books, especially for rare and first editions; and the delight with which he exhibited his

library, the manner in which he handled the books that he took down one after the other, the sparkle in his

eyes over a "find" or a bargain, gave me a side of his character quite different from that I should have gained

by seeing him "in the street" only. He had that genuine respect and affection for a "book" which has become

almost traditional in these days of cheap and flimsy publications, a taste held by scholars and collectors, and

quite beyond the popular comprehension. The respect for a book is essential to the dignity and consideration

of the place of literature in the world, and when books are treated with no more regard than the newspaper, it

is a sign that literature is losing its power. Even the collector, who may read little and care more for the

externals than for the soul of his favorites, by the honor he pays them, by the solicitude he expends upon their

preservation without spot, by the lavishness of expense upon binding, contributes much to the dignity of that

art which preserves for the race the continuity of its thought and development. If Henderson loved books

merely as a collector whose taste for luxury and expense takes this direction, his indulgence could not but

have a certain refining influence. I could not see that he cultivated any decided specialty, but he had many

rare copies which had cost fabulous prices, the possession of which gives a reputation to any owner. "My

shelves of Americana," he said, "are nothing like Goodloe's, who has a lot of scarce things that I am hoping to

get hold of some day. But there's a little thing" (it was a small coffeecolored tract of six leaves, upon which

the binder of the city had exercised his utmost skill) "which Goodloe offered me five hundred dollars for the

other day. I picked it up in a New Hampshire garret." Not the least interesting part of the collection was first

editions of American authorsa person's value to a collector is often in proportion to his obscurityand

what most delighted him among them were certain thin volumes of poetry, which the authors since becoming

famous had gone to a good deal of time and expense to suppress. The world seems to experience a lively

pleasure in holding a man to his early follies. There were many examples of superb binding, especially of

exquisite tooling on hogskin coversthe appreciation of which has lately greatly revived. The recent rage

for bindings has been a sore trouble to students and collectors in special lines, raising the prices of books far

beyond their intrinsic value. I had a charming afternoon in Henderson's library, an enjoyment not much

lessened at the time by experiencing in it, with him, rather a sense of luxury than of learning. It is true, one

might pass an hour altogether different in the garret of a student, and come away with quite other impressions

At five o'clock his stylish trap was sent around from the boarding stable, and we drove in the Park till

twilight. Henderson handling the reins, and making a part of that daily display which is too heterogeneous to

have distinction, reverted quite naturally to the tone of worldliness and tolerant cynicism which had

characterized his conversation in the morning. If the Park and the moving assemblage had not the air of

distinction, it had that of expense, which is quite as attractive to many. Here, as downtown, my companion

seemed to know and be known by everybody, returning the familiar salutes of brokers and club men,

receiving gracious bows from stout matrons, smiles and nods from pretty women, and more formal

recognition from stately and stiff elderly men, who sat boltupright beside their wives and tried to look like

millionaires. For every passerby Henderson had a quick word of characterization sufficiently amusing, and

about many a story which illuminated the social life of the day. It was wonderful how many of this 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 caught a glimpse of golden hair and a flash of

dark eyes out of a mass of furs "who has no history: the world is all before her."

"The daughter of old EschelleCarmen Eschellethe banker and politician, you remember; had a

diplomatic position abroad, and the girl was educated in Europe. She is very clever. She and her mother have

"That was the celebrated Jay Hawker" ( a moment after), "in the modest coupenot much display about

"Recognized?" Henderson laughed. "He's a power. There are plenty of people who live by trying to guess

what he is going to do. Hawker isn't such a bad fellow. Other people have used the means he used to get rich

and haven't succeeded. They are not held up to point a moral. The trouble is that Hawker succeeded. Of

"Yes," Henderson resumed, walking his horses in sight of the obelisk, which suggested the long continuance

of the human race, "it is the same old game, and it is very interesting to those who are in it. Outsiders think it

is all greed. In the Chamber it is a good deal the love of the game, 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

"The machine in the Chamber appears to run very smoothly," I said. "Oh, that is a public register and

indicator. The system back of it is comprehensive, and appears to be complicated, but it is really very simple.

Spend an hour some day in the office of Flamm and Slamm, and you will see a part of the system. There are,

always a number of men watching the blackboard, figures on which are changed every minute by the

attendants. Telegrams are constantly arriving from every part of the Union, from all over the continent, from

all the centres in Europe, which are read by some one connected with the firm, and then displayed for the

guidance of the watchers of the blackboard. Upon this news one or 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 the result comes back

"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's office

with others watching the market, and dropped into conversation with a bright young fellow, at whose right

hand, across the rail, was a telegraph operator at the end of a private wire. Soon a man came in quietly, and

whispered in the ear of my neighbor and went out. The young fellow instantly wrote a despatch and handed it

In an incredibly short space of time a fall in a leading railway showed on the blackboard. 'What was it?' I

asked. 'Why, that man was the general freight manager of the A. B. road. He told me that they were to cut

rates. I sent it to New York by a private wire.' I learned by further conversation that my young gentleman was

a Manufacturer of News, and that such was his address and intelligence that though he was not a member of

the broker's firm, he made ten thousand a year in the business. Soon another man came in, whispered his

news, and went away. Another despatchanother responsive change in the figures. 'That,' explained my

companion, 'was a man connected with the weather bureau. He told me that there would be a heavy frost

"Yes, twice; once over a private wire, and then to the public, after the value of it has been squeezed out, in the

shape of predictions. Oh, the weather bureau is worth all the money it costs, for business purposes. It is a

Dining that evening with Henderson at his club, I had further opportunity to study a representative man. He

was of a good New Hampshire family, exceedingly respectable without being distinguished. Over the

chimney place in the old farmhouse hung a rusty Queen Anne that had been at the taking of Louisburg. His

grandfather shouldered a musket at Bunker Hill; his father, the youngest son, had been a judge as well 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. He had brought also to

the city the stamina of three generations of plain livinga splendid capital, by which the city is constantly

reinforced, and which one generation does not exhaust, except by the aid of extreme dissipation. With sound

health, good ability, and fair education, he had the cheerful temperament which makes friends, and does not

allow their misfortunes to injure his career. Generous by impulse, he would rather do a favor than not, and yet

he would be likely to let nothing interfere with any object he had in view for himself. Inheriting a

conventional respect for religion and morality, he was not so bigoted as to rebuke the gayety of a convivial

company, nor so intractable as to make him an uncomfortable associate in any scheme, according to the

modern notions of business, that promised profit. His engaging manner made him popular, and his

goodnatured adroitness made him successful. If his early experience of life caused him to be cynical, he was

not bitterly so; his cynicism was of the tolerant sort that does not condemn the world and withdraw from it,

but courts it and makes the most of it, lowering his private opinion of men in proportion as he is successful in

the game he plays with them. At this period I could see that he had determined to be successful, and that he

had not determined to be unscrupulous. He would only drift with the tide that made for fortune. He enjoyed

the worlda sufficient reason why the world should like him. His business morality was gauged by what

other people do in similar circumstances. In short, he was a product of the period since the civil war closed,

that great upheaval of patriotic feeling and sacrifice, which ended in so much expansion and so many

opportunities. If he had remained in New Hampshire he would probably have been a successful politician,

successful not only in keeping in place, but in teaching younger aspirants that serving the country is a very

good way to the attainment of luxury and the consideration that money brings. But having chosen the law as a

steppingstone to the lobby, to speculation, and the manipulation of chances, he had a poor opinion of

politics and of politicians. His success thus far, though considerable, had not been sufficient to create for him

powerful enemies, so that he may be said to be admired by all and feared by none. In the general opinion he

In youth, as at the opera, everything seems possible. Surely it is not necessary to choose between love and

riches. One may have both, and the one all the more easily for having attained the other. It must be a fiction

of the moralists who construct the dramas that the god of love and the god of money each claims an

undivided allegiance. It was in some wholly legendary, perhaps spiritual, world that it was necessary to

renounce love to gain the Rhine gold. The boxes at the Metropolitan did not believe this. The spectators of

the boxes could believe it still less. For was not beauty there seen shining in jewels that have a market value,

and did not love visibly preside over the union, and make it known that his sweetest favors go with a

prosperous world? And yet, is the charm of life somewhat depending upon a sense of its fleetingness, of its

phantasmagorial character, a note of coming disaster, maybe, in the midst of its most seductive pageantry, in

the whirl and glitter and hurry of it? Is there some subtle sense of exquisite satisfaction in snatching the sweet

moments of life out of the very delirium of it, that must soon end in an awakening to bankruptcy of the

affections, and the dreadful loss of illusions? Else why do we take pleasurea pleasure so deep that it

touches the heart like melancholyin the common drama of the opera? How gay and joyous is the

beginning! Mirth, hilarity, entrancing sound, brilliant color, the note of a trumpet calling to heroism, the

beseeching of the concordant strings, and the soft flute inviting to pleasure; scenes placid, pastoral, innocent;,

lighthearted love, the dance on the green, the stately pageant in the sunlit streets, the court, the ball, the mad

splendor of life. And then love becomes passion, and passion thwarted hurries on to sin, and sin lifts to the

heights of the immortal, sweetly smiling gods, and plunges to the depths of 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 of sacrifice. How sad are the remembered

strains that aforetime were incentives to love and promises of happiness! Gloom settles upon the scene;

Mephisto, the only radiant one, flits across it, and mocks the poor brokenhearted girl clinging to the church

door. There is a dungeon, the chanting of the procession of tonsured priests, the passingbell. Seldom appears

Do we like this because it is life, or because there is a certain satisfaction in seeing the tragedy which

impends over all, pervades the atmosphere, as it were, and adds something of zest to the mildest enjoyment?

Should we go away from the mimic stage any, better and stronger if the drama began in the dungeon and

ended on the greensward, with innocent love and resplendent beauty in possession of the Rhine gold?

How simple, after all, was the created world on the stage to the real world in the auditorium, with its thousand

complexities and dramatic situations l and if the little knot of players of parts for an hour could have had

leisure to be spectators of the audience, what a deeper revelation of life would they not have seen! For the

world has never assembled such an epitome of itself, in its passion for pleasure and its passion for display, as

in the modern opera, with its ranks and tiers of votaries from the pit to the dome. I fancy that even Margaret,

whose love for music was genuine, was almost as much fascinated by the greater spectacle as by the less.

It was a crowded night, for the opera was one that appealed to the senses and stimulated them to activity, and

left the mind free to pursue its own schemes; in a word, orchestra and the scenes formed a sort of

accompaniment and interpreter to the private dramas in the boxes. The opera was made for society, and not

society for the opera. We occupied a box in the second tierthe Morgans, Margaret, and my wife. Morgan

said that the glasses were raised to us from the parquet and leveled at us from the loges because we were a

country party, but he well enough knew whose fresh beauty and enthusiastic young face it was that drew the

fire when the curtain fell on the first act, and there was for a moment a little lull in the hum of conversation.

"I had heard," Morgan was saying, "that the opera was not acclimated in New York; but it is nearly so. The

audience do not jabber so loud nor so incessantly as at San Carlo, and they do not hum the airs with the

"But they are getting on in cultivation, and learning how to assert the social side of the opera, which is not to

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

"That is true. And the social side has risen with it. Do you know what an impudent thing the managers did the

other night in protesting against the raising of the lights by which the house was made brilliant and the cheap

illusions of the stage were destroyed? They wanted to make the house positively gloomy for the sake of a

As the world goes, the scene was brilliant, of course with republican simplicity. The imagination was helped

by no titled names any more than the eye was by the insignia of rank, but there was a certain glow of feeling,

as the glass swept the circle, to know that there were ten millions 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

flowered here flowered with something of Aspasia's grace and something of the haughty coldness of

Agrippina. And yet it was American. Here and there in the boxes was a thoroughbred portrait by

Copleythe long shapely neck, the sloping shoulders, the drooping eyelids, even to the gown in which the

I did not know. There were two ladies, and behind them I had no difficulty in making out Henderson

andMargaret evidently had not seen him Mr. Lyon. Almost at the same moment Henderson recognized me,

and signaled for me to come to his box. As I rose to do so, Mrs. Morgan exclaimed: "Why, there is Mr. Lyon!

I was presented to Mrs. Eschelle and her daughter; in the latter I recognized the beauty who had flashed by us

in the Park. The elder lady inclined to stoutness, and her too youthful apparel could not mislead one as to the

length of her pilgrimage in this world, nor soften the hard lines of her worldly facelines acquired, one could

see, by a social 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 desired information.

"How innocent!" she murmured. "And she's quite in the styleisn't she, Mr. Lyon?" she asked, turning

about, her sweet mobile face quite the picture of what she was describing. "We are all innocent in these

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

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

"I beg your pardon, Miss Eschelle," he said, after a second, "I hardly know which to admire most, the beauty,

"There is nothing so confusing, though, as the country innocence," the girl said, with the most natural air; "it

"Well, mamma, there is authority for saying that there is a time for everything, only one must be in the

Mr. Lyon looked a little dubious at this turn of the talk; Mr. Henderson was as evidently amused at the girl's

"Oh, it often is. You know we were promised a knowledge of good as well as evil. It depends upon the point

of view. I fancy, now, that Mr. Henderson tolerates the goodthat is the reason we get on so well together;

and Mr. Lyon tolerates the evilthat's the reason he likes New York. I have almost promised him that I will

The girl looked quite capable of it, or of any other form of devotion. Notwithstanding her persistent banter,

she had a most inviting innocence of manner, almost an ingenuousness, that well became her exquisite

beauty. And but for a tentative daring in her talk, as if the gentle creature were experimenting as to how far

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 us in London, and we are trying to

"Unfortunately," added Miss Eschelle, looking up in Mr. Lyon's face, "he visited Brandon first, and you seem

to have bewitched him with your simple country ways. I can get him to talk of nothing else."

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

"Oh, you know we felt a little responsible for you; and there is no place so dangerous as the country. Now

here you are protectedwe put all 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 it so, Mr. Henderson? I am passionately

"I notice, dear," the dutiful daughter replied for all of us, "that you have to raise your voice. But there is the

Mr. Lyon excused himself from going with me, saying that he would call at our hotel, and I took Henderson.

"I shall count the minutes you are going to lose," the girl said as we went outto our box. The lobbies in the

interact were thronged with menfor the most part the young speculators of the Chamber turned into

loungers in the foyerknowing, alert, attitudinizing in the extreme of the mode, unable even in this hour to

give beauty the preference to business, well knowing, perhaps, that beauty itself in these days has a fine eye

I liked Henderson better in our box than in his own. Was it because the atmosphere was more natural and

genuine? Or was it Margaret's transparent nature, her sincere enjoyment of the scene, her evident pleasure in

the music, the color, the gayety of the house, that made him drop the slight cynical air of the world which had

fitted him so admirably a moment before? He already knew my wife and the Morgans, and, after the

greetings were made, he took a seat by Margaret, quite content while the act was going on to watch its

progress in the play of her responsive features. How quickly she felt, how the frown followed the smile, how,

she seemed to weigh and try to apprehend the meaning of what went onhow her every sense enjoyed life!

"It is absurd," she said, turning her bright face to him when the curtain dropped, "to be so interested in

"I'm not so sure that it is," he replied, in her own tone; "the opera is a sort of pulpit, and not seldom preaches

"No. But who can say what is most effective? I often wonder, as I watch the congregations coming from the

churches on the Avenue, if they are any more solemnized than the audiences that pour out of this house. I

"Honestly"and I heard his goodnatured laugh"I couldn't swear to that. But then we don't know what

"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 I am more tolerant, and maybe toleration is not good. I wonder if I should

"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 the house that disturbs one, makes one restless and discontented."

"I never analyzed my emotions," said Henderson, "but when I was a boy and came to the theatre I well

remember that it made me ambitious; every sort of thing seemed possible of attainment in the excitement of

the crowded house, the music, the lights, the easy successes on the stage; nothing else is more stimulating to a

"Hardly," and he smiled; "the illusion goes, and the stage is about as real as the houseusually less

"Oh yes; desire for the dramatic is natural. People will have it somehow. In the country village where there

are no theatres the people make dramas out of each other's lives; the most trivial incidents are magnified and

"Well, you may call it gossipnothing can be concealed; everybody knows about everybody else; there is no

privacy; everything is used to create that illusory spectacle which the stage tries to give. I think that in the

country village a good theatre would be a wholesome influence, satisfy a natural appetite indicated by the

"We are on the way to it," said Mr. Morgan, who sat behind them; "we have theatricals in the church parlors,

which may grow into a nineteenth century substitute for the miracleplays. You mustn't, Margaret, let Mr.

"No," said the latter, quickly; "I was only trying to defend the city. We country people always do that. We

"What is the difference, Mr. Henderson," asked Margaret, "between the gossip in the boxes and the country

"In toleration mainly, and lack of exact knowledge. It is here rather cynical persiflage, not concentrated

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

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

"You make me see that it was a poor jest," he said, rising to go. "Bytheway, we have a friend of yours in

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

When Henderson came back to his box Carmen did not look up, but she said, indifferently: "What, so soon?

But your absence has made one person thoroughly miserable. Mr. Lyon has not taken his eyes off you. I

"I beg your pardon," said Lyon. "Miss Eschelle must believe that I thoroughly appreciate Mr. Henderson's

selfsacrifice. If I occasionally looked over where he was, I assure you it was in pity."

"You are both altogether too selfsacrificing," the beauty replied, turning to Henderson a look that was

"That leaves me," Mr. Lyon answered, with a laugh, "as you say over here, out in the cold, for I have passed a

"You see what you must do to be forgiven," Henderson said to Lyon, with that goodnatured smile that was

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

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

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

"Miss Eschelle is in such a forgiving humor tonight that she absolves before any one has a chance to

Mr. Lyon bowed. "I think that an operabox with Miss Eschelle is the easiest confessional in the world."

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

The play was over. In the robing and descending through the corridors there were the usual chatter, meaning

looks, confidential asides. It is always at the last moment, in the hurry, as in a postscript, that woman says

what she means, or what for the moment she wishes to be thought to mean. In the crowd on the main stairway

"Is it true that Lyon is 'epris' there?" Carmen whispered to Henderson when she had scanned and thoroughly

As Margaret's party waited for their carriage she saw Mrs. Eschelle and her daughter enter a shining coach,

with footman and coachman in livery. Henderson stood raising his hat. A little white hand was shaken to him

from the window, and a sweet, innocent face leaned forwarda face with dark, eyes and golden hair, lit up

with a radiant smile. That face for the moment was New York to Margaret, and New York seemed a vain

Carmen threw herself back in her seat as if weary. Mrs. Eschelle sat boltupright.

"Did I? He won't mind much. Didn't you see, mother, that he was distrait the moment he espied that girl? I'm

not going to waste my time. I know the signs. No fisheries imbroglio for me, thank you."

"Oh, the international business. Ask Mr. Henderson to explain it. The English want to fish in our waters, I

believe. I think Mr. Lyon has had a nibble from a freshwater fish. Perhaps it's the other way, and he's

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

In real life the opera or the theatre is only the prologue to the evening. Our little party supped at Delgardo's.

The play then begins. New York is quite awake by that time, and ready to amuse itself. After the public duty,

the public attitudinizing, after assisting at the artificial comedy and tragedy which imitate life under a mask,

and suggest without satisfying, comes the actual experience. My gentle girl God bless your sweet face and

pure heart!who looked down from the skyparlor at the Metropolitan upon the legendary splendor of the

stage, and the alluring beauty and wealth of the boxes, and went home to create in dreams the dearest

romance in a maiden's life, you did not know that for many the romance of the night just began when the

The streets were as light as day. At no other hour were the pavements so thronged, was there such a crush of

carriages, such a blockade of cars, such running, and shouting, greetings and decorous laughter, such a swirl

of pleasurable excitement. Never were the fashionable cafes and restaurants so crowded and brilliant. It is not

a carnival time; it is just the flow and ebb of a night's pleasure, an electric night which has all of the morning

At each little table was a drama in progress, light or seriousall the more serious for being light at the

moment and unconsidered. Morgan, who was so well informed in the gossip of society and so little involved

in itsome men have this faculty, which makes them much more entertaining than the daily

newspaperknew the histories of half the people in the room. There were an Italian marquis and his wife

supping together like lovers, so strong is the force of habit that makes this public life necessary even when

the domestic life is established. There is a man who shot himself rather seriously on the doorsteps of the

beauty who rejected him, and in a year married the handsome and more wealthy woman who sits opposite

him in that convivial party. There is a Russian princess, a fair woman with cool observant eyes, making

herself agreeable to a mixed company in three languages. In this brilliant light is it not wonderful how

dazzlingly beautiful the women arebrunettes in yellow and diamonds, blondes in elaborately simple toilets,

with only a bunch of roses for ornament, in the flush of the midnight hour, in a radiant glow that even the

excitement and the lifted glass cannot heighten? That pretty girl yonderis she wife or widow?slight and

fresh and fair, they say has an ambition to extend her notoriety by going upon the stage; the young lady with

her, who does not seem to fear a public place, may be helping her on the road. The two young gentlemen,

their attendants, have the air of taking life more seriously than the girls, but regard with respectful interest the

mounting vivacity of their companions, which rises and sparkles like the bubbles in the slender glasses which

they raise to their lips with the dainty grace of practice. The staid family parties who are supping at adjoining

tables notice this group with curiosity, and express their opinion by elevated eyebrows.

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

the orchestra sounded through it allthe voices of the singers, the hum of the house; it was all a spectacle

and a play. Why should she not enjoy it? There was something in the nature of the girl that responded to this

form of pleasurethe legitimate pleasure the senses take in being gratified. "It is so different," she said to

me, "from the pleasure one has in an evening by the fire. Do you know, even Mr. Morgan seems worldly

It was a deeper matter than she thought, this about worldliness, which had been raised in Margaret's mind.

Have we all double natures, and do we simply conform to whatever surrounds us? Is there any difference in

kind between the country worldliness and the city worldliness? I do not suppose that Margaret formulated

any of these ideas in words. Her knowledge of the city had hitherto been superficial. It was a place for

shopping, for a day in a picture exhibition, for an evening in the theatre, no more a part of her existence than

a novel or a book of travels: of the life of the town she knew nothing. That night in her room she became

aware for the first time of another world, restless, fascinating, striving, full of opportunities. What must

If we could only note the first coming into the mind of a thought that changes life and reforms

charactersupposing that every act and every new departure has this subtle beginningwe might be less

the sport of circumstances than we seem to be. Unnoted, the desire so swiftly follows the thought and juggles

The next day Mr. Henderson left his card and a basket of roses. Mr. Lyon called. It was a constrained visit.

Margaret was cordially civil, and I fancied that Mr. Lyon would have been more content if she had been less

so. If he were a lover, there was little to please him in the exchange of the commonplaces of the day.

"Yes," he was saying to my wife, "perhaps I shall have to change my mind about the simplicity of your

American life. It is much the same in New York and London. It is only a question of more or less

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

"Wellyou will pardon meone needs for success in these days to be not only very clever, but equally

"I thought her, across the house," Margaret said, "very pretty and attractive. I did not know you were so

satirical, Mr. Lyon. Do you mean that one must be more daring, as you call it, in London than in New York?"

"I hope it will not hurt your national pride, Miss Debree, if I say that there is always the greater competition

"And to do her justice, I don't think Miss Eschelle's does, either. She appears to be more interested now in

He laughed as he said this, and Margaret laughed also, and then stopped suddenly, thinking of the roses that

came that morning. Could she be comparing the Londoner with the handsome American who sat by her side

"Yes, moderately so, if you will permit me to say it." It was an effort on his part to keep up the conversation,

Margaret was so wholly unresponsive; and afterwards, knowing how affairs stood with them, I could

understand his wellbred misery. The hardest thing in the world is to suffer decorously and make no sign in

the midst of a society which insists on stoicism, no matter how badly one is hurt. The Society for First Aid to

the Injured hardens its heart in these cases. "I have never seen another place," he continued, "where the

women are so busy in improving themselves. Societies, clubs, parlor lectures, readings, recitations,

musicales, classesit fatigues one to keep in sight of them. Every afternoon, every evening, something. I

"Quite the contrary. There is nothing they are not interesting in, nothing about which they cannot talk, and

talk intensely. They absorb everything, and have the gift of acquiring intelligence without, as one of them

The coming in of Mr. Morgan gave another turn to the talk. He had been to see a rural American play, an

exhibition of country life and character, constructed in absolute disregard of any traditions of the stage.

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

"Yes, I saw it," said Mr. Lyon, thus appealed to. "It was very odd, and seemed to amuse the audience

immensely. I suppose one must be familiar with American farm life to see the points of it. I confess that

while I sat there, in an audience so keenly in sympathy with the playalmost a part of it, one might sayI

doubted if I understood your people as well as I thought I did when I had been here a week only. Perhaps this

"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 in this 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 is performing in a play for the entertainment of an audience. You have the same enjoyment of it

that you have of a picture0a picture, I mean, full of character and sentiment, not a photograph. But I don't

think of Denman 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 is the 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

"If you cannot come, you may leave your adieus with Miss Debree, who is staying some time in the city," my

wife said, evidently to Margaret's annoyance. But she could do no less than give him her city address, though

Margaret was to stay some time with two maiden ladies, old friends of her mother, the Misses Arbuser. The

Arbusers were people of consequence in their day, with a certain social prestige; in fact, the excellent ladies

were two generations removed from successful mercantile life, which in the remote prospective took on an

oldfamily solidity. Nowhere else in the city could Margaret have come closer in contact with a certain phase

of New York life in which women are the chief actorsa phase which may be a transition, and may be only

a craze. It is not so much a condescension of society to literature as it is a discovery that literature and art, in

the persons of those who produce both, may be sources of amusement, or perhaps, to be just, of the

enlargement of the horizon and the improvement of the mind. The society mind was never before so

hospitable to new ideas and new sensations. Charities, boards of managers, missions, hospitals, newsrooms,

and lodginghouses for the illiterate and the homelessthese are not sufficient, even with balls, dancing

classes, and teas, for the superfluous energies of this 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 and gentlemen of special attainmentsan unremitting pursuit of culture and information.

Curiosity is awake. The extreme of social refinement and a mild Bohemianism almost touch. It passes beyond

the affectation of knowing persons who write books and write for the press, artists in paint and artists in

music. "You cannot be sure in the most exclusive circle"it was Carmen Eschelle who said this"that you

will not meet an author or even a journalist." Not all the women, however, adore letters or affect enthusiasm

at drawingroom lectures; there are some bright and cynical ones who do not, who write papers themselves,

Margaret had thought that she was fully occupied in the country, with her teaching, her reading, her literature

and historical clubs, but she had never known before what it was to be busy and not have time for anything,

always in pursuit of some new thing, and getting a fragment here and there; life was a good deal like reading

the dictionary and remembering none of the words. And it was all so cosmopolitan and allembracingly

sympathetic. One day it was a paper by a Servian countess on the social life of the Servians, absorbingly

interesting both in itself and because it was a countess who read it; and this was followed by the singing of an

Icelandic tenor and a Swedish soprano, and a recital on the violin by a slight, redhaired, middleaged

woman from London. All the talents seem to be afloat and at the service of the strenuous ones who are

The first function at which Margaret assisted in the long drawingrooms of the Arbusers was a serious

oneone that combined the charm of culture with the temptations of benevolence. The rooms were crowded

with the fashion of the town, with a sprinkling of clergymen and of thin philanthropic gentlemen in advanced

years. It was a fouro'clock, and the assembly had the cheerfulness of a reception, only that the display of

toilets was felt to be sanctified by a purpose. The performance opened with a tremendous prelude on the

piano by Herr Bloomgarten, who had been Liszt's favorite pupil; indeed, it was whispered that Liszt had said

that, old as he was, he never heard Bloomgarten without learning something. There was a good deal of

subdued conversation while the pianist was in his extreme agony of execution, and a hush of extreme

admirationit was divine, divine, ravishingwhen he had finished. The speaker was a learned female

pundit from India, and her object was to interest the women of America in the condition of their unfortunate

Hindoo sisters. It appeared that thousands and tens of thousands of them were doomed to early and lifelong

widowhood, owing to the operation of cruel caste laws, which condemned even girls betrothed to deceased

Brahmins to perpetual celibacy. This fate could only be alleviated by the education and elevation of women.

And money was needed for schools, especially for medical schools, which would break down the walls of

prejudice and enfranchise the sex. The appeal was so charmingly made that every one was moved by it,

especially the maiden ladies present, who might be supposed to enter into the feelings of their dusky sisters

beyond the seas. The speaker said, with a touch of humor that always intensifies a serious discourse, that she

had been told that in one of the New England States there was a superfluity of unmarried women; but this

was an entirely different affair; it was a matter of choice with these highly educated and accomplished

women. And the day had come when woman could make her choice! At this there was a great clapping of

hands. It was one thing to be free to lead a life of single self culture, and quite another to be compelled to

lead a single fife without selfculture. The address was a great success, and much enthusiasm spread abroad

In the audience were Mrs. Eschelle and her daughter. Margaret and Carmen were made acquainted, and were

drawn together by curiosity, and perhaps by a secret feeling of repulsion. Carmen was all candor and

sweetness, and absorbingly interested in the women of India, she said. With Margaret's permission she would

It would seem that there could not be much sympathy between natures so opposed, persons who looked at life

from such different points of view, but undeniably Carmen had a certain attraction for Margaret. The New

Englander, whose climate is at once his enemy and his tonic, always longs for the tropics, which to him are a

region of romance, as Italy is to the German. In his nature, also, there is something easily awakened to the

allurements of a sensuous existence, and to a desire for a freer experience of life than custom has allowed

him. Carmen, who showed to Margaret only her best sideshe would have been wise to exhibit no other to

Henderson, but women of her nature are apt to cheapen themselves with menseemed an embodiment of

that graceful gayety and fascinating worldliness which make the world agreeable.

One morning, a few days after the Indian function, Margaret was alone in her own cozy sittingroom.

Nothing was wanting that luxury could suggest to make it in harmony with a beautiful woman, nothing that

did not flatter and please, or nurse, perhaps, a personal sense of beauty, and impart that glow of satisfaction

which comes when the senses are adroitly ministered to. Margaret had been in a mood that morning to pay

extreme attention to her toilet. The result was the perfection of simplicity, of freshness, of maiden purity,

enhanced by the touch of art. As she surveyed herself in the pierglass, and noted the refined lines of the

morninggown which draped but did not conceal the more exquisite lines of her figure, and adjusted a rose in

her bosom, she did not 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 threw into the mirror, or of special selfconsciousness; in her toilet

she had obeyed only her instinct (that infallible guide in a woman of refinement), and if she was conscious of

In fact, she was restless. She flung herself into an easychair before the 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 have absorbed it

eagerly; they would have discussed it; the doubts and suggestions in it would have assumed the deepest

personal importance. It might have made an era in her thoughtful country life. Here it did not so appeal to

her; it seemed unreal and shadowy in a life that had so much more of action than of reflection in it. It was a

life fascinating and exciting, and profoundly unsatisfactory. Yet, after all, it was more really life than that

placid vegetation in the country. She felt that in the whirl of only a few days of itoperas, 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; such gallantry, such compliments, such an easy tossing about of

every topic under heaven; such an air of knowing everything, and not caring about anything very much; so

much mutual admiration and personal satisfaction! She liked it, and perhaps was restless because she liked it.

To be admired, to be deferred towas there any harm in that? Only, if one suffers admiration today, it

becomes a necessity tomorrow. She began to feel the influence of that life which will not let one stand still

for a 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.

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 and again. He had sought her out in all companies; his face had broken into a

smile when he met her; he had talked with her lightly, gayly; she remembered the sound of his voice; she had

learned to know his figure in a room among a hundred; and she blushed as she remembered that she had once

or twice followed him with her eyes in a throng. He was, to be sure, nothing to her; but he was friendly; he

Miss Eschelle was announced. Margaret begged that she would come up stairs without ceremony. The

mutual takingin of the pretty street costume and the pretty morning toilet was the work of a momentthe

photographer has invented no machine that equals a woman's eyes for such a purpose.

"How delightful it is! how altogether charming!" and Margaret felt that she was included with the room in

this admiration. "I told mamma that I 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, and Carmen turned her sweet face and candid eyes to her companion"I get

dreadfully tired of all this going round and round. No, I don't even go to the Indigent Mothers' Home; it's part

of the same thing, but I haven't any gift that way. Ah, you were readingthat novel."

"Oh, we have had it ! It's a little past now, but it has been all the rage. Everybody has read it; that is, I don't

know that anybody has read it, but everybody has been talking about it. Of course somebody must have read

it, to set the thing agoing. And it has been discussed to death. I sometimes feel as if I had changed my

religion half a dozen times 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 an answering smile.

"Yes; in the summer. That is, some do. There is a reading set. I don't know that they read much, but there is a

reading set. You know, Miss Debree, that when a book is publishedreally published, as Mr. Henderson

saysyou don't need to read it. Somehow it gets into the air and becomes common property. Everybody

hears the whole thing. You can talk about it from a notice. Of course there are some novels that one must read

"Nor can I," said Carmen, with a sincere face. "They are too realistic for me." She was at the moment running

over in her mind a "situation" in a papercovered novel turned down on her nightstand. "Mr. Henderson says

that everybody condemns the French novels, and that people praise the novels they don't read."

"Well, you know he is a sort of Club man; that style of man provokes your curiosity, for you never can tell

Carmen was looking into the fire, as if abstractedly reflecting upon the nature of men in general, but she did

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

Margaret did not exactly fancy this sort of commendation, and she replied, with somewhat the tone of

"Yes, and he is quite gone on Brandon, I assure you. He intends to do a great deal of good in the world. I

think he spends half his time in New York studying, he calls it, our charitable institutions. Mamma

reproaches me that I don't take more interest in philanthropy. That is her worldly side. Everybody has a

worldly side. I'm as worldly as I can be"this with a look of innocence that denied the

selfaccusation"but I haven't any call to marry into Exeter Hall and that sort of thing. That is what she

meansdear mamma. Are you HighChurch or evangelical?" she asked, after a moment, turning to

"Well, I am HighChurch, and Mr. Lyon is evangelicalChurch evangelical. There couldn't be any

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

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

"What nonsense I've been talking! I did not intend to go into such deep things. You must not mind what I said

about Mr. (a little pause to read Margaret's faceMr. Lyon. We esteem him as much as you do. How

charming you are looking this morning! I wish I had your secret of not letting this life tell on one." And she

was gone in a shower of compliments and smiles and caressing ways. She had found out what she came to

The interview, as Margaret thought it over, was amusing, but it did not raise her spirits. Was everybody

worldly and shallow? Was this the sort of woman whom Mr. Henderson fancied? Was Mr. Henderson the

It was a dinner party in one of the uptown housespalacesthat begin to repeat in size, spaciousness of

apartments, and decoration the splendor of the Medicean merchant princes. It is the penalty that we pay for

the freedom of republican opportunity that some must be very rich. This is the logical outcome of the open

chance for everybody to be rich and it is the surest way to distinction. In a free country the course must be

run, and it is by the accumulation of great wealth that one can get beyond anxiety, and be at liberty to indulge

Margaret and Miss Arbuser were ushered in through a double row of servants in liveryshortclothes and

stockingsin decorous vacuityan array necessary to bring into relief the naturalness and simplicity of the

entertainers. Vulgarity, one can see, consists in making one's self a part of the display of wealth: the thing to

be attained is personal simplicity on a background of the richest ostentation. It is difficult to attain this, and

theory says that it takes three generations for a man to separate himself thus from his display. It was the tattle

of the town that the first owner of the pictures in the gallery of the Stott mansion used to tell the prices to his

visitors; the third owner is quite beyond remembering them. He might mention, laughingly, that the

ornamented shovel in the great fireplace in the library was decorated by Vavaniit was his wife's fancy. But

he did not say that the ceiling in the music room was painted by Pontifex Lodge, or that six Italian artists

had worked four years making the Corean room, every inch of it exquisite as an intaglioindeed, the

The present occupants understood quite well the value of a background: the house swarmed with

servantsretainers, one might say. Margaret, who was fresh from her history class, recalled the days of

Elizabeth, when a man's importance was gauged by the retinue of servitors and men and women in waiting.

And this is, after all, a better test of wealth than a mere accumulation of things and cost of decoration; for

though men and women do not cost so much originally as good picturesthat is, good men and

womeneverybody knows that it needs more revenue to maintain them. Though the dinner party was not

large, there was to be a dance afterwards, and for every guest was provided a special attendant.

The dinner was served in the state diningroom, to which Mr. Henderson had the honor of conducting

Margaret. Here prevailed also the same studied simplicity. The seats were for sixteen. The table went to the

extremity of elegant plainness, no crowding, no confusion of colors under the soft lights; if there was

ostentation anywhere, it was in the dazzling fineness of the expanse of tablelinen, not in the few rare

flowers, or the crystal, or the plate, which was of solid gold, simply modest. The eye is pleased by this

chastitypure whiteness, the glow of yellow, the slight touch of sensuous warmth in the rose. The dinner

was in keeping, short, noiselessly served under the eye of the maitre d'hotel, few courses, few wines; no

anxiety on the part of the host and hostessperhaps just a little consciousness that everything was simple

and elegant, a little consciousness of the background; but another generation will remove that.

If to Margaret's country apprehension the conversation was not quite up to the level of the dinner and the

housewhat except that of a circle of wits, who would be out of place there, could be?the presence of Mr.

Henderson, who devoted himself to her, made the lack unnoticed. The talk ran, as usual, on the opera,

Wagner, a Christmas party at Lenox, at Tuxedo, somebody's engagement, some lucky hit in the Exchange,

the irritating personalities of the newspapers, the last English season, the marriage of the Duchess of

Bolinbroke, a confidential disclosure of who would be in the Cabinet and who would have missions, a jocular

remark across the table about a "corner" (it is impossible absolutely here, as well as at a literary dinner, to

sink the shop), the Sunday opening of galleriesanything to pass the hour, the ladies contributing most of

"I saw you, Mr. Henderson"it was Mrs. Laflamme raising her voice"the other night in a box with a very

"I don't know them. We used to hear of them in Naples, Venice, various places; they were in Europe some

"Well, I suppose they have seen something of the world. The other lady was her mother. And the man with

usthat might interest you more, Mrs. Laflamme, was Mr. Lyon, who will be the Earl of Chisholm."

"I never saw any painful evidence of poverty. But I don't think Mr. Lyon is fortunehunting. He seems to be

Margaret flushed a little, but apparently Henderson did not notice it. Then she said (after Mrs. Laflamme had

dropped the subject with the remark that he had come to the right place), "Miss Eschelle called on me

"I suppose I ought to be flattered, if you will excuse the street expression, to have my stock quotable. Perhaps

"I don't clearly know what that is. She didn't offer me any," said Margaret, in a tone of carrying on the figure

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

"No? But women generally like to' take risks and chances. In countries where lotteries are established they

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

"No doubt. They are conservatives usually. But when they do go in for radical measures and risks, they leave

us quite behind." Mr. Henderson did not care to extend the conversation in this direction, and he asked,

"Yes. Yes and no. One has no time to one's self. Do you understand why it is, Mr. Henderson, that one can

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

"I cannot quite explain it. The interests of life don't seem so large the questions, I mean, what is going on

in Europe, the literature, the reforms, the politics. I get a wider view when I stand offat home. I suppose it

is more concentrated here. And, oh dear, I'm so stupid! Everybody is so alert in little things, so quick to turn a

compliment, and say a bright thing. While I am getting ready to say what I really think about Browning, for

Margaret looked up to see if Henderson was serious. There was a smile of amusement on his face, but not at

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

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

Later they were wandering through the picturegallery together. A gallery of modern pictures appeals for the

most part to the senses 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 it

would if he had been looking at it with Miss Eschelle. There were some pictures that he hurried past, some

technical excellences only used for sensuous effects that he did not call attention to as he might have done

with another. Curiously enough, he found himself seeking sentiment, purity. If the drawing was bad,

Margaret knew it; if a false note was struck, she saw it. But she was not educated up to a good many of the

suggestions of the gallery. Henderson perceived this, and his manner to her became more deferential and

protective. It was a manner to which every true woman responds, and Margaret was happy, more herself, and

talked with a freedom and gayety, a spice of satire, and a note of reality that made her every moment more

attractive to her companion. In her, animation the charm of her unworn beauty blazed upon him with a direct

personal appeal. He hardly cared to conceal his frank admiration. She, on her part, was thinking, what could

"Does the world seem any larger here, Miss Debree?" he asked, as they had lingeringly made the circuit of

the room and passed out through the tropical conservatory to join the rest of the company.

She did not reply. But when he encountered her, robed for departure, at the foot of the stairway, she gave him

I wonder if that was the time? Probably not. I fancy that when the right day came she confessed that the

Henderson walked down the avenue slowly, hearing the echo of his own steps in the deserted street. He was

in no haste to reach home. It was such a delightful eveningsnowing a little, and cold, but so exhilarating. He

remembered just how she turned her head as she got into the carriage. She had touched his arm lightly once in

the gallery to call his attention to a picture. Yes, the world was larger, larger, by one, and it would seem

Henderson was under the spell of this evening when the next, in response to a note asking him to call for a

moment on business, he was shown into the Eschelle drawingroom. It was dimly lighted, but familiarity

with the place enabled him without difficulty to find his way down the long suite, rather overcrowded with

luxurious furniture, statuary, and pictures on easels, to the little library at the far end glowing in a rosy light.

There, ensconced in a big chair, a book in her hand, one pretty foot on the fender, sat Carmen, in a grayish,

vaporous toilet, which took a warm hue from the color of the spreading lampshades. On the carved table

near was a litter of books and of nameless little articles, costly and coquettish, which assert femininity, even

in a literary atmosphere. Over the fireplace hung a picture of springa budding girl, smiling and winning, in

a semitransparent raiment, advancing with swift steps to bring in the season of flowers and of love. The

hand that held the book rested upon the arm of the chair, a finger inserted in the place where she had been

reading, her rounded white arm visible to the elbow, and Carmen was looking into the fire in the attitude of

Women have so many forms of attraction, different women are attractive in so many different ways, moods

are so changing, beauty is so undefinable, and has so many weapons. And yet men are called inconstant!

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

"It is so good of you to come, with all your engagements. Mamma is excused with a headache, but she has

"That depends upon how you have been behaving, Mr. Henderson. I'm not very cross yet. Now, sit there so

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

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

"Isn't it? I don't like it." The girl seemed very serious. "I'd like you to be distinguished. To be in the Cabinet.

To be ministergo to England. But one needs a great deal of money for that, to go as one ought to go. What

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

"The other night at the Nestor ball a ladyno, I won't tell you who she isasked me if I knew who that man

was across the room; such an air of distinction; might be the new British Minister. You know, I almost

"You see what people expect of you. When a man looks distinguished and is clever, and knows how to please

if he likes, he cannot help having a career, 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 his mind, and he understood quite well the relation to it that Carmen had

in her mind; but he did not take the lead offered. Instead, he took refuge in the usual commonplace, and

"Heaven forbid! I should be too wicked. It is responsibility enough to be a woman. I did not expect such a

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

"And we should both fall together. That would be some compensation. Not much. Going to smash with you

would be something like going to church with Mr. Lyon. It might have a steadying effect."

"What has come over you tonight, Carmen?" Henderson asked, leaning forward with an expression of half

"I've been thinkingdoesn't that astonish you? about life. It is very serious. I got some new views talking

with that Miss Debree from Brandon. Chiefly from what she didn't say. She is such a lovely girl, and just as

unsophisticatedwell, as we are. I fear I shocked her by telling her your opinion of French novels."

"Oh no! I didn't say you approved of any. It sort of came out that you knew about them. She is so downright

and conscientious. I declare I felt virtuous shivers running all over me all the time I was with her. I'm

conscientious myself. I want everybody to know the worst of me. I wish I could practice some concealment.

But she rather discourages me. She would take the color out of a career. She somehow doesn't allow for

color, I could see. Duty, dutythat is the way she looks at life. She'd try to keep me up to it; no playing by

the way. I liked her very much. I like people not to have too much toleration. She would be just the wife for

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

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

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

"It must have been very exhilarating. You talked about the Duchess of Bolinbroke, and the opera, and Prince

Talleyrand, and the corner in wheatdear me, I know, so decorous! And you said Miss Debree was there?"

"Mr. Henderson"the girl had risen to adjust the lampshade, and now stood behind his chair with her arm

resting on it, so that he was obliged to turn his head backward to see her"Mr. Henderson, do you know you

are getting to be a desperate flirt?" The laughing eyes looking into his said that was not such a desperate thing

"Who taught me?" He raised his left hand. She did not respond to the overture, except to snap the hand with

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

"And leave Mr. Lyon without any protection here?" The remark was made in a tone of goodhumored

"Pshaw!" she said. "How can you talk such nonsense? You," and she rose to her feet in indignation"you to

advise an American girl to sell herself for a titlethe chance of a title. I'm ashamed of you!"

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

"That's just it; you don't care," sinking into her seat, still unappeased. "I think I'll tell Mr. Lyon that he will

have occupation enough to keep him in this country if he puts his money into that scheme you were talking

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

"Now you are offended. It's not nice of you to put me in the wrong when you know how impulsive I am. I

wish I didn't let my feelings run away with me." This said reflectively, and looking away from him. And then,

turning towards him with wistful, pleading eyes: "Do you know, I sometimes wish I had never seen you. You

"Come, come," said Henderson, rising, "we mustn't quarrel about an Englishmansuch old friends."

"Yes, we are very old friends." The girl rose also, and gave him her hand. "Perhaps that's the worst of it. If I

should lose your esteem I should go into a convent." She dropped his hand, and snatching a bunch of violets

from the table, fixed them in his buttonhole, looking up in his face with vestal sweetness. "You are not

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

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 upstairs to her mother, who sat in her room reading one

of the townweeklies, into which some elderly ladies look for something to condemn.

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

"And forty times as tiresome. I'm sick of it. Mamma, don't you think it would be only civil to ask Mr. Lyon to

"Yes, I was illnatured then. But I want to please you. And we really ought 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 it will be different tomorrow. Nothing is so tiresome as a kaleidoscope, though it

Henderson had a new object in life, though the new one did not sensibly divert him from the old; it rather

threw a charming light over it, and made the possibilities of it more attractive. In all his schemes he found the

thought of Margaret entering. Why should it not have been Carmen? he sometimes thought. She thoroughly

understood him. She would never stand in the way of his most daring ambitions with any scruples. Her

conscience would never nag his. She would be ambitious for a career for him. Would she care for him or the

He was not balancing the two. What man ever does, in fact? It was simply because Margaret had a heart that

he loved her, that she seemed necessary to him. He was quite capable of making a match for his

advancement, 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 unworldliness in a woman, Henderson was not one of them. If his heart had not dictated,

He was a very busy man, in the thick of the struggle for a great fortune. It did not occur to him to reflect

whether she would approve all 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 would approve what he did.

He saw much of her in those passing daysdays that went like a dream to one of them at least. He was a

welcome guest at the Arbusers', but he saw little of Margaret alone. It did not matter. A chance look is a

volume; 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 presence of the object. Imagination then has free play. A little separation

The days went by, and Margaret's visit was over. I am obliged to say that the leavetaking was a gay one, as

full of laughter as it was of hope. Brandon was such a little way off. Henderson often had business there. The

Misses Arbuser said, "Of course." And Margaret said he must not forget that she lived there. Even when she

Spring was coming. That day in the cars there were few signs of it on 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

It is said that the world is created anew for every person who is in love. There is therefore this constant

miracle of a new heavens and a new earth. It does not depend upon the seasons. The subtle force which is in

every human being, more or less active, has this power, as if love were somehow a principle pervading nature

itself, and capable of transforming it. Is this a divine gift? Can it be used more than once? Once spent, does

the world to each succeeding experimenter in it become old and stale? We say the world is old. In one sense,

the real sense to every person, it is no older than the lives lived in it at any given time. If it is always passing

away, it is always being renewed. Every time a youth looks love in a maiden's eyes, and sees the timid

appealing return of the universal passion, the world for those two is just as certainly 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 before did the little town look so bright;

never before was there exactly such a color on the hillssentiment is so pale compared with love; never

before did her home appear so sweet; never before was there such a fine ecstasy in the coming of spring.

For all this, homecoming, after the first excitement of arrival is over, is apt to be dull. The mind is so

occupied with other emotions that the friends even seem a little commonplace and unresponsive, and the

routine is tame. Out of such a whirl of new experiences to return and find that nothing has happened; that the

old duties and responsibilities are waiting! Margaret had eagerly leaped from the carriage to throw herself

into her aunt's armswhat a sweet welcome it is, that of kin!and yet almost before the greeting was over

she felt alone. There was that in the affectionate calmness of Miss Forsythe that seemed to chill the glow and

fever of passion in her new world. And she had nothing to tell. Everything had changed, and she must behave

as if nothing had happened. She must take up her old lifethe interests of the neighborhood. Even the little

circle of people she loved appeared distant from her at the moment; impossible it seemed to bring them into

the rushing current of her life. Their joy in getting her back again she could not doubt, nor the personal

affection with which she was welcomed. But was the New England atmosphere a little cold? What was the

flavor she missed in it all? The next day a letter came. The excuse for it was the return of a fan which Mr.

Henderson had carried off in his pocket from the opera. What a wonderful letter it washis handwriting, the

first note from him! Miss Forsythe saw in it only politeness. For Margaret it outweighed the town of

Brandon. It lay in her lap as she sat at her chamber window looking out over the landscape, which was

beginning to be flushed with a pale green. There was a robin on the lawn, and a blackbird singing in the pine.

"Go not, happy day," she said, with tears in her eyes. She took up the brief letter and read it again. Was he

really hers, "truly"? And she answered the letter, swiftly and with no hesitation, but with a throbbing heart. It

was a civil acknowledgment; that was all. Henderson might have lead it aloud in the Exchange. But what

color, what charming turns of expression, what of herself, had the girl put into it, that gave him such a thrill

of pleasure when he read it? What secret power has a woman to make a common phrase so glow with her

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. It colored everything; it was always, whatever she was doing or saying, present,

like an air that one unconsciously hums for days after it has caught his fancy. Blessed be the capacity of being

fond and foolish! If that letter was under her pillow at night, if this new revelation was last in her thought as

she fell asleep, if it mingled with the song of the birds in the spring morning, as some great good pervading

the world, is there anything distinguishing in such an experience that it should be dwelt on? And if there were

questionings and little panics of doubt, did not these moments also reveal Margaret to herself more certainly

Questionings no doubt there were, and, later, serious questionings; for habit is almost as strong as love, and

the old ways of life and of thought will reassert themselves in a thoughtful mind, and reason will insist on

Gradually the home life and everyday interests began to assume their natural aspect and proportions. It was

so sweet and sane, this home life, interesting and not feverish. There was time for reading, time for turning

over things in the mind, time for those interchanges of feeling and of ideas, by the fireside; she was not

required to be always on dress parade, in mind or person, always keyed up to make an impression or receive

one; how much wider and sounder was Morgan's view of the world, allowing for his kindly cynicism, than

that prevalent in the talk where she had lately been! How sincere and hearty and free ran the personal currents

in this little neighborhood! In the very fact that the daily love and affection for her and interest in her were

taken for granted she realized the difference between her position here and that among newer friends who

Little by little there was a readjustment. In comparison, the city life, with its intensity of action and feeling,

began to appear distant, not so real, mixed, turbid, even frivolous. And was Henderson a vanishing part 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, now and again, to pretend to be so reasonable and judicious. There were no more letters. If

there had been a letter now and then, on any excuse, the nexus would have been more distinct: nothing feeds

the flame exactly like a letter; it has intention, personality, secrecy. And the little excitement of it grows.

Once a week gets to be twice a week, three times, four times, and then daily. And then a day without a letter

is such 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 habitbetween lovers. Not that Margaret expected a letter. Indeed, reason told her that it

had not gone so far as that. But she should see him. She felt sure of that. And the thought filled all the vacant

And yet she thought she was seeing him more clearly than when he was with her. Oh wise young woman!

She fancied she was deliberating, looking at life with great prudence. It must be one's own fault if one makes

a radical mistake in marriage. She was watching the married people about her with more interestthe

Morgans, our own household, Mrs. Fletcher; and besides, her aunt, whose even and cheerful life lacked this

experience. It is so wise to do this, to keep one's feelings in control, not to be too hasty! Everybody has these

I dare say that all these reflections and deliberations in the maidenly mind were almost unconscious to

herself; certainly unacknowledged. It was her imagination that she was following, and scarcely a distinct

reality or intention. She thought of Henderson, and he gave a certain personality, vivid maybe, to that dream

of the future which we all in youth indulge; but she would have shrunk from owning this even to herself. We

deceive ourselves as often as we deceive others. Margaret would have repudiated with some warmth any

intimation that she had lost her heart, and was really predicting the practical possibilities of that loss, and she

would have been quite honest with herself in thinking that she was still mistress of her own feeling. Later on

she would know, and delight to confess, that her destiny was fixed at a certain hour, at a certain moment, in

New York, for subsequent events would run back to that like links in a chain. And she would have been right

and also wrong in that;, for but for those subsequent events the first impression would have faded, and been

taken little account of in her life. I am more and more convinced that men and women act more upon impulse

and less upon deep reflection and selfexamination than the analytic novelists would have us believe, duly

weighing motives and balancing considerations; and that men and women know themselves much less

thoroughly than they suppose they do. There is a great deal of exaggeration, I am convinced, about the inward

struggles and selfconflicts. The reader may know that Margaret was hopelessly in love, because he knows

everything; but that charming girl would have been shocked and wounded to the most indignant humiliation

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 by anything that had

But something occurred, while she was in this mood, that did not shock her maidenly selfconsciousness, nor

throw her into antagonism, but which did bring her face to face with a possible reality. And this was simply

the receipt of a letter from Henderson; not a loveletterfar enough from thatbut one in which there was

a certain tone and intention that the most inexperienced would recognize as possibly serious. Aside from the

announcement in the letter, the very fact of writing it was significant, conveying an intimation that the reader

might be interested in what concerned the writer. The letter was longer than it need have been, for one thing,

as if the pen, once started on its errand, ran on con amore. The writer was coming to Brandon; business, to be

sure, was the excuse; but why should it have been necessary to announce to her a business visit? There crept

into the letter 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

wellknown characters in Congress and in the Government; he had been in Chicago, and even as far as

Denver, and there were little pictures of scenes that might amuse her. There was no special mystery about all

this travel and hurrying from place to place, but it gave Margaret a sense of varied and large occupations that

she did not understand. Through it all there was the personality that had been recently so much in her

thoughts. He was coming. That was a very solid fact that she must meet. And she did not doubt that he was

coming to see her, and soon. That was a definite and very different idea from the dim belief that he would

It was a letter that could not be answered like the other one; for it raised questions and prospects, and the

thousand doubts that make one hesitate in any definite step; and, besides, she pleased herself to think that she

did not know her own mind. He had not asked if he might come; he had said he was coming, and really there

was no answer to that. Therefore she put it out of her mindanother curious mental process we have in

dealing with a matter that is all the time the substratum of our existence. And she was actually serious; if she

But in this period of calm and reflection it was impossible that a woman of Margaret's habits and

temperament should not attempt to settle in her mind what that life was yonder of which she had a little taste;

what was the career that Henderson had marked out for himself; what were his principles; what were the

methods and reasons of his evident success. Endeavoring in her clear mind to separate the person, about

whose personality she was so fondly foolish, from his schemes, which she so dimly comprehended, and

applying to his somewhat hazy occupations her simple moral test, were the schemes quite legitimate? Perhaps

she did not go so far as this; but what she read in the newspapers of moneymaking in these days made her

secretly uneasy, and she found herself wishing that he were definitely practicing some profession, or engaged

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

the day started the conversation. It was an admiring account in a newspaper of a brilliant operation by which

"I don't see," said my wife, "any mention in this account of the thousands who have been reduced to poverty

"But it would be very interesting to me," Mrs. Fletcher remarked. "Is there any protection, Mr. Morgan, for

"But suppose your money is all invested, say in a railway, and something goes wrong, where are you to get

the money to pay for the law that will give you restitution? Is there anything in the State, or public opinion, or

"Not that I know of," Morgan admitted. "You take your chance when you let your money go out of your

stocking. You see there are so many people who 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 will tax it till there is nothing left for me."

"But it isn't equality, for somebody gets very rich in railways or lands, while we lose our little all. Don't you

think there ought to be a public official whose duty it is to enforce the law gratis which I cannot afford to

"The difficulty is to discover whether you are wronged or only unfortunate. It needs a lawyer to find that out.

And very likely if you are wronged, the wrongdoer has so cleverly gone round the law that it needs

legislation to set you straight, and that needs a lobbyist, whom the lawyer must hire, or he must turn lobbyist

himself. Now, a lawyer costs money, and a lobbyist is one of the most expensive of modern luxuries; but

when you have a lawyer and lobbyist in one, you will find it economical to let him take your claim and all

that can be made out of it, and not bother you any more about it. But there is no doubt about the law, as I

said. You can get just as much law as you can pay for. It is like any other commodity."

"Not exactly. There is a great deal of unreasonable prejudice against lawyers. They must live. There is no

nobler occupation than the application of the principle of justice in human affairs. The trouble is that public

opinion sustains the operator in his smartness, and estimates the lawyer according to his adroitness. If we

only evoked the aid of a lawyer in a just cause, the lawyers would have less to do.

"It seems to me," said my wife, musing along, in her way, on parallel lines, "that there ought to be a limit to

the amount of property one man can get into his absolute possession, to say nothing of the methods by which

"That never yet could be set," Morgan replied. "It is impossible for any number of men to agree on it. I don't

see any line between absolute freedom of acquisition, trusting to circumstances, misfortune, and death to

"That is another question. Honesty is such a flexible word. If you mean a process the law cannot touch, yes. If

you mean moral consideration for others, I doubt. But property accumulates by itself almost. Many a man

who has got a start by an operation he would not like to have investigated, and which he tries to forget, goes

on to be very rich, and has a daily feeling of being more and more honorable and respectable, using only

"Mr. Morgan," suddenly asked Margaret, who had been all the time an uneasy listener to the turn the talk had

"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, pays dividends, pays a liberal interest on its bonds, and has a surplus. They

contrive 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 byandby cannot even pay its

interest; then they squeeze the bondholders, who may be glad to accept anything that is offered out of the

wreck, and perhaps then they throw the property into the hands of a receiver, or consolidate it with some

other road at a value enormously greater than the cost to them in stealing it. Having in one way or another

"It is infamous," said Margaret"infamous! And men go to work to do this, to get other people's property, in

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

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

I never saw Margaret more disturbedout of all proportion, I thought, to the cause; for we had talked a

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

"Oh, no," I said. "Probably most men who are engaged in what is generally called speculation are doing what

seems to them a perfectly legitimate business. It is a common way of making a fortune."

"You see, Margaret," Morgan explained, "when people in trade buy anything, they expect to sell it for more

"It seems to me," Margaret replied, more calmly, "that a great deal of what you men call business is just

trying to get other people's money, and doesn't help anybody or produce anything."

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

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

"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 and credit, and when a transaction is over, they settle up and pay the difference,

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

"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 I could make anything by the sale. All

"Well," said Margaret, dimly seeing the sophistry of this, "I don't understand business morality."

"Nobody does, Margaret. Most men go by the law. The Golden Rule seems to be suspended by a more than

It was by such inquiries, leading to many talks of this sort, that Margaret was groping in her mind for the

solution of what might become to her a personal question. Consciously she did not doubt Henderson's

integrity or his honor, but she was perplexed about the world of which she had recently had a glimpse, and it

was impossible to separate him from it. Subjected to an absolutely new experience, stirred as her heart had

never been before by any mana fact which at once irritated and pleased hershe was following the law of

her own nature, while she was still her own mistress, to ponder these things and to bring her reason to the

guidance of her feeling. And it is probable that she did not at all know the strength of her feeling, or have any

conception of the real power of love, and how little the head has to do with the great passion of life, the

intensity of which the poets have never in the least exaggerated. If she thought of Mr. Lyon occasionally, of

his white face and pitiful look of suffering that day, she could not, after all, make it real or permanently

serious. Indeed, she was sure that no emotion could so master her. And yet she looked forward to

Henderson's coming with a sort of nervous apprehension, amounting almost to dread.

It was the susceptible time of the year for plants, for birds, for maids: all innocent natural impulses respond to

the subtle influence of spring. One may well gauge his advance in selfishness, worldliness, and sin by his loss

of this annual susceptibility, by the failure of this sweet appeal to touch his heart. One must be very far gone

if some note of it does not for a moment bring back the tenderest recollections of the days of joyous

Even the city, with its mass of stone and brick, rectangles, straight lines, dust, noise, and fever of activity, is

penetrated by this divine suggestion of the renewal of life. You can scarcely open a window without letting in

a breath of it; the south wind, the twitter of a sparrow, the rustle of leaves in the squares, the smell of the

earth and of some struggling plant in the area, the note of a distant handorgan softened by distance, are

begetting a longing for youth, for green fields, for love. As Carmen walked down the avenue with Mr. Lyon

on a spring morning she almost made herself believe that an unworldly life with this simplehearted

gentlemanwhen he should come into his title and estatewould be more to her liking than the most

brilliant success in place and power with Henderson. Unfortunately the spring influence also suggested the

superior attractiveness of the only man who had ever taken her shallow fancy. And unfortunately the same

note of nature suggested to Mr. Lyon the contrast of this artificial piece of loveliness with the domestic life of

As for Margaret, she opened her heart to the spring without reserve. It was May. The soft maples had a purple

tinge, the chestnuts showed color, the appletrees were in bloom (all the air was full of their perfume), the

blackbirds were chattering in convention in the tall oaks, the bright leaves and the flowering shrubs were

alive with the twittering and singing of darting birds. The soft, fleecy clouds, hovering as over a world just

created, seemed to make near and participant in the scene the delicate blue of the sky. MargaretI remember

the morningwas standing on her piazza, as I passed through the neighborhood drive, with a spray of

appleblossoms in her hand. For the moment she seemed to embody all the maiden purity of the scene, all its

"But spring isn't painted at all," she replied, holding up the apple blossoms, and coming down the piazza

"And so it won't last. We want something permanent," I was beginning to say, when a carriage passed, going

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

It was Mr. Henderson, and there was at least pretense enough of business to occupy us, with Mr. Morgan, the

greater part of the day. It was not till late in the afternoon that Henderson appeared to remember that

Margaret was in the neighborhood, and spoke of his intention of calling. My wife pointed out the way to him

across the grounds, and watched him leisurely walking among the trees till he was out of sight.

"What an agreeable man Mr. Henderson is!" she said, turning to me; "most companionable; and yetand

yet, my dear, I'm glad he is not my husband. You suit me very well." There was an air of conviction about

this remark, as if it were the result of deep reflection and comparison, and it was emphasized by the little

possessory act of readjusting my necktie one of the most subtle of female flatteries.

"But who wanted him to be your husband?" I asked. "Married women have the oddest habit of going about

the world picking out the men they would not like to have married. Do they need continually to justify

"I confess I cannot. My first thought about an attractive woman whose acquaintance I make is not that I am

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

It would be difficult to say whether the spring morning seemed more or less glorious to Margaret when she

It was like the premonition in nature of a change. She put the apple blossoms in water and placed the jug on

the table, turning it about half a 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 the baywindow, in a perfectly indifferent tone, "Mr.

"Ah!" Her aunt did not lift her eyes from her work, or appear to attach the least importance to this tremendous

piece of news. Margaret was annoyed at what seemed to her an assumed indifference. Her nerves were

quivering with the knowledge that he had arrived, that he was in the next house, that he might be here any

momentthe man who had entered into her whole lifeand the announcement was no more to her aunt

than if she had said it rained. She was provoked at herself that she should be so disturbed, yes, annoyed, at his

proximity. She wished he had not come not today, at any rate. She looked about for something to do, and

began to rearrange this and that trifle in the sittingroom, which she had perfectly arranged once before in the

morning, moving about here and there in a rather purposeless manner, until her aunt looked up and for a

moment followed her movements till Margaret left the room. In her own chamber she sat by the window and

tried to think, but there was no orderly mental process; in vain she tried to run over in her mind the past

month and all her reflections and wise resolves. She heard the call of the birds, she inhaled the odor of the

new year, she was conscious of all that was gracious and inviting in the fresh scene, but in her sub

consciousness there was only one thoughthe was there, he was coming. She took up her sewing, but the

needle paused in the stitch, and she found herself looking away across the lawn to the hills; she took up a

book, but the words had no meaning, read and reread them as she would. He is there, he is coming. And what

of it? Why should she be so disturbed? She was uncommitted, she was mistress of her own actions. Had she

not been coolly judging his conduct? She despised herself for being so nervous and unsettled. If he was

coming, why did he not come? Why was he waiting so long? She arose impatiently and went downstairs.

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

"Well, I would walk if I were you." But she did not go; she went instead to her room. He might come any

moment. She ought not to run away; and yet she wished she were away. He said he was coming on business.

Was it not, then, a pretense? She felt humiliated in the idea of waiting for him if the business were not a

How insensible men are! What a mere subordinate thing to them in life is the love of a woman! Yes,

evidently business was more important to him than anything else. He must know that she was waiting;, and

she blushed to herself at the very possibility that he should think such a thing. She was not waiting. It was

lunchtime. She excused herself. In the next moment she was angry that she had not gone down as usual. It

was time for him to come. He would certainly come immediately after lunch. She would not see him. She

hoped never to see him. She rose in haste, put on her hat, put it on carefully, turning and returning before the

The walk was a long one. She came back tired. It was late in the afternoon. 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'm too stupid. But you must go. Mr. Henderson, in New York, expressed the greatest desire to make your

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, when you knew Mr. Henderson in New York, and the Fairchilds want to

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

Perhaps it was. It is so unfortunate that the spring, which begets so many desires, brings the languor that

defeats their execution. But there is a limit to the responsibility even of spring for a woman's moods. Just as

Margaret spoke she saw, through the open window, Henderson coming across the lawn, walking briskly, but

evidently not inattentive to the charm of the landscape. It was his springy step, his athletic figure, and, as he

came nearer, the joyous anticipation in his face. And it was so sudden, so unexpectedthe vision so long

looked for! There was no time for flight, had she wanted to avoid him; he was on the piazza; he was at the

open door. Her hand went quickly to her heart to still the rapid flutter, which might be from pain and might

be from joyshe could not tell. She had imagined their possible meeting so many times, 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 the impulse of the

moment I am not sure but she would have fled, and cast herself face downward somewhere, and cried a little

and thanked God for him. He was in the room. In his manner there was no hesitation, in his expression no

uncertainty. His face beamed with pleasure, and there was so much open admiration in his eyes that

Margaret, conscious of it to her heart's core, feared that her aunt would notice it. And she met him calmly

enough, frankly enough. The quickness with which a woman can pull herself together under such

"I've been looking across here ever since morning," he said, as soon as the handshaking and introduction

were over, "and I've only this minute been released." There was no air of apology in this, but a delicate

intimation of impatience at the delay. And still, what an unconscious brute a man is!

"I thought perhaps you had returned," said Margaret, "until my aunt was just telling me we were asked to

Henderson gave her a quick glance. Was it possible she thought he could go 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 Miss Forsythe, out of the goodness of her heart. "My niece has been taking a long

"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 could

feelhe who had been all day impatient for this moment. There was a little talk about the country and the

city at this season, mainly sustained by Miss Forsythe and Henderson, and then he was left alone. "Of course

you should go, Margaret," said her aunt, as they went up stairs; "it would not be at all the thing for me to

Go? There was not force enough in the commonwealth, without calling out the militia, to keep Margaret from

going to the dinner. She stopped a moment in the middle of her chamber to think. She had almost forgotten

how he lookedhis eyes, his smile. Dear me! how the birds were singing outside, and how fresh the world

was! And she would not hurry. He could wait. No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her. He

was in the house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhaps reading, perhaps spying

about at her knickknacksshe would like to look in at the door a moment to see what he was doing. Of

course he was here to see her, and all the business was a pretext. As she sat a moment upon the edge of her

bed reflecting what to put on, she had a little pang that she had been doing him injustice in her thought. But it

was only for an instant. He was here. She was not in the least flurried. Indeed, her mental processes were

never clearer than when she settled upon her simple toilet, made as it was in every detail with the sure instinct

of a woman who dresses for her lover. Heavens! what a miserable day it had been, what a rebellious day! He

ought to be punished for it somehow. Perhaps the rose she put in her hair was part of the punishment. 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 wait all day and then think he could smooth it all over simply by appearing.

But somehow in Henderson's presence these little theories of conduct did not apply. He was too natural,

direct, unaffected, his pleasure in being with her was so evident! He seemed to brush aside the little defenses

and subterfuges. There was this about him that appeared to her admirable, and in contrast with her own

hesitating indirection, that whatever he wantedmoney, or position, or the love of womanhe went straight

to his object with unconsciousness that failure was possible. Even in walking across the grounds in the soft

sunset light, and chatting easily, their relations seemed established on a most natural basis, and Margaret

found herself giving way to the simple enjoyment of the hour. She was not only happy, but her spirits rose to

inexpressible gayety, which ran into the humor of badinage and a sort of spiritual elation, in which all things

seemed possible. Perhaps she recognized in herself, what Henderson saw in her. And with it all there was an

access of tenderness for her aunt, the dear thing whose gentle life appeared so colorless.

I had never seen Margaret so radiant as at the dinner; her high spirits infected the table, and the listening and

the talking were of the best that the company could give. I remembered it afterwards, not from anything

special that was said, but from its flow of high animal spirits, and the electric responsive mood everyone was

in; no topic carried too far, and the chance seriousness setting off the sparkling comments on affairs.

Henderson's talk had the notable flavor of direct contact with life, and very little of the speculative and

reflective tone of Morgan's, who was always generalizing and theorizing about it. He had just come from the

West, and his offhand sketches of men had a special cynicism, not in the least condemnatory, mere

goodnatured acceptance, and in contrast to Morgan's moralizing and rather pitying cynicism. It struck me

that he did not believe in his fellows as much as Morgan did; but I fancied that Margaret only saw in his

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

"It is something more than that," added Morgan. " There is a sort of driftwood of adventure and

devilmaycareism that civilization throws in advance of itself; but that isn't so bad as the slag it

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

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

"Yes"Morgan turned to Margaret"doubtless there is a satisfaction sometimes in placing the width of a

continent between a man and what he has done. I've thought that one of the most popular verses in the

Psalter, on the border, must be the one that saysyou will know if I quote it right 'Look how wide also the

"That is dreadful," exclaimed Margaret. "To think of you spending your time in the service picking out

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

"Bytheway, Mr. Henderson," my wife asked, "do you know what has become of Mr. Lyon?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, she is very charitable; she sees, I suppose, what is good in me; and I'll spare you the trouble of

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

Henderson begged to know what it was, but Margaret evaded the question by new raillery. What did she care

at the moment what Carmen thought of Henderson? Whatdid either of them care what they were saying, so

long as there was some personal flavor in the talk! Was it not enough to talk to each other, to see each other?

As we sat afterwards upon the piazza with our cigars, inhaling the odor of the apple blossoms, and yielding

ourselves, according to our age, to the influence of the mild night, Margaret was in the high spirits which

accompany the expectation of bliss, without the sobering effect of its responsibility. Love itself is very

serious, but the overture is full of freakish gayety. And it was all gayety that night. We all constituted

ourselves a guard of honor to Miss Forsythe and Margaret when they went to their cottage, and there was a

merry leavetaking in the moonlight. To be sure, Margaret walked with Henderson, and they lagged a little

behind, but I had no reason to suppose that they were speaking of the stars, or that they raised the ordinary

question of their being inhabited. I doubt if they saw the stars at all. How one remembers little trifles, that

recur like the gay bird notes of the opening scenes that are repeated in the tragedy of the opera! I can see

Margaret now, on some bantering pretext, running back, after we had said goodnight, to give Henderson the

blushrose she had worn in her hair. How charming the girl was in this freakish action!

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

"I didn't deny that. But how was I to know about Lyon, my dear? I never heard you say that you were glad he

"Well, you are. It isn't a joking matterand you pretend to be so fond of Margaret!"

"So that is another thing I pretend? What do you want me to do? Which one do you want me to make my

"Oh, I sympathize all round. I assure you I've no doubt you are quite right." And in this way I crawled out of

What a pretty simile it is, comparing life to a river, because rivers are so different! There are the calm streams

that flow eagerly from the youthful sources, join a kindred flood, and go placidly to the sea, only broadening

and deepening and getting very muddy at times, but without a rapid or a fall. There are others that flow

carelessly in the upper sunshine, begin to ripple and dance, then run swiftly, and rush into rapids in which

there is no escape (though friends stand weeping and imploring on the banks) from the awful plunge of the

cataract. Then there is the tumult and the seething, the exciting race and rage through the canon, the

whirlpools and the passions of love and revelations of character, and finally, let us hope, the happy

emergence into the lake of a serene life. And the more interesting rivers are those that have tumults and

I knew well enough before the next day was over that it was too late for the rescue of Margaret or Henderson.

They were in the rapids, and would have rejected any friendly rope thrown to draw them ashore. And

notwithstanding the doubts of my wife, I confess that I had so much sympathy with the genuineness of it that

I enjoyed this shock of two strong natures rushing to their fate. Was it too sudden? Do two living streams

hesitate when they come together? When they join they join, and mingle and reconcile themselves afterwards.

It is only canals that flow languidly in parallel lines, and meet, if they meet at all, by the orderly contrivance

In the morning the two were off for a stroll. There is a hill from which a most extensive prospect is had of the

city, the teeming valley, with a score of villages and innumerable white spires, of forests and meadows and

broken mountain ranges. It was a view that Margaret the night before had promised to show Henderson, that

he might see what to her was the loveliest landscape in the world. Whether they saw the view I do not know.

But I know the rock from which it is best seen, and could fancy Margaret sitting there, with her face turned

towards it and her hands folded in her lap, and Henderson sitting, half turned away from it, looking in her

face. There is an apple orchard just below. It was in bloom, and all the invitation of spring was in the air. That

he saw all the glorious prospect reflected in her mobile face I do not doubtall the nobility and tenderness of

it. If I knew the faltering talk in that hour of growing confidence and expectation, I would not repeat it.

Henderson lunched at the Forsythe's, and after lunch he had some talk with Miss Forsythe. It must have been

of an exciting nature to her, for, immediately after, that good woman came over in a great flutter, and was

closeted with my wife, who at the end of the interview had an air of mysterious importance. It was evidently

a woman's day, and my advice was not wanted, even if my presence was tolerated. All I heard my wife say

through the opening door, as the consultation ended, was, "I hope she knows her own mind fully before

As to the objects of this anxiety, they were upon the veranda of the cottage, quite unconscious of the

necessity of digging into their own minds. He was seated, and she was leaning against the railing on which

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

"Yes, in one way;" and he leaned forward, and broke his sentence with a little laugh. "I think I must have

"Perhaps. And yet, in another way, it seems longa whole month, you know." And the girl laughed a little in

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

That this was a profound and original discovery there could be no doubt, from the conviction with which it

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

There was a wistful look in her facetimidity, selfdepreciation, worshipas Henderson rose and stood

near her, and she looked up while he took the broken flower from her hand. There was but one answer to this,

and in spite of the open piazza and the allobservant, allrevealing day, it might have been given; but at the

moment Miss Forsythe was seen hurrying towards them through the shrubbery. She came straight to where

they stood, with an air of New England directness and determination. 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 the overflowing affection of a quarter of a century of

repression, and then quickly turned and went in. In a moment they followed her. Heaven go with them!

After Henderson had made his hasty adieus at our house and gone, before the 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 oncewe men who are so much left out of these affairs

have occasionally to thank Heaven for a merciful momentseized my wife, and dragged her to her room.

"I couldn't wait another moment," she said, as she threw herself on my wife's bosom in a passion of tears. "I

am so happy! he is so noble, and I love him so! "And she sobbed as if it were the greatest calamity in the

world. And then, after a little, in reply to a questionfor women are never more practical than in such a

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

Well, that was another success. The world is round, and like a ball seems swinging in the air, and swinging

very pleasantly, thought Henderson, as he stepped on board the train that evening. The world is truly what

you make it, and Henderson was determined to make it agreeable. His philosophy was concise, and might be

He went into the smoking compartment, and sat musing by the window for some time before he lit his cigar,

feeling a glow of happiness that was new in his experience. The country was charming at twilight, but he was

little conscious of that. What he saw distinctly was Margaret's face, trustful and wistful, looking up into his as

she bade him goodby. What he was vividly conscious of was being followed, enveloped, by a woman's love.

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

"Will you? Telegraph? I never had that sort of a message." It seemed a very wonderful thing that he should

use the public wire for this purpose, and she looked at him with new admiration.

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

"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 the trains. "I think I'll take out an accident policy."

"Don't say that. But you men are so reckless. Promise you won't stand on the platform, and won't get off

while the train is in motion, and all the rest of the directions," she said, laughing a little with him; "and you

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

"You'll think me silly. But you know, don't you, dear? "She put a hand on each shoulder, and pushing him

back, studied his face. "You are all the world. And only to think, day before yesterday, I didn't think of the

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

The newcomer was a man of middle age, thick set, with rounded shoulders, deep chest, heavy neck,

irongray hair close cut, gray whiskers cropped so as to show his strong jaw, blue eyes that expressed at once

"No; Perkins is attending to that," said Henderson, rather indifferently, like a man awakened out of a pleasant

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

"I shouldn't wonder. Bytheway, look in tomorrow. I've got something to show you."

"Bytheway, did I ever show you this?" Hollowell took from his breast 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 photographsa showylooking handsome woman in lace and

jewels, and six children, handsome like their mother, the whole group with the photographic look of

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 his face. "It's not for sale. Seven figures

wouldn't touch it." He looked at it lovingly before he put it up, and then added: " Well, there's a figure for

each, Rodney, and a big nestegg for the old woman besides. There's nothing like it, old man. You'd better

Jeremiah Hollowellcommonly known as Jerrywas a remarkable man. Thirty years ago he had come to

the city from Maine as a "hand" on a coast schooner, obtained employment in a railroad yard, then as a

freight conductor, gone West, become a contractor, in which position a lucky hit set him on the road of the

unscrupulous accumulation of property. He was now a railway magnate, the president of a system, a

manipulator of dexterity and courage. All this would not have come about if his big head had not been packed

with commonsense brains, and he had not had uncommon will and force of character. Success had

developed the best side of him, the family side; and the worst side of hima brutal determination to increase

his big fortune. He was not hampered by any scruples in business, but he had the goodsense to deal squarely

Henderson did not respond to the matrimonial suggestion; it was not possible for him to vulgarize his own

affair by hinting it to such a man as Hollowell; but they soon fell into serious talk about schemes in which

they were both interested. This talk so absorbed Henderson that after they had reached the city he had walked

some blocks towards his lodging before he recalled his promise about the message. On his table he found a

note from Carmen bidding him to dinner informallyan invitation which he had no difficulty in declining on

account of a previous engagement. And then he went to his club, and passed a cheerful evening. Why not?

There was nothing melancholy about the young fellows in the smokingroom, who liked a good story and the

latest gossip, and were attracted to the society of Henderson, who was openhanded and full of animal spirits,

and above all had a reputation for success, and for being on the inside of affairs. There is nowhere else so

much wisdom and such understanding of life as in a city club of young fellows, who have their experience

still, for the most part, before them. Henderson was that night in great "force"as the phrase is. His

companions thought he had made a lucky turn, and he did not tell them that he had won the love of the finest

girl in the world, who was at that moment thinking of him as fondly as he was thinking of herbut this was

the subconsciousness of his gayety. Late at night he wrote her a long letteran honest letter of love and

admiration, which warmed into the tenderness of devotion as it went on; a letter that she never parted with all

her life long; but he left a description of the loneliness of his evening without her to her imagination.

It was for Margaret also a happy evening, but not a calm one, and not gay. 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 she dared scarcely think. She was restless, but not

restless as before; she could not be calm in such a great happiness. And then the wonder of it, that he should

choose her of all othershe 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 given the

world to see him just for a moment, to look in his eyes and be sure again, to have him say that little word

once more: there was a kind of pain in her heart, the separation was so cruel; it had been over two hours now.

More than once in the evening she ran down to the sitting room, where her aunt was pretending to be

absorbed in a book, to kiss her, to pet her, to smooth her grayish hair and pat her cheek, and get her to talk

about her girlhood days. She was so happy that tears were in her eyes half the time. At nine o'clock there was

a pull at the bell that threatened to drag the wire out, and an insignificant little urchin appeared with a

telegram, which frightened Miss Forsythe, and seemed to Margaret to drop out of heaven. Such an absurd

thing to do at night, said the aunt, and then she kissed Margaret, and laughed a little, and declared that things

had come to a queer pass when people made love by telegraph. There wasn't any love in the telegram,

Margaret said; but she knew betterthe sending word of his arrival was a marvelous exhibition of

And then she led her aunt on to talk of Mr. Henderson, to give her impression, how he looked, what she really

There was not much to say, but it could be said over and over again in various ways. It was the one night of

the world, and her overwrought feeling sought relief. It would not be so again. She would be more reticent

That night when the girl went to sleep the telegram was under her pillow, and it seemed to throb with a

The prospective marriage of the budding millionaire Rodney Henderson was a society paper item in less than

a weekthe modern method of publishing the banns. This was accompanied by a patronizing reference to

the pretty schoolma'am, who was complimented upon her goodfortune in phrases so neatly turned as to

give Henderson the greatest offense, and leave him no remedy, since nothing could have better suited the

journal than further notoriety. He could not remember that he had spoken of it to any one except the

Eschelles, to whom his relations made the communication a necessity, and he suspected Carmen, without,

"It is a shameful impertinence," she burst out, introducing the subject herself, when he called to see her. "I

would horsewhip the editor." Her indignation was so genuine, and she took his side with such warm good

"What good?" he answered, cooling down at the sight of her rage. "It is true, we are to be married, and she

has taught school. I can't drag her name 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 of contrition. "I never thought of that. I

was so angry that I cut it out and put it in the letter that was to contain nothing but congratulations, and told

her how perfectly outrageous I thought it. How stupid!" and there was a world of trouble in her big dark eyes,

"Well, it cannot be helped," Henderson said, with a little touch of sympathy for Carmen's grief. "Those who

know her will think it simply malicious, 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'd rather you'd think me wicked than stupid,"

she continued, with the smile in her eyes that most men found attractive. "I confessis that very bad?that

I feel it more for you than for her. But" ( she thought she saw a shade in his face) "I warn you, if you are not

The girl was in her best mood, with the manner of a confiding, intimate friend. She talked about Margaret,

but not too much, and a good deal more about Henderson and his future, not laying too great stress upon the

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 many illusions or much romance, to be sure, but who could always be relied on in any

mood or any perplexity, and wouldn't be frightened or very severe at any confidences. She posed as a woman

who could make allowances, and whose friendship would be no check or hinderance. This was conveyed in

manner as much as in words, and put Henderson quite at his ease. He was not above the weakness of liking

the comradeship of a woman of whom he was not afraid, a woman to whom he could say anything, a woman

who could make allowances. Perhaps he was hardly conscious of this. He knew Carmen better than she

thought he knew her, and he couldn't approve of her as a wife; and yet the fact was that she never gave him

"Yes," she said, when the talk drifted that way, "the chrysalis earl has gone. I think that mamma is quite

inconsolable. She says she doesn't understand girls, or men, or anything, these days."

"I? No. I'm an agnosticexcept in religion. Have you got it into your head, my friend, that I ever fancied Mr.

"Stuff! See here, Mr. Rodney!" The girl sprang up, seized a plaque from the 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

Then her mood changed to the domestic, as she threw herself into an easy chair and said: "After all, I'm

rather sorry he has gone. He was a man you could trust; that is, if you wanted to trust anybodyI wish I had

When Henderson bade her goodnight it was with the renewed impression that she was a very diverting

"I'm sort of sorry for you," she said, and her eyes were not so serious as to offend, as she gave him her hand,

"for when you are married, you know, as the saying is, you'll want some place to spend your evenings." The

audacity of the remark was quite obscured in the innocent frankness and sweetness of her manner.

What Henderson had to show Hollowell in his office had been of a nature greatly to interest that able

financier. It was a project that would have excited the sympathy of Carmen, but Henderson did not speak of it

to herthough he had found that she was a safe deposit of daring schemes in generalon account of a

feeling of loyalty to Margaret, to whom he had never mentioned it in any of his daily letters. The scheme

made a great deal of noise, later on, when it came to the light of consummation in legislatures and in courts,

both civil and criminal; but its magnitude and success added greatly to Henderson's reputation as a bold and

fortunate operator, and gave him that consideration which always attaches to those who command millions of

money, and have the nerve to go undaunted through the most trying crises. I am anticipating by saying that it

absolutely ruined thousands of innocent people, caused widespread strikes and practical business paralysis

over a large region; but those things were regarded as only incidental to a certain sort of development, and

did not impair the business standing, and rather helped the social position, of the two or three men who

counted their gains by millions in the operation. It furnished occupation and gave good fees to a multitude of

lawyers, and was dignified by the anxious consultation of many learned judges. A moralist, if he were poor

and pessimistic, might have put the case in a line, and taken that line from the Mosaic decalogue (which was

not intended for this new dispensation); but it was involved in such a cloud of legal technicalities, and took

on such an aspect of enterprise and development of resources, and what not, that the general public mind was

completely befogged about it. I am charitable enough to suppose that if the scheme had failed, the public

conscience is so tender that there would have been a question of Henderson'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 did not need inquiry to convince one that he was never so prosperous. He was

often with us, in flying visits, and I can well remember that his coming and the expectation of it gave a kind

of elation to the summerthat and Margaret's supreme and sunny happiness. Even my wife admitted that it

was on both sides a lovematch, and could urge nothing against it except the woman's instinct that made her

shrink from the point of ever thinking of him as a husband for herself, which seemed to me a perfectly

The summeror what we call summer in the North, which is usually a preparation for warm weather, ending

in a preparation for cold weather seemed to me very shortbut I have noticed that each summer is a little

shorter than the preceding one. If Henderson had wanted to gain the confidence of my wife he could not have

done so more effectually than he did in making us the confidants of a little plan he had in the city, which was

a profound secret to the party most concerned. This was the purchase and furnishing of a house, and we made

many clandestine visits 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 that women liked to have a hand in making the home they were

to occupy, he said he thought that my wife knew Margaret's tasteand besides, he added, with a smile, "it

will be only temporary; I should like her, if she chooses, to build and furnish a house to suit herself." In any

one else this would have seemed like assumption, but with Henderson it was only the simple belief in his

We were still more surprised when we came to see the temporary home that Henderson had selected, the

place where the bride was to alight, and look about her for such a home as would suit her growing idea of

expanding fortune and position. It was one of the oldfashioned mansions on Washington Square, built at a

time when people attached more importance to room and comfort than to outside displaya house that

seemed to have traditions of hospitality and of serene family life. It was being thoroughly renovated and

furnished, with as little help from the decorative artist and the splendid upholsterer as consisted with some

regard to public opinion; in fact the expenditure showed in solid dignity and luxurious ease, and not in the

construction of a museum in which one could only move about with the constant fear of destroying

something. My wife was given almost carte blanche in the indulgence of her taste, and she confessed her

delight in being able for once to deal with a house without the feeling that she was ruining me. Only in the

suite designed for Margaret did Henderson seriously interfere, and insist upon a luxury that almost took my

wife's breath away. She opposed it on moral grounds. She said that no true woman could stand such

pampering of her senses without destruction of her moral fibre. But Henderson had his way, as he always had

it. What pleased her most in the house was the conservatory, opening out from the drawingrooma

spacious place with a fountain and cool vines and flowering plants, not a tropical hothouse in a stifling

atmosphere, in which nothing could live except orchids and flowers born near the equator, but a garden with

a temperature adapted to human lungs, where one could sit and enjoy the sunshine, and the odor of flowers,

and the clear and not too incessant notes of Mexican birds. But when it was all done, undoubtedly the most

agreeable room in the house was that to which least thought had been given, the room to which any odds and

ends could be sent, the room to which everybody gravitated when rest and simple enjoyment without restraint

were the object Henderson's own library, with its big open fire, and the books and belongings of his bachelor

days. Man is usually not credited with much taste or ability to take care of himself in the matter of

comfortable living, but it is frequently noticed that when woman 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 out the family, is the

one that the man is permitted to call his own, in which he retains some of the comforts and can indulge some

of the habits of his bachelor days. There is an important truth in this fact with regard to the sexes, but I do not

They were married in October, and went at once to their own house. I suppose all other days were but a

preparation for this golden autumn day on which we went to church and returned to the weddingbreakfast. I

am sure everybody was happy. Miss Forsythe was so happy that tears were in her eyes half the time, and she

bustled about with an affectation of cheerfulness that was almost contagious. Poor, dear, gentle lady! I can

imagine the sensations of a peachtree, in an orchard of trees which bud and bloom and byandby are

weighty with yellow fruit, year after yeara peachtree that blooms, also, but never comes to fruition, only

wastes its delicate sweetness on the air, and finally blooms less and less, but feels nevertheless in each

returning spring the stir of the sap and the longing for that fuller life, while all the orchard bursts into flower,

and the bees swarm about the pink promises, and the fruit sets and slowly matures to lusciousness in the sun

of July. I fancy the wedding, which robbed us all, was hardest for her, for it was in one sense a finality of her

life. Whereas if Margaret had regretsand deep sorrow she had in wrenching herself from the little

neighborhood, though she never could have guessed the vacancy she caused by the withdrawal of her loved

presenceher own life was only just beginning, and she was sustained by the longing which every human

soul has for a new career, by the curiosity and imagination which the traveler feels when he departs for a land

which he desires, and yet dreads to see lest his illusions should vanish. Margaret was about to take that

journey in the world which Miss Forsythe had dreamed of in her youth, but had never set out on. There are

some who say that those are happiest who keep at home and content themselves with reading about the lands

of the imagination. But happily the world does not believe this, and indeed would be very unhappy if it could

not try and prove all the possibilities of human nature, to suffer as well as to enjoy.

I do not know how we fell into the feeling that this marriage was somehow exceptional and important, since

marriages take place every day, and are so common and ordinarily so commonplace, when the first flutter is

over. Even Morgan said, in his wife's presence, that he thought there had been weddings enough; at least he

would interdict those that upset things like this one. For one thing, it brought about the housekeeping union

of Mrs. Fletcher and Miss Forsythe in the tatter's cottagea sort of closing up of the ranks that happens on

the field during a fatal engagement. As we go on, it becomes more and more difficult to fill up the 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, and that is what makes the position of the very rich so pitiful, for the rich get so

"But Margaret," my wife urged, "will never be of that sort: money will not change either her habits or her

"Perhaps. You can never trust to inherited poverty. I have no doubt that she will resist the world, if anybody

can, but my advice is that if you want to keep along with Margaret, you'd better urge your husband to make

money. Experience seems to teach that while they cannot come to us, we may sometimes go to them."

My wife and Mrs. Fletcher were both indignant at this banter, and accused Morgan of want of faith, and even

"Perhaps I am rather shopworn," he confessed. "It's not distrust of Margaret's intentions, but knowledge of

the strength of the current on which she has embarked. Henderson will not stop in his career short of some

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

"It isn't a question, my dear Mrs. Fairchild, of the use of money, but of the use money makes of you. Yes, I

do like Henderson, but I can't give up my philosophy of life for the sake of one good fellow."

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

After six weeks had passed, my wife paid a visit to Margaret. Nothing could exceed the affectionate

cordiality of her welcome. Margaret was overjoyed to see her, to show the house, to have her know her

husband better, to take her into her new life. She was hardly yet over the naive surprises of her lovely

surroundings. Or if it is too mach to say that her surprise had lasted six weeksfor it is marvelous how soon

women adapt themselves to new conditions if they are agreeableshe was in a glow of wonder at her

"You have no idea," she said, "how thoughtful he is about everythingand he makes so little of it all. I am to

thank you, he tells me always, for whatever pleases my taste in the house, and indeed I 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 of that, for it is the more likely to make you feel that it is your home also."

She clung to this idea in the whirl of the new life. In the first days she dwelt much on this theme; indeed it

was hardly second in her talk to her worshipI can call it nothing lessof her husband. She liked to talk of

Brandon and the dear life there and the dearer friendsthis much 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 that Margaret, thus

early, was conscious of a drift, of a widening space, and was making an effort to pull the two parts of her life

together, that there should be no break, as one carried away to sea by a resistless tide grasps the straining rope

But it was all so different: the luxurious house, the carriage at call, the box at the opera, the social duties

inevitable with her own acquaintances and the friends of her husband. She spoke of this in moments of

confidence, and when she was tired, with a consciousness that it was a different life, but in no tone of regret,

and I fancy that the French blood in her veins, which had so long run decorously in Puritan channels, leaped

at its return into new gayety. Years ago Margaret had thought that she might some time be a missionary, at

least that she should like to devote her life to useful labors among the poor and the unfortunate. If conscience

ever reminded her of this, conscience was quieted by the suggestion that now she was in a position to be more

liberal than she ever expected to be; that is, to give everything except the essential thingherself. 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 it with spirit, and an enjoyment increased by the thought

that she was lightening the burden of his business, which she could see pressed more and more. Not that

Henderson made any account of his growing occupations, or that any preoccupation was visible except to the

eye of love, which is quick to see all moods. These were indeed happy days, full of the brightness of an

expanding prosperity and unlimited possibilities of the enjoyment of life. It was in obedience to her natural

instinct, and not yet a feeling of compensation and propitiation, that enlisted Margaret in the city charities,

connection with which was a fashionable self entertainment with some, and a means of social promotion

with others. My wife came home a little weary with so much of the world, but, on the whole, impressed with

Margaret's goodfortune. Henderson in his own house was the soul of consideration and hospitality, and

It is so painful to shrink, and so delightful to grow! Every one knows the renovation of feelingoften

mistaken for a moral renewalwhen the worn dress of the day is exchanged for the fresh evening toilet. The

expansiveness of prosperity has a like effect, though the moralist is always piping about the beneficent uses

of adversity. The moralist is, of course, right, time enough given; but what does the tree, putting out its tender

green leaves to the wooing of the south wind, care for the moralist? How charming the world is when you go

It was better than Margaret had thought. When she came to Washington in the winter season the beautiful city

seemed to welcome her and respond to the gayety of her spirit. It was so open, cheerful, hospitable, in the

appearance of its smooth, broad avenues and pretty little parks, with the bronze statues which all looked

noblein the moonlight; it was such a combination and piquant contrast of shabby ease and stately

elegance negro cabins and stone mansions, picketfences and sheds, and flower banked terraces before

rows of residences which bespoke wealth and refinement. The very aspect of the street population was novel;

compared to New York, the city was as silent as a country village, and the passers, who have the fashion of

walking in the middle of the street upon the asphalt as freely as upon the sidewalks, had a sort of busy

leisureliness, the natural air of thousands of officials hived in offices for a few hours and then left in

irresponsible idleness. But what most distinguished the town, after all, in Margaret's first glimpse of it, was

the swarming negro population pervading every part of itthe slouching plantation negro, the smart mulatto

girl with gay raiment and mincing step, the oldtime auntie, the brisk waiterboy with uncertain eye, the

washerwoman, the hawkers and fruiterers, the loafing strollers of both sexescarrying everywhere color,

abandon, a certain picturesqueness and irresponsibility and goodnature, and a sense of moral relaxation in a

In the morning, when Margaret looked from the windows of the hotel, the sky was gray and yielding, and all

the outlines of the looming buildings were softened in the hazy air. The dome of the Capitol seemed to float

like a bubble, and to be as unsubstantial as the genii edifices in the Arabian tale. The Monument, the slim

white shaft as tall as the Great Pyramid, was still more a dream creation, not really made of hard marble, but

of something as soft as vapor, almost melting into the sky, and yet distinct, unwavering, its point piercing the

upper air, threatening every instant to dissolve, as if it were truly the baseless fabric of a vision light,

unreal, ghostlike, spotless, pure as an unsullied thought; it might vanish in a breath; and yet, no; it is solid:

in the mist of doubt, in the assault of storms, smitten by the sun, beaten by the tempests, it stands there,

springing, graceful, immovableemblem, let us say, of the purity and permanence of the republic.

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

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

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

"Of course it is, dear." They were standing together at the window, and his arm was where it should have

been. "What did you expect? There are concentrated here the taste and virtue of sixty millions of people."

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

"Yes"and he drew her closer to him"there is no denying that. But presently I shall have to explain to

you an odd phenomenon. Virginia, you know, used to be famous for its good living, and Maryland was

simply unapproachable for good cooking. It was expected when the District was made out of these two that

the result would be something quite extraordinary in the places of public entertainment. But, by a process

which nobody can explain, in the union the art of cooking in hotels got mislaid."

"If you could only eat the breakfasts for me, as you can see the Monument 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 that married people indulge in it when they are happy.

Although Henderson came to Washington on business, this was Margaret's wedding journey. There is no

other city in the world where a wedding journey can better be combined with such business as is transacted

here, for in both is a certain element of mystery. Washington is gracious to a bride, if she is pretty and

agreeabledevotion to governing, or to legislation, or to diplomacy, does not render a man insensible to

feminine attractions; and if in addition to beauty a woman has the reputation of wealth, she is as nearly

irresistible here as anywhere. To Margaret, who was able to return the hospitality she received, and whose

equipage was almost as much admired as her toilets, all doors were opena very natural thing, surely, in a

goodnatured, giveandtake world. The colonelMargaret had laughed till she cried when first she heard

her husband saluted by this title in Washington by his New Hampshire acquaintances, but he explained to her

that he had justly won it years ago by undergoing the hardship of receptions as a member of the Governor's

staffthe colonel had brought on his horses and carriages, not at all by way of ostentation, but simply out of

regard to what was due her as his wife, and because a carriage at call is a constant necessity in this city,

whose dignity is equal to the square of its distances, and because there is something incongruous in sending a

bride about in a herdic. Margaret's unworldly simplicity had received a little shock when she first saw her

servants in livery, but she was not slow to see the propriety and even necessity of it in a republican society,

since elegance cannot be a patchwork, but must be harmonious, and there is no harmony between a stylish

turnoutnoble horses nobly caparisonedand a coachman and footman on the box dressed according to

their own vulgar taste. Given a certain position, one's sense of fitness and taste mast be maintained. And there

is so much kindliness and consideration in human natureMargaret's gorgeous coachman and footman never

by a look revealed their knowledge that she was new to the situation, and I dare say that their respectful

demeanor contributed to raise her in her own esteem as one of the select and favored in this prosperous

world. The most selfpoised and genuine are not insensible to the tribute of this personal consideration. My

lady giving orders to her respectful servitors, and driving down the avenue in her luxurious turnout, is not at

all the same person in feeling that she would be if dragged about in a dissolutelooking hack whose driver

has the air of the stable. We take kindly to this transformation, and perhaps it is only the vulgar in soul who

become snobbish in it. Little by little, under this genial consideration, Margaret advanced in the pleasant path

of worldliness; and we heard, by the newspapers and otherwiseindeed, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan were there

for a couple of weeks in the winterthat she was never more sweet and gracious and lovely than in this first

season at the capital. I don't know that the town was raving, as they said, about her beauty and witthere is

nothing like the wit of a handsome womanand amiability and unostentatious little charities, but she was a

great favorite. We used to talk about it by the fire in Brandon, where everything reminded us of the girl we

loved, and rejoice in her good fortune and happiness, and get rather heavyhearted in thinking that she had

"I wish you were here," she wrote to my wife. "I am sure you would enjoy it. There are so many

distinguished people and brilliant peoplethough the distinguished are not always brilliant nor the brilliant

distinguishedand everybody is so kind and hospitable, and Rodney is such a favorite. We go everywhere,

literally, and all the time. You must not scold, but I haven't opened a book, except my prayerbook, in six

weeksit is such a whirl. And it is so amusing. I didn't know there were so many kinds of people and so

many sorts of provincialism in the world. The other night, at the British Minister's, a French attache, who

complimented my awful FrenchI told him that I inherited all but the vocabulary and the accentsaid that

if specimens of the different kinds of women evolved in all outoftheway places who come to Washington

could be exhibited, nobody would doubt any more that America is an interesting country. Wasn't it an

impudent speech? I tried to tell him, in French, how grateful American women are for any little attention

from foreigners who have centuries of politeness behind them. Ah me! I sometimes long for one of the

oldfashioned talks before your smoldering logs! What we talk about here, Heaven only knows. I sometimes

tell Rodney at nightit is usually morningthat I feel like an extinct piece of fireworks. But next day it is

all delightful again; and, dear friend, 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 be any similarity of tastes that drew them together, and she could not

understand the nature of the business transacted in their mysterious conferences. Social life had few

attractions for Hollowell, for his family were in the West; he appeared to have no relations with any branch of

government; he wanted no office, though his influence was much sought by those who did want it.

"You spend a good deal of time here, Mr. Hollowell," Margaret said one day when he called in Henderson's

"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 whole country: you can see everybody here, and it is a good place to arrange matters."

"With Congress, do you mean?" Margaret had heard much of the corruption of Congress.

"No, not Congress particularly. Congressmen are just about like other people. It's all nonsense, this talk about

buying Congressmen. You cannot buy them any more than you can buy other people, but you can sort of

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 trade in the Southwest, build it up, some member who thinks he is smart will just 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 to be seen, and shown that he is going against the interests of his constituents. It is just as it is

everywhere: men have to be shown what their real interest is. No; most Congressmen are poor, and they stay

poor. It is a good deal easier to deal with those among them who are rich and have some idea about the

prosperity of the country. It is just so in the departments. You've got to watch things, if you expect them to go

smooth. You've got to get acquainted with the men. Most men are reasonable when you get well acquainted

with them. I tell your husband that people are about as reasonable in Washington as you'll find them

"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't find Jerry Hollowell trying to pull a cat by its tail," he added, dropping into

"Well, I must go and hunt up the old man. Glad to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Henderson." And then,

with a sly look, "If I knew you better, ma'am, I should take the liberty of congratulating you that Henderson

"Well, I took the liberty of giving him a hint that he wasn't cutout for a single man. I showed him that," and

he lugged out his photographcase from a mass of papers in his breastpocket and handed it to her.

Oh, Henderson knows a good thing when he sees it," said Hollowell, complacently.

It was not easy to be offended with Hollowell's kindhearted boorishness, and after he had gone, Margaret sat

a long time reflecting upon this new specimen of man in her experience. She was getting many new ideas in

these days, the moral lines were not as clearly drawn as she had thought; it was impossible to ticket men off

into good and bad. In Hollowell she had a glimpse of a world lowtoned and vulgar; she had heard that he

was absolutely unscrupulous, and she had supposed that he would appear to be a very wicked man. But he

seemed to be goodhearted and tolerant and friendly. How fond he was of his family, and how charitable

about Congress! And she wondered if the world was generally on Hollowell's level. She met many men more

cultivated than he, gentlemen in manner and in the first social position, who took, after all, about his tone in

regard to the world, very agreeable people usually, easy to get on with, not exacting, or professing much faith

in anybody, and mildly cynical only bitterly cynical when they failed to get what they wanted, and felt the

good things of life slipping away from them. It was to take her some time to learn that some of the most

agreeable people are those who have succeeded by the most questionable means; and when she came to this

"It never occurred to me. Yes, I suppose so, as far as his interests go. He isn't a bad sort of fellowvery

"Dear," said Margaret, with hesitation, " I wish you didn't have anything to do with such men."

"Oh, I don't know. You needn't laugh. It rather lets one down; and it isn'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 all sorts to keep the world going."

"Yesof the oldfashioned sort. The factis, Margaret, you've got a sort of preserve up in Brandon, and

you fancy that the world is divided into sheep and goats. It's a great mistake. There is no such division. Every

"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 is your

Henderson stooped down and kissed her forehead, and tenderly lifted the locks of her brown hair. "You

"Well, there's a man here from Fort Worth who wants us to buy a piece of railroad, and extend it, and join it

"Yes; that's the trouble. The owners want to keep it to themselves, and prevent the general development. But

"Oh, there's a land grant. But some of the members who were not in the Congress that voted it say that it is

In this fashion the explanation went on. Margaret loved to hear her husband talk, and to watch the changing

expression of his face, and he explained about this business until she thought he was the sweetest fellow in

The Morgans had arrived at the same hotel, and Margaret went about with them in the daytime, while

Henderson was occupied. It was like a breath of home to be with them, and their presence, reviving that old

life, gave a new zest to the society spectacle, to the innocent round of entertainments, which more and more

absorbed her. Besides, it was very interesting to have Mr. Morgan's point of view of Washington, and to see

the shifting panorama through his experience. He had been very much in the city in former years, but he came

less and less now, not because it was less beautiful or attractive in a way, but because it had lost for him a

"I am not sure," he said, as they were driving one day, "that it is not now the handsomest capital in the world;

at any rate, it is on its way to be that. No other has public buildings more imposing, or streets and avenues so

attractive in their interrupted regularity, so many stately vistas ending in objects refreshing to the eyea bit

of park, banks of flowers, a statue or a monument that is decorative, at least in the distance. As the years go

on we shall have finer historical groups, triumphal arches and columns that will give it more and more an air

of distinction, the sort of splendor with which the Roman Empire celebrated itself, and, added to this, the

libraries and museums and galleries that are the chief attractions of European cities. Oh, we have only just

begunthe city is so accessible in all directions, and lends itself . to all sorts of magnificence and beauty."

"I declare," said Mrs. Morgan to Margaret, "I didn't know that he could be so eloquent. Page, you ought to be

"In order to snuff myself out? Congress is not so important a feature as it 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 the process is going

on here that is so marked all over the countrythe divorce of social and political life. I used to think, fifteen

years ago, that Washington was a standing contradiction to the old aphorism that a democracy cannot make

societythere was no more agreeable society in the world than that in Washington even ten years ago:

society selected itself somehow without any marked class distinction, and it was delightfully simple and

"Money, which changes everything and everybody. The whole scale has altered. There is so much more

display and expense. I remember when a private carriage in Washington was a rare object. The possession of

money didn't help one much socially. What made a person desired in any company was the talent of being

agreeable, talent of some sort, not the ability to give a costly dinner or a big ball."

"But there are more literary and scientific people here, everybody says," said Margaret, who was becoming a

"Yes, and they keep more to themselveswithdraw into their studies, or hive in their clubs. They tell me that

the delightful informality and freedom of the old life is gone. Ask the old Washington residents whether the

coming in of rich people with leisure hasn't demoralized society, or stiffened it, and made it impossible after

the old sort. It is as easy here now as anywhere else to get together a very heavy dinner partyall very

"No doubt. There are still houses of the old sort, where wit and good humor and free hospitality are more

conspicuous than expense; but when money selects, there is usually an incongruous lot about the board. An

oracular scientist at the club the other night put it rather neatly when he said that a society that exists mainly

"That's as clever," Margaret retorted, "as the remark of an under secretary at a cabinet reception the other

night, that it is one thing to entertain and another to be entertaining. I won't have you slander Washington. I

"Dear me!" said Morgan, "I've been praising Washington. I should like to live here also, if I had the millions

of Jerry Hollowell. Jerry is going to build a palace out on the Massachusetts Avenue extension bigger than

"But he is the coming man. He represents the democratic plutocracy that we are coming to."

All Morgan's banter couldn't shake Margaret's enjoyment of the cheerful city. "You like it as well as

anybody," she told him. And in truth he and Mrs. Morgan dipped into every gayety that was going. "Of

course I do," he said, "for a couple of weeks. I shouldn't like to be obliged to follow it as a steady business.

Washington is a good place to take a plunge occasionally. And then you can go home and read King Solomon

Margaret had thought when she came to Washington that she should spend a good deal of time at the Capitol,

listening to the eloquence of the Senators and Representatives, and that she should study the collections and

the Patentoffice and explore all the public buildings, in which she had such intense historical interest as a

teacher in Brandon. But there was little time for these pleasures, which weighed upon her like duties. She did

go to the Capitol once, and tired herself out tramping up and down, and was very proud of it all, and

wondered how any legislation was ever accomplished, and was confused by the hustling about, the swinging

of doors, the swarms in the lobbies, and the racing of messengers, and concluded unjustly that it was a big

hive of whispered conference, and bargaining, and private interviewing. Morgan asked her if she expected

that the business of sixty millions of people was going to be done with the order and decorum of a lyceum

debating society. In one of the committeerooms she saw Hollowell, looking at ease, and apparently an

indispensable part of the government machine. Her own husband, who had accompanied the party, she lost

presently, whisked away somewhere. He was sought in vain afterwards, and at last Margaret came away

dazed and stunned by the noise of the wheels of the great republic in motion. She did not try it again, and

very little strolling about the departments satisfied her. The west end claimed herthe rolling equipages, the

drawingrooms, the dress, the vistas of evening lamps, the gay chatter in a hundred shining houses, the

exquisite dinners, the crush of the assemblies, the full flow of the tide of fashion and of enjoymentwhat is

there so good in life? To be young, to be rich, to be pretty, to be loved, to be admired, to compliment and be

complimentedevery Sunday at morning service, kneeling in a fluttering row of the sweetly devout, whose

fresh toilets made it good to be there, and who might humbly hope to be forgiven for the things they have left

And it went well with Henderson meantime. Surely he was born under a lucky starif it is goodluck for a

man to have absolute prosperity and the gratification of all his desires. One reason why Hollowell sought his

cooperation was a belief in this luck, and besides Henderson was, he knew, more presentable, and had social

access in quarters where influence was desirable, although Hollowell was discovering that with most men

delicacy in presenting anything that is for their interest is thrown away. He found no difficulty in getting

recruits for his little dinners at Champolion'sdinners that were not always given in his name, and where he

appeared as a guest, though he footed the bills. Bungling grossness has disappeared from all really able and

large transactions, and genius is mainly exercised in the supply of motives for a line of conduct. The public

Henderson and Hollowell got what they wanted in regard to the Southwest consolidation, and got it in the

most gentlemanly way. Nobody was bought, no one was offered a bribe. There were, of course, fees paid for

opinions and for professional services, and some able men induced to take a prospective interest in what was

demonstrably for the public good. But no vote was given for a considerationat least this was the report of

an investigating committee later on. Nothing, of course, goes through Congress of its own weight, except

occasionally a resolution of sympathy with the Coreans, and the calendar needs to be watched, and the good

offices of friends secured. Skillful wording of a clause, the right moment, and opportune recognition do the

business. The main thing is to create a favorable atmosphere and avoid discussion. When the bill was passed,

Hollowell did give a dinner on his own invitation, a dinner that was talked of for its refinement as well as its

cost. The chief topic of conversation was the development of the Southwest and the extension of our trade

relations with Mexico. The little scheme, hatched in Henderson's New York office, in order to transfer certain

already created values to the pockets of himself and his friends, appeared to have a national importance.

When Henderson rose to propose the health of Jerry Hollowell, neither he nor the man he eulogized as a

creator of industries whose republican patriotism was not bound by State lines nor circumscribed by sections

And yet in a certain way Mr. Hollowell was conscious that he merited the eulogy. He had come to believe

that the enterprises in which he was engaged, that absolutely gave him, it was believed, an income of a

million a year, were for the public good. Such vast operations lent him the importance of a public man. If he

was a victim of the confusion of mind which mistook his own prosperity for the general benefit, he only

shared a wide public opinion which regards the accumulation of enormous fortunes in a few hands as an

Margaret left Washington with regret. She had a desire to linger in the opening of the charming spring there,

for the little parks were brilliant with flower bedstulips, hyacinths, crocuses, violetsthe magnolias and

redbuds in their prodigal splendor attracted the eye a quarter of a mile away, and the slender twigs of the trees

began to be suffused 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

"It has all been so delightful, dear!" said Margaret as they rode away in the train, and caught their last sight of

the dome. They were in Hollowell's private car, which the goodnatured old fellow had put at their disposal.

And Margaret had a sense of how delightful and prosperous this world is as seen from a private car.

"Yes," Henderson answered, thinking of various things; "it has been a successful winter. The capital is really

attractive. It occurred to me the other day that America has invented a new kind of city, the apotheosis of the

They talked of the city, of the acquaintances of the winter, of Hollowell's thoughtfulness in lending them his

car, that their bridal trip, as he had said, might have a good finish. Margaret's heart opened to the world. She

thought of the friends at Brandon, she thought of the poor old ladies she was accustomed to look after in the

city, of the raggedschool that she visited, of the hospital in which she was a manager, of the mission chapel.

The next Sunday would be Easter, and she thought of a hundred ways in which she could make it brighter for

so many of the unfortunates. Her heart was opened to the world, and looking across to Henderson, who was

deep in the morning paper, she said, with a wife's unblushing effrontery, "Dearest, how handsome you are!"

The home life took itself up again easily and smoothly in Washington Square. Did there ever come a moment

of reflection as to the nature of this prosperity which was altogether so absorbing and agreeable? If it came,

did it give any doubts and raise any of the old questions that used to be discussed at Brandon? Wasn't it the

use that people made of money, after all, that was the real test? She did not like Hollowell, but on

acquaintance he was not the monster that he had appeared to her in the newspapers. She was perplexed now

and then by her husband's business, but did it differ from that of other men she had known, except that it was

On Easter morning, when Margaret returned from early service, to which she had gone alone, she found upon

her dressingtable a note addressed to "My Wife," and in it a check for a large sum to her order, and a card,

on which was written, "For Margaret's Easter Charities." Flushed with pleasure, she ran to meet her husband

on the landing as he was descending to breakfast, threw her arms about his neck, and, with tears in her eyes,

Our lives are largely made up of the things we do not have. In May, the time of the apple blossomsjust a

year from the swift wooing of MargaretMiss Forsythe received a letter from John Lyon. It was in a

mourning envelope. The Earl of Chisholm was dead, and John Lyon was Earl of Chisholm. The information

was briefly conveyed, but with an air of profound sorrow. The letter spoke of the change that this loss

brought to his own life, and the new duties laid upon him, which would confine him more closely to England.

It also contained congratulationswhich circumstances had delayedupon Mrs. Henderson's marriage, and

a simple wish for her happiness. The letter was longer than it need have been for these purposes; it seemed to

love to dwell upon the little visit to Brandon and the circle of friends there, and it was pervaded by a tone,

almost affectionate, towards Miss Forsythe, which touched her very deeply. She said it was such a manly

America, the earl said, interested him more and more. In all history, he wrote, there never had been such an

opportunity for studying the formation of society, for watching the working out of political problems; the

elements meeting were so new, and the conditions so original, that historical precedents were of little service

as guides. He acknowledged an almost irresistible impulse to come back, and he announced his intention of

I had noticed this in English travelers of intelligence before. Crude as the country is, and uninteresting

according to certain established standards, it seems to have a "drawing" quality, a certain unexplained

fascination. Morgan says that it is the social unconventionality that attracts, and that the American women are

the loadstone. He declares. that when an Englishman secures and carries home with him an American wife,

his curiosity about the country is sated. But this is generalizing on 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 itdue partly to its tone towards Miss Forsythe, almost a family tonewas that the earldom

was an empty thing without the love of Margaret Debree. Life is so brief at the best, and has so little in it

when the one thing that the heart desires is denied. That the earl should wish to come to America again

without hope or expectation was, however, quite human nature. If a man has found a diamond and lost it, he

is likely to go again and again and wander about the field where he found it, not perhaps in any defined hope

of finding another, but because there is a melancholy satisfaction in seeing the spot again. It was some such

feeling that impelled the earl to wish to see again Miss Forsythe, and perhaps to talk of Margaret, but he

To her aunt's letter conveying the intelligence of Mr. Lyon's loss, Margaret replied with a civil message of

condolence. The news had already reached the Eschelles, and Carmen, Margaret said, had written to the new

earl a most pious note, which contained no allusion to his change of fortune, except an expression of

sympathy with his now enlarged opportunity for carrying on his philanthropic plansa most unworldly note.

"I used to think," she had said, when confiding what she had done to Margaret, "that you would make a

perfect missionary countess, but you have done better, my dear, and taken up a much more difficult work

among us fashionable sinners. Do you know," she went on, "that I feel a great deal less worldly than I used

Margaret wrote a most amusing account of this interview, and added that Carmen was really very

goodhearted, and not half as worldlyminded as she pretended to be; an opinion with which Miss Forsythe

did not at all agree. She had spent a fortnight with Margaret after Easter, and she came back in a dubious

frame of mind. Margaret's growing intimacy with Carmen was one of the sources of her uneasiness. They

appeared to be more and more companionable, although Margaret's clear perception of character made her

estimate of Carmen very nearly correct. But the fact remained that she found her company interesting.

Whether the girl tried to astonish the country aunt, or whether she was so thoroughly a child of her day as to

lack certain moral perceptions, I do not know, but her candid conversation greatly shocked Miss Forsythe.

"Margaret," she said one day, in one of her apparent bursts of confidence, "seems to have had such a different

start in life from mine. Sometimes, Miss Forsythe, she puzzles me. I never saw anybody so much in love as

she is with Mr. Henderson; she doesn't simply love him, she is in love with him. I don't wonder she is fond of

"Oh, of course, in a way," the girl went on. "I like Mr. HendersonI like him very muchbut I don't

believe in him. It isn't the way now to believe in anybody very much. We don't do it, and I think we get along

Miss Forsythe was too much stunned to make any reply. It seemed to her that the bottom had fallen out of

"If he does not he isn't much of a man. If people don't believe in each other, society is going to pieces. I am

"Oh, it isn't any tone in me, my dear Miss Forsythe," Carmen continued, sweetly. "Society is a great deal

Miss Forsythe told Margaret that she thought Miss Eschelle was a dangerous woman. Margaret did not

defend her, but she did not join, either, in condemning her; she appeared to have accepted her as a part of her

world. And there were other things that Margaret seemed to have accepted without that vigorous protest

which she used to raise at whatever crossed her conscience. To her aunt she was never more affectionate,

never more solicitous about her comfort and her pleasure, and it was almost enough to see Margaret happy,

radiant, expanding day by day in the prosperity that was illimitable, only there was to her a note of unreality

in all the whirl and hurry of the busy life. She liked to escape to her room with a book, and be out of it all,

and the two weeks away from her country life seemed long to her. She couldn't reconcile Margaret's love of

the world, her tolerance of Carmen, and other men and women whose lives seemed to be based on Carmen's

philosophy, with her devotion to the church services, to the city missions, and the dozens of charities that

"You are too young, dear, to be so good and devout," was Carmen's comment 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 Carmen into either of these dangers. And the reply was no more satisfactory to Miss

That she had had a delightful visit, that Margaret was more lovely than ever, that Henderson was a delightful

host, was the report of Miss Forsythe when she returned to us. In a confidential talk with my wife she

One of the worries of modern life is the perplexity where to spend the summer. The restless spirit of change

affects those who dwell in the country, as well as those who live in the city. No matter how charming the

residence is, one can stay in it only a part of the year. He actually needs a house in town, a villa by the sea,

and a cottage in the hills. When these are securedeach one an establishment more luxurious year by

yearthen the family is ready to travel about, and is in a greater perplexity than before whether to spend the

summer in Europe or in America, the novelties of which are beginning to excite the imagination. This

nomadism, which is nothing less than society on wheels, cannot be satirized as a whim of fashion; it has a

serious cause inthe discovery of the disease called nervous prostration, which demands for its cure

constant change of scene, without any occupation. Henderson recognized it, but he said that personally he had

no time to indulge in it. His summer was to be a very busy one. It was impossible to take Margaret with him

on his sudden and tedious journeys from one end of the country to the other, but she needed a change. It was

therefore arranged that after a visit to Brandon she should pass the warm months with the Arbusers in their

summer home at Lenox, with a monththe right monthin the Eschelle villa at Newport; and he hoped

Margaret came to Brandon at the beginning of June, just at the season when the region was at its loveliest,

and just when its society was making 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 people who have been grumbling about snow and

frost for six months, and longing for genial weather, should flee from it as soon as it comes. I had made the

discovery, quite by chanceand it was so novel that I might have taken out a patent on itthat if one has a

comfortable home in our northern latitude, he cannot do better than to stay in it when the hum of the

mosquito is heard in the land, and the mercury is racing up and down the scale between fifty and ninety. This

opinion, however, did not extend beyond our little neighborhood, and we may be said to have had the

I fancied that the neighborhood had not changed, but the coming of Margaret showed me that this was a

delusion. No one can keep in the same place in life simply by standing still, and the events of the past two

years had wrought a subtle change in our quiet. Nothing had been changed to the eye, yet something had been

taken away, or something had been added, 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 thinking about. Had she changed?

She was more beautiful. She had the airI should hesitate to call it that of the fine ladyof assured

position, something the manner of that greater world in which the possession of wealth has supreme

importance, but it was scarcely a change of manner so much as of ideas about life and of the things valuable

in it gradually showing itself. Her delight at being again with her old friends was perfectly genuine, and she

had never appeared more unselfish or more affectionate. If there was a subtle difference, it might very well be

in us, though I found it impossible to conceive of her in her former role of teacher and simple maiden, with

her heart in the little concerns of our daily life. And why should she be expected to go back to that stage?

Must we not all live our lives? Miss Forsythe's solicitude about Margaret was mingled with a curious

deference, as to one who had a larger experience of life than her own. The girl of a year ago was now the

married woman, and was invested with something of the dignity that Miss Forsythe in her pure imagination

attached to that position. Without yielding any of her opinions, this idea somehow changed her relations to

Margaret; a little, I thought, to the amusement of Mrs. Fletcher and the other ladies, to whom marriage took

on a less mysterious aspect. It arose doubtless from a renewed sense of the incompleteness of her single life,

In that June there were vexatious strikes in various parts of the country, formidable combinations of

laboringmen, demonstrations of tradesunions, and the exhibition of a spirit that sharply called attention to

the unequal distribution of wealth. The discontent was attributed in some quarters to the exhibition of

extreme luxury and reckless living by those who had been fortunate. It was even said that the strikes,

unreasonable and futile as they were, and most injurious to those who indulged in them, were indirectly

caused by the railway manipulation, in the attempt not only to crush out competition, but to exact excessive

revenues on fictitious values. Resistance to this could be shown to be blind, and the strikers technically in the

wrong, yet the impression gained ground that there was something monstrously wrong in the way great

fortunes were accumulated, in total disregard of individual rights, and in a materialistic spirit that did not take

into account ordinary humanity. For it was not alone the laboring class that was discontented, but all over the

country those who lived upon small invested savings, widows and minors, found their income imperiled by

the trickery of rival operators and speculators in railways and securities, who treated the little private

accumulations as mere counters in the games they were playing. The loss of dividends to them was poorly

compensated by reflections upon the development of the country, and the advantage to trade of great

In discussing these things in our little parliament we were not altogether unprejudiced, it must be confessed.

For, to say nothing of interests of Mr. Morgan and my own, which seemed in some danger of disappearing

for the "public good," Mrs. Fletcher's little fortune was nearly all invested in that sound "rockbed" railway

in the Southwest that Mr. Jerry Hollowell had recently taken under his paternal care. She was assured, indeed,

that dividends were only reserved pending some sort of reorganization, which would ultimately be of great

benefit to all the parties concerned; but this was much like telling a hungry man that if he would possess his

appetite in patience, he would very likely have a splendid dinner next year. Women are not constituted to

understand this sort of reasoning. It is needless to say that in our general talks on the situation these

personalities were not referred to, for although Margaret was silent, it was plain to see that she was uneasy.

Morgan liked to raise questions of casuistry, such as that whether money dishonestly come by could be

"I had this question referred to me the other day," he said. "A gambler not a petty cheater in cards, but a

man who has a splendid establishment in which he has amassed a fortune, a man known for his liberality and

goodfellowship and his interest in politicsoffered the president of a leading college a hundred thousand

dollars to endow a professorship. Ought the president to take the money, knowing how it was made?"

"Wouldn't the money do goodas much good as any other hundred thousand dollars?" asked Margaret.

"Perhaps. But the professorship was to bear his name, and what would be the moral effect of that?"

"Did you recommend the president to take the money, if he could get it without using the gambler's name?"

"I am not saying yet what I advised. I am trying to get your views on a general principle."

"But wouldn't it be a sneaking thing to take a man's money, and refuse him the credit of his generosity?"

"But was it generosity? Was not his object, probably, to get a reputation which his whole life belied, and to

"But isn't it a compromising distinction," my wife asked, "to take his money without his name? The president

knows that it is money fraudulently got, that really belongs to somebody else; and the gambler would feel

that if the president takes it, he cannot think very disapprovingly of the manner in which it was acquired. I

think it would be more honest and straightforward to take his name with the money."

"The public effect of connecting the gambler's name with the college would be debasing," said Morgan; "but,

on the contrary, is every charity or educational institution bound to scrutinize the source of every

benefaction? Isn't it better that money, however acquired, should be used for a good purpose than a bad one?"

"That is a question," I said, "that is a vital one in our present situation, and the sophistry of it puzzles the

public. What would you say to this case? A man notoriously dishonest, but within the law, and very rich,

offered a princely endowment to a college very much in need of 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 be made one of the

"I suppose, of course," Margaret replied, "that the college couldn't afford that. It would look like bribery."

"I don't see," my wife said, "any difference between the two cases stated and that of the stock gambler, whose

unscrupulous operations have ruined thousands of people, who founds a theological seminary with the gains

of his slippery transactions. By accepting his seminary the public condones his conduct. Another man, with

the same shaky reputation, endows a college. Do you think that religion and education are benefited in the

longrun by this? It seems to me that the public is gradually losing its power of discrimination between the

value of honesty and dishonesty. Real respect is gone when the public sees that a man is able to buy it."

This was a hot speech for my wife to make. For a moment Margaret flamed up under it with her oldtime

indignation. I could see it in her eyes, and then she turned red and confused, and at length said:

"Yes, dear, but I would not have them think they can blot out by their liberality the condemnation of the

means by which many of them make money. That is what they are doing, and the public is getting used to it."

"Well," said Margaret, with some warmth, "I don't know that they are any worse than the stingy saints who

have made their money by saving, and act as if they expected to carry it with them."

"Saints or sinners, it does not make much difference to me," now put in Mrs. Fletcher, who was evidently

considering the question from a practical point of view, "what a man professes, if he founds a hospital for

Morgan laughed. "Don't you think, Mrs. Fletcher, that it is a good sign of the times, that so many people who

"But you don't make allowance enough for the rich. Perhaps they are under a necessity of doing something. I

was reading this morning in the diary of old John Ward of StratfordonAvon this sentence: 'It was a saying

of Navisson, a lawyer, that no man could be valiant unless he hazarded his body, nor rich unless he hazarded

There was a little laugh at this, and the talk drifted off into a consideration of the kind of conscience that

enables a professional man to espouse a cause he knows to be wrong as zealously as one he knows to be

right; a talk that I should not have remembered at all, except for Margaret's earnestness in insisting that she

Before Margaret went to Lenox, Henderson spent a few days with us. He brought with him the amounding

cheerfulness, and the air of a prosperous, smiling world, that attended him in all circumstances. And how

happy Margaret was! They went over every foot of the ground on which their brief courtship had taken place,

and Heaven knows what joy there was to her in reviving all the tenderness and all the fear of it! Busy as

Henderson was, pursued by hourly telegrams and letters, we could not but be gratified that his attention to her

was that of a lover. How could it be otherwise, when all the promise of the girl was realized in the bloom and

the exquisite susceptibility of the woman? Among other things, she dragged him down to her mission in the

city, to which he went in a laughing and bantering mood. When he had gone away, Margaret ran over to my

"See that!" she cried, her eyes dancing with pleasure. It was a check for a thousand dollars. "That will

"How generous he is!" cried my wife. Margaret did not reply, but she looked at the check, and there were

The Arbuser cottage at Lenox was really a magnificent villa. Richardson had built it. At a distance it had the

appearance of a mediaeval structure, with its low doorways, picturesque gables, and steep roofs, and in its

situation on a gentle swell of green turf backed by native foresttrees it imparted to the landscape an ancestral

tone which is much valued in these days. But near to, it was seen to be mediaevalism adapted to the sunny

hospitality of our summer climate, with generous verandas and projecting balconies shaded by gay awnings,

and within spacious, open to the breezes, and from its broad windows offering views of lawns and

flowerbeds and ornamental trees, of a great sweep of pastures and forests and miniature lakes, with graceful

It was, in short, the modern idea of country simplicity. The passion for country life, which has been in

decadence for nearly half a century, has again become the fashion. Nature, which, left to itself, is a little

ragged, not to say monotonous and tiresome, is discovered to be a valuable ally for aid in passing the time

when art is able to make portions of it exclusive. What the Arbusers wanted was a simple home in the

country, and in obtaining it they were indulging a sentiment of returning to the primitive life of their father,

who had come to the city from a hill farm, and had been too busy all his life to recur to the tastes of his

boyhood. At least that was the theory of his daughters; but the old gentleman had a horror of his early life,

and could scarcely be dragged away from the city even in the summer. He would no doubt have been

astonished at the lofty and substantial stone stables, the long range of greenhouses, and at a farm which

produced nothing except lawns and flowerbeds, ornamental fields of clover, avenues of trees, lawn tennis

grounds, and a few Alderneys tethered to feed among the trees, where their beauty would heighten the rural

and domestic aspect of the scene. The Arbusers liked to come to this place as early as possible to escape the

society exactions of the city. That was another theory of theirs. All their set in the city met there for the same

"We have been counting the days," said the elder of the sisters. "Your luggage has come, your rooms are all

ready, and your coachman, who has been here some days, says that the horses need exercise. Everybody is

"You are very kind. It is so charming here. I knew it would be, but I couldn't bear to shorten my visit in

"I think not. She is wedded to quiet, and goes away from her little neighborhood with reluctance."

"So Brandon was a little dull?" said Miss Arbuser, with a shrewd guess at the truth.

"Oh no," quickly replied Margaret, shrinking a little from what was in her own mind; "it was restful and

delightful; but you know that we New England people take life rather seriously, and inquire into the reason of

"A very good thing to have," answered this sweet woman of the world, whose object was to go along

"But to have it all the time!" Margaret suggested, lightly, as she ran upstairs. But even in this suggestion she

was conscious of a twinge of disloyalty to her former self. Deep down in her heart, coming to the atmosphere

of Lenox was a relief from questionings that a little disturbed her at her old home, and she was indignant at

herself that it should be so, and then indignant at the suggestions that put her out of humor with herself. Was

On her dressingtable was a letter from her husband. He was detained in the city by a matter of importance.

He scratched only a line, to catch the mail, during a business interview. It was really only a business

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 old Jerry Hollowell enter and make his way to the inner room unannounced.

"Well, old man," said Uncle Jerry, in the cheeriest manner, coming in, depositing his hat on the table, and

"Only a little flurry," replied Henderson, laying down his pen and folding a note he had just finished; "they'll

"They've got to." Mr. Hollowell drew out a big bandanna and mopped his heated face. "I've just got a letter

from Jorkins. There's the certificates that make up the twothirdsmore than we need, anyway. No flaw

"No. I'll put these with the balance in the safe. It's all right, if Jorkins has been discreet. It may make a

"Oh, Jorkins is close. But he is a little overworked. I don't know but it would do him good to have a little

"Well, you write to him. Give him a sort of commission to see the English bondholders, and explain the

situation. They will appreciate that half a loaf is better than no bread. What bothers me is the way the

"Let 'em kick. The public don't care for a few soreheads and impracticables in an operation that is going to

open up the whole Southwest. I've an appointment with one of them this morning. He ought to be here now."

At the moment Henderson's private secretary entered and laid on the table the card of Mr. John Hopper, who

was invited to come in at once. Mr. Hopper was a man of fifty, with irongray hair, a heavy mustache, and a

smoothshaven chin that showed resolution. In dress and manner his appearance was that of the shrewd city

capitalistquiet and determined, who is neither to be deceived nor bullied. With a courteous greeting to both

"I have called to see you, Mr. Henderson, about the bonds of the A. and B., and I am glad to find Mr.

"With my own and my friends', altogether, rising a million. What do you propose?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Hopper, the best we could do under the circumstances. We gave you your option, to scale

down on a fair estimate of the earnings of the short line (the A. and B.), or to surrender your local bonds and

take new ones covering the whole consolidation, or, as is of course in your discretion, to hold on and take the

"Not at all, Mr. Hopper. We offer you a much better security on the whole system instead of a local road."

"And you mean to tell me, Mr. Henderson, that it is for our advantage to exchange a seven per cent. bond on

a road that has always paid its interest promptly, for a four and a half on a system that is manipulated nobody

knows how? I tell you, gentlemen, that it looks to outsiders as if there was crookedness somewhere."

"But we are to understand that if we do not accept your terms, it's a freezeout?"

"You are to understand that we want to make the best arrangement possible for all parties in interest."

"How some of those interests were acquired may be a question for the courts," replied Mr. Hopper,

resolutely. "When we put our money in good seven per cent. bonds, we propose to inquire into the right of

anybody to demand that we shall exchange them for four and a half per cents. on other security."

"Perfectly right, Mr. Hopper," said Henderson, with imperturbable good humor; " the transfer books are

Mr. Hopper turned to the speaker. "And while we are waiting we propose to inquire what has become of the

surplus of the A. and B. The bondholders had the first claim on the entire property."

"And we propose to protect it. See here, Mr. Hopper," continued Uncle Jerry, with a most benevolent

expression, "I needn't tell you that investments fluctuatethe Lord knows mine do! The A. and B. was a

good road. I know that. But it was going to be paralleled. We'd got to parallel it to make our Southwest

connections. If we had, you'd have waited till the Gulf of Mexico freezes over before you got any coupons

paid. Instead of that, we took it into our system, and it's being put on a permanent basis. It's a little

inconvenient for holders, and they have got to stand a little shrinkage, but in the longrun it will be better for

everybody. The little road couldn't stand alone, and the day of big interest is about over."

"That explanation may satisfy you, Mr. Hollowell, but it don't give us our money, and I notify you that we

When Mr. Hopper had gone, the two developers looked at each other a moment seriously.

"That's so," and Uncle Jerry chuckled to himself. "The rats that are on the inside of the crib are a good deal

"The reporter of The Planet wants five minutes," announced the secretary, opening the door. Henderson told

The reporter was a spruce young gentleman, in a loud summer suit, with a rose in his buttonhole, and the air

"I am sent by The Planet," said the young man, "to show you this and ask you if you have anything to say to

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 was apparently more and more interested, and he let it be shown on his face that

"Oh, we have a way," said the reporter, twirling his straw hat by the elastic, and looking more knowing than

"So I see," replied Jerry, with an admiring smile; "there is nothing that you newspaper folks don't find out. It

"Is it true, sir?" said the young gentleman, elated with this recognition of his own shrewdness.

"It is so true that there is no fun in it. I don't see how the devil you got hold of it."

"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 some sense. No; print it. It'll be a big beat for your paper. While you are about itI

s'pose you'll print it anyway?" (the reporter nodded)"you might as well have the whole story."

"Oh, nothing but some details. You have got it substantially. There's a word or two and a date you are out on,

naturally enough, and there are two or three little things that would be exactly true if they were differently

"No," said Jerry, with a little reluctance; "might as well have it all outeh, Henderson?"

And the old man took his pencil and changed some dates and a name or two, and gave to some of the

sentences a turn that seemed to the reporter only another way of saying the same thing.

When the commissioner had withdrawn, Uncle Jerry gave vent to a long whistle. Then he rose suddenly and

called to the secretary, "Tell that reporter to come back." The reporter reappeared.

"I was just thinking, and you can tell Mr. Goss, that now you have got onto this thing, you might as well keep

the lead on it. The public is interested in what we are doing in the Southwest, and if you, or some other 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 my private car, and if you could go along, I assure you a good time. I want you to see for

yourself, and I guess you would. Don't take my word. I can't give you any passes, and I know you don't want

any, but you can just get into my private car and no expense to anybody, and see all there is to be seen. Ask

The young fellow went off feeling several inches higher than when he came in. Such is the power of a good

address, and such is the omnipotence of the great organ. Mr. Jerry Hollowell sat down and began to fan

"Seems to me it's lunchtime. Great Scott! what a lot of time I used to waste fighting the newspapers! That

thing would have played the devil as it stood. It will be comparatively harmless now. It will make a little talk,

but there is nothing to get hold of. Queer, about the difference of a word or two. Come, old man, I'm thirsty."

"Uncle Jerry," said Henderson, taking his arm as they went out, "you ought to be President of the United

Of all this there was nothing to write to Margaret, who was passing her time agreeably in the Berkshire hills,

a little impatient for her husband's arrival, postponed from day to day, and full of sympathy for him,

condemned to the hot city and the harassment of a business the magnitude of which gave him the obligations

and the character of a public man. Henderson sent her instead a column from The Planet devoted to a

description of his private library. Mr. Goss, the editor, who was college bred, had been round to talk with

Henderson about the Southwest trip, and the conversation drifting into other matters, Henderson had taken

from his desk and shown him a rare old book which he had picked up the day before in a secondhand shop.

This led to further talk about Henderson's hobby, and the editor had asked permission to send a reporter down

to make a note of Henderson's collection. It would make a good midsummer item, "The StockBroker in

Literature," "The Private Tastes of a Millionaire," etc. The column got condensed into a portable paragraph,

and went the rounds of the press, and changed the opinions of a good many people about the great

operatorhe wasn't altogether devoted to vulgar moneymaking. Uncle Jerry himself read the column with

appreciation of its value. "It diverts the public mind," he said. He himself had recently diverted the public

mind by the gift of a bell to the Norembega Theological (colored) Institute, and the paragraph announcing the

fact conveyed the impression that while Uncle Jerry was a canny old customer, his heart was on the right

side. "There are worse men than Uncle Jerry who are not worth a cent," was one of the humorous paragraphs

Margaret was not alone in finding the social atmosphere of Lenox as congenial as its natural beauties. Mrs.

Laflamme declared that it was the perfection of existence for a couple of months, one in early summer and

another in the golden autumn with its pathetic note of the falling curtain dropping upon the dream of youth.

Mrs. Laflamme was not a sentimental person, but she was capable of drifting for a moment into a poetic

mooda great charm in a woman of her vivacity and air of the world. Margaret remembered her very

distinctly, although she had only exchanged a word with her at the memorable dinner in New York when

Henderson had revealed her feelings to herself. Mrs. Laflamme had the immense advantageit seemed so to

her after five years of widowhood of being a widow on the sunny side of thirtyfive. If she had lost some

illusions she had gained a great deal of knowledge, and she had no feverish anxiety about what life would

bring her. Although she would not put it in this way to herself, she could look about her deliberately,

enjoying the prospect, and please herself. Her position had two advantagesexperience and opportunity. A

young woman unmarried, she said, always has the uneasy sense of the possibilitywell, it is impossible to

escape slang, and she said it with the merriest laughthe possibility of being left. A day or two after

Margaret's arrival she had driven around to call in her dogcart, looking as fresh as a daisy in her sunhat. She

held the reins, but her seat was shared by Mr. Fox McNaughton, the most useful man in the village,

indispensable indeed; a bachelor, with no intentions, no occupation, no ambition (except to lead the german),

who could mix a salad, brew a punch, organize a picnic, and chaperon anything in petticoats with entire

propriety, without regard to age. And he had a position of social authority. This eminence Mr. Fox

McNaughton had attained by always doing the correct thing. The obligation of society to such men is never

enough acknowledged. While they are trusted and used, and worked to death, one is apt to hear them spoken

"You hold the reins a moment, please. No, I don't want any help," she said, as she jumped down with an

elastic spring, and introduced him to Margaret. "I've got Mr. McNaughton in training, and am thinking of

She walked in with Margaret, chatting about the view and the house and the divine weather.

"So do I. But then, what would become of Lenox? It is rather hard on the men, only I dare say they like it.

"I'm sure he would if you are. I have hardly seen him since that evening at the Stotts'. Can I tell you? I

almost had five minutes of envy that evening. You won't mind it in such an old woman?"

"I should rather trust your heart than your age, Mrs. Laflamme," said Margaret, with a laugh.

"Yes, my heart is as old as my face. But I had a feeling, seeing you walk away that evening into the

conservatory. I knew what was coming. I think I have discovered a great secret, Mrs. Henderson to be able to

live over again in other people. Bytheway, what has become of that quiet Englishman, Mr. Lyon?"

"Dear me, how stupid in us not to have taken a sense of that! And the Eschellesdo you know anything of

"Do you think there was anything between Miss Eschelle and Mr. Lyon? I saw her afterwards several times."

"Not that I ever heard. Miss Eschelle says that she is thoroughly American in her tastes."

"Then her tastes are not quite conformed to her style. That girl might be anythingQueen of Spain, or

coryphee in the opera ballet. She is clever as clever. One always expects to hear of her as the heroine of an

"No. We heard of her and her mother everywhere. She was very independent. She had the sort of reputation

to excite curiosity. But I noticed that the men in New York were a little afraid of her. She is a woman who

Mrs. Laflamme rose. "I must not keep Mr. McNaughton waiting for any more of my gossip. We expect you

and the Misses Arbuser this afternoon. I warn you it will be dull. I should like to hear of some summer resort

Mrs. Laflamme liked to drive near the edge as much as Carmen did, and this piquancy was undeniably an

attraction in her case. But there was this difference between the two: there was a confidence that Mrs.

Laflamme would never drive over the edge, whereas no one could tell what sheer Carmen might not suddenly

take. A woman's reputation is almost as much affected by the expectation of what she may do as by anything

she has done. It was Fox McNaughton who set up the dictum that a woman may do almost anything if it is

The lawn party was not at all dull to Margaret. In the first place, she received a great deal of attention.

Henderson's name was becoming very well known, and it was natural that the splendor of his advancing

fortune should be reflected in the person of his young wife, whose loveliness was enhanced by her simple

enjoyment of the passing hour. Then the toilets of the women were so fresh and charming, the colors grouped

so prettily on the greensward, the figures of the slender girls playing at tennis or lounging on the benches

under the trees, recalled scenes from the classic poets. It was all so rich and refined. Nor did she miss the men

of military age, whose absence Mrs. Laflamme had deplored, for she thought of her husband. And, besides,

she found even the college boys (who are always spoken of as men) amusing, and the elderly

gentlemenupon whom wateringplace society throws much responsibilitygallant, facetious,

complimentary, and active in whatever was afoot. Their boyishness, indeed, contrasted withthe gravity of

the undergraduates, who took themselves very seriously, were civil to the young ladies,confidential with

the married women, and had generally a certain reserve and dignity which belong to persons upon whom

There were, to be sure, men who looked bored, and women who were listless, missing the stimulus of any

personal interest; but the scene was so animated, the weather so propitious, that, on the whole, a person must

There was a young novelist present whose first story, "The Girl I Left Behind Me," had made a hit the last

season. It was thought to take a profound hold upon life, because it was a book that could not be read aloud in

a mixed company. Margaret was very much interested in him, although Mr. Summers Bass was not her idea

of an imaginative writer. He was 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 habitual frown. Mr. Bass dressed himself

scrupulously in the fashion, was very exact in his pronunciation, careful about his manner, and had the air of

a little weariness, of the responsibility of one looking at life. It was only at rare moments that his face

"It is a very pretty scene. I suppose, Mr. Bass, that you are making studies," said Margaret, by way of

"No; hardly that. One must always observe. It gets to be a habit. The thing is to see reality under

Mr. Bass smiled. "That is a slang term, Mrs. Henderson. What you want is nature, color, passionto pierce

"Certainly, to an extentform, action, talk as it is, even trivialities especially the trivialities, for life is

"Pardon me, Mrs. Henderson, that is because you are used to the conventional, the selected. Nature is always

"No? Nature has been covered up; it has been idealized. Look yonder," and Mr. Bass pointed across the lawn.

"See that young woman upon whom the sunlight falls standing waiting her turn. See the quivering of the

eyelids, the heaving of the chest, the opening lips; note the curve of her waist from the shoulder, and the line

rounding into the fall of the folds of the Austrian cashmere. I try to saturate myself with that form, to impress

myself with her every attitude and gesture, her color, her movement, and then I shall imagine the form under

the influence of passion. Every detail will tell. I do not find unimportant the tie of her shoe. The picture will

"But suppose, Mr. Bass, when you come to speak with her, you find that she has no ideas, and talks slang."

"All the better. It shows what we are, what our society is. And besides, Mrs. Henderson, nearly everybody

"I take no view, Mrs. Henderson. My ambition is to record. It will not help matters by pretending that people

"Well, Mr. Bass, you may be quite right, but I am not going to let you spoil my enjoyment of this lovely

scene," said Margaret, moving away. Mr. Bass watched her until she disappeared, and then entered in his

note book a phrase for future use, "The prosperous propriety of a pretty plutocrat." He was gathering

The whole world knows how delightful Lenox is. It even has a club where the men can take refuge from the

exactions of society, as in the city. The town is old enough to have "histories"; there is a romance attached to

nearly every estate, a tragedy of beauty, and money, and disappointment; great writers have lived here,

families whose names were connected with our early politics and diplomacy; there is a tradition of a society

of wit and letters, of women whose charms were enhanced by a spice 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 refined fashion 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 living add to the importance of every member of this favored

community? For Margaret it was all a pageant of beauty. The Misses Arbuser talked about the quality of the

air, the variety of the scenery, the exhilaration of the drives, the freedom from noise and dust, the country

quiet. There were the morning calls, the intellectual life of the reading clubs, the tennis parties, the afternoon

teas, combined with charming drives from one elegant place to another; the siestas, the idle swinging in

hammocks, with the latest magazine from which to get a topic for dinner, the mild excitement of a teteatete

which might discover congenial tastes or run on into an interesting attachment. Half the charm of life, says a

When Henderson came, as he did several times for a few days, Margaret's happiness was complete. She

basked in the sun of his easy enjoyment of life. She liked to take him about with her, and see the welcome in

all companies of a man so handsome, so natural and cordial, as her husband. Especially aid she like the

consideration in which he was evidently held at the club, where the members gathered about him to listen to

his racy talk and catch points about the market. She liked to think that he was not a woman's man. He gave

her his version of some recent transactions that had been commented on in the newspapers, and she was

indignant over the insinuations about him. It was the price, he said, that everybody had 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. If she had been told that the family of Jerry Hollowell thought of him in the same way, she

would have said that there was a worldwide difference in the two men. Insensibly she was losing the old

standards she used to apply to success. Here in Lenox, in this prosperous, agreeable world, there was nothing

In her enjoyment of this existence without care, I do not suppose it occurred to her to examine if her ideals

had been lowered. Sometimes Henderson had a cynical, mocking tone about the world, which she reproved

with a caress, but he was always tolerant and goodnatured. If he had told her that he acted upon the maxim

that every man and woman has his and her price she would have been shocked, but she was getting to make

allowances that she would not have made before she learned to look at the world through his eyes. She could

see that the Brandon circle was over scrupulous. Her feeling of this would have been confirmed if she had

known that when her aunt read the letter announcing a month's visit to the Eschelles in Newport, she laid it

Uncle Jerry was sitting on the piazza of the Ocean House, absorbed in the stock reports of a New York

journal, answering at random the occasional observations of his wife, who filled up one of the spacious chairs

near hima florid woman, with diamonds in her ears, who had the resolute air of enjoying herself. It was an

August Newport morning, when there is a salty freshness in the air, but a temperature that discourages

exertion. A pony phaeton dashed by containing two ladies. The ponies were cream colored, with flowing

manes and tails, and harness of black and gold; the phaeton had yellow wheels with a black body; the

diminutive page with folded arms, on the seat behind, wore a black jacket and yellow breeches. The lady who

held the yellow silk reins was a blonde with dark eyes. As they flashed by, the lady on the seat with her

"I seen her at the Casino the other night, before you come, with that tandemdriving count. I don't believe

"Oh, he's all right. He's one of the Spanish legation. This is just the place for counts. I shouldn't wonder,

Maria, if you'd like to be a countess. We can afford itthe Countess Jeremiah, eh?" and Uncle Jerry's eyes

"Don't be a goose, Mr. Hollowell," bringing her fat hands round in front of 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 wind

"Jorkins has sailed," said Mr. Hollowell, looking up from his paper. "The Planet reporter tried to interview

him, but he played sick, said he was just going over and right back for a change. I guess it will be long

"I'm glad he's gone. I hope the papers will mind their own business for a spell."

The house of the Eschelles was on the sea, looking over a vast sweep of lawn to the cliff and the dimpling

blue water of the first beach. It was known as the Yellow Villa. Coming from the elegance of Lenox,

Margaret was surprised at the magnificence and luxury of this establishment, the great drawingrooms, the

spacious chambers, the wide verandas, the pictures, the flowers, the charming nooks and recessed windows,

with handy bookstands, and tables littered with the freshest and mosttalked of issues from the press of

Paris, Madrid, and London. Carmen had taken a hint from Henderson's bachelor apartment, which she had

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 and exciting in various languages, yet she knew the effect of the atmosphere of

books, and she had a standing order at a bookshop for whatever was fresh and likely to come into notice.

And Carmen was a delightful hostess, both because her laziness gave an air of repose to the place, and she

had the tact never to appear to make any demands upon her guests, and because she knew when to be piquant

and exhibit personal interest, and when to show even a little abandon of vivacity. Society flowed through her

house without any obstructions. It was scarcely ever too early and never too late for visitors. Those who were

intimate used to lounge in and take up a book, or pass an hour on the veranda, even when none of the family

were at home. Men had a habit of dropping in for a five o'clock cup of tea, and where the men went the

women needed little urging to follow. At first there had been some reluctance about recognizing the Eschelles

fully, and there were still houses that exhibited a certain reserve towards them, but the example of going to

this house set by the legations, the members of which enjoyed a chat with Miss Eschelle in the freedom of

their own tongues and the freedom of her tongue, went far to break down this barrier. They were spoken of

occasionally as "those Eschelles," but almost everybody went there, and perhaps enjoyed it all the more

Margaret's coming was a good card for Carmen. The little legend about her French ancestry in Newport, and

the romantic marriage in Rochambeau's time, had been elaborated in the local newspaper, and when she

appeared the ancestral flavor, coupled with the knowledge of Henderson's accumulating millions, lent an

interest and a certain charm to whatever she said and did. The Eschelle house became more attractive than

ever before, so much so that Mrs. Eschelle declared that she longed for the quiet of Paris. To her motherly

apprehension there was no result in this whirl of gayety, no serious intention discoverable in any of the train

that followed Carmen. "You act, child," she said, "as if youth would last forever."

Margaret entered into this life as if she had been born to it. Perhaps she was. Perhaps most people never find

the career for which they are fitted, and struggle along at crosspurposes with themselves. We all thought

that Margaret's natural bent was for some useful and self sacrificing work in the world, and never could

have imagined that under any circumstances she would develop into a woman of fashion.

"I intend to read a great deal this month," she said to Carmen on her arrival, as she glanced at the litter of

"That was my intention," replied Carmen; "now we can read together. I'm taking Spanish lessons of Count

"Not now. He told me, when he was teaching me the steps, that his heart was buried in Seville."

"Perhaps that is because his salary is so small. Mamma says, of all things an impecunious count! But he is

"But what do you care for money? "asked Margaret, by way of testing Carmen's motives.

"Nothing, my dear. But deliver me from a husband who is poor; he would certainly be a tyrant. Besides, if I

"That would be against my principles. Never fall below your idealsthat is what I heard a speaker say at the

Town and Country Club, and that is my notion. There is no safety for you if you lose your principles."

"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 you could live with such a man twentyfour hours, even if he had his crown on?"

There was no reading that day nor the next. In the morning there was a drive with the ponies through town, in

the afternoon in the carriage by the sea, with a couple of receptions, the five o'clock tea, with its chatter, and

in the evening a dinner party for Margaret. One day sufficed to launch her, and thereafter Carmen had only

admiration for the unflagging spirit which Margaret displayed. "If you were only unmarried," she said, "what

larks we could have!" Margaret looked grave at this, but only for a moment, for she well knew that she could

not please her husband better than by enjoying the season to the full. He never criticised her for taking the

world as it is; and she confessed to herself that life went very pleasantly in a house where there were never

any questions raised about duties. The really serious thought in Carmen's mind was that perhaps after all a

woman had no real freedom until she was married. And she began to be interested in Margaret's enjoyment of

It was not, after all, a new world, only newly arranged, like another scene in the same play. The actors, who

came and went, were for the most part the acquaintances of the Washington winter, and the callers and diners

and operagoers and charity managers of the city. In these days Margaret was quite at home with the old set:

the British Minister, the Belgian, the French, the Spanish, the Mexican, the German, and the Italian, with

their families and attachesnothing was wanting, not even the Chinese mandarin, who had rooms at the

hotel, going about everywhere in the conscientious discharge of his duties as ambassador to American

society, a great favorite on account of his silk apparel, which gave him the appearance of a clumsy woman,

and the everlasting, threethousand yearold smile on his broad face, punctiliously leaving in every house a

big flaring red piece of paper which the ladies pinned up for a decoration; a picture of helpless, childlike

enjoyment, and almost independent of the interpreter who followed him about, when he had learned, upon

being introduced to a lady, or taking a cup of tea, to say "goodby" as distinctly as an articulating machine; a

truly learned man, setting an example of civility and perfect selfpossession, but keenly observant of the

oddities of the social life to which his missionary government had accredited him. One would like to have

heard the comments of the minister and his suite upon our manners; but perhaps they were too polite to make

any even in their seclusion. Certain it is that no one ever heard any of the legation express any opinion but the

And yet they must have been amazed at the activity of this season of repose, the endurance of American

women who rode to the fox meets, were excited spectators of the polo, played lawntennis, were incessantly

dining and calling, and sat through long dinners served with the formality and dullness and the swarms of

liveried attendants of a royal feast. And they could not but admire the young men, who did not care for

politics or any business beyond the chances of the stock exchange, but who expended an immense amount of

energy in the dangerous polo contests, in riding at fences after the scentbag, in driving tandems and

fourin hands, and yet had time to dress in the cut and shade demanded by every changing hour.

Formerly the annual chronicle of this summer pageant, in which the same women appeared day after day, and

the same things were done over and over again, Margaret used to read with a contempt for the life; but that

she enjoyed it, now she was a part of it, shows that the chroniclers for the press were unable to catch the spirit

of it, the excitement of the personal encounters that made it new every day. Looking at a ball is quite another

"Yes, it is lively enough," said Mr. Ponsonby, one afternoon when they had returned from the polo grounds

and were seated on the veranda. Mr. Ponsonby was a middleaged Englishman, whose diplomatic labors at

various courts had worn a bald spot on his crown. Carmen had not yet come, and they were waiting for a cup

"You Englishmen," Margaret retorted, "seem to like the uncivilized. Are you 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 and

"We might get up a Wild West Show here, or a prizefight, for you. Do you know, Mr. Ponsonby, I think it

"Then you'd cease to like us. Nothing is so insipid, I fancy, to a woman as a man made in her own image."

"Against it? I'm sure nothing could be better than this." And Mr. Ponsonby allowed his adventurous eyes to

rest for a moment upon Margaret's trim figure, until he saw a flush in her face. "This prospect," he added,

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Henderson; men are not to be considered. The women in Newport would make the

"Flattery. You don't say such things to each other at the club. What is your objection to Newport?"

"I didn't say I had any. But if you compel me well, the whole thing seems to be a kind of imitation."

"Oh, the way things go onthe steeplechasing and foxhunting, and the carts, and the style of the swell

"Not at all. I like candor, especially English candor. But there is Miss Eschelle."

Carmen drove up with Count Crispo, threw the reins to the groom, and reached the ground with a touch on

"Carmen," said Margaret, " Mr. Ponsonby says that all Newport is just an imitation."

"Of course it is. We are all imitations, except Count Crispo. I'll bet a cup of tea against a pair of gloves," said

Carmen, who had facility in picking 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

"I knew it!" cried Carmen, clapping her hands. "Now come in and have a cup of English breakfast tea. That's

"No, no," said Carmen, audaciously; "by this time I should be buried in Seville. No, I should prefer Halifax,

for it would have been a pleasure to emigrate from Halifax. Was it not, Mr. Ponsonby?"

"I can't remember. But it is a pleasure to sojourn in any land with Miss Eschelle."

The next morning, Mr. Jerry Hollowell, having inquired where Margaret was staying, called to pay his

respects, as he phrased it. Carmen, who was with Margaret in the morningroom, received him with her most

"That's not always an advantage," retorted Uncle Jerry, seating himself, and depositing his hat beside his

Why, I'm the idlest man in America. I tell Henderson that he ought to take more time for rest. It's no good to

"Well, my wife and children get what they call quiet. I guess a month of it would use me up. She says if I had

a place here I'd like it. Perhaps so. 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 campingout

here. What Newport needs is a real palace, just to show those foreigners who come here and patronize us.

Why is it, Mr. Hollowell, that all you millionaires can't think of anything better to do with your money than

"I suppose," said Uncle Jerry, blandly, "that is because they are interested in the prosperity of the country,

and have simple democratic tastes for themselves. I'm afraid you are not democratic, Miss Eschelle."

"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 to keep us quiet, but you owe it to the country to show the English that a

"I call that real patriotism. When I get rich, Miss Eschelle, I'll bear it in mind."

"Oh, you never will be rich," said Carmen, sweetly, bound to pursue her whim. "You might come to me for a

"How was that? Are you interested in A. and B.?" asked Uncle Jerry, turning around with a lively interest in

"Oh, no; we sold out. We sold when we heard what an interest there was in the road. Mamma said it would

"What do you mean, Carmen?" asked Margaret, startled. "Why, that is the road Mr. Henderson is in."

"A great deal more solid than it was," he replied. "It is part of a through line. I suppose Miss Eschelle found a

"Henderson must have given the girl points," thought Hollowell. He began to feel at home with her. If he had

said the truth, it would have been that she was more his kind than Mrs. Henderson, but that he respected the

"I think we might go in partnership, Miss Eschelle, to mutual advantage but not in building. Your ideas are

"I should be a very unreliable partner, Mr. Hollowell; but I could enlarge your ideas, if I had time."

Hollowell laughed, and said he hadn't a doubt of that. Margaret inquired for Mrs. Hollowell and the children,

and she and Carmen appointed an hour for calling at the Ocean House. The talk went to other topics, and

"What a delightful old party!" said Carmen, after he had gone. "I've a mind 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 beauty of 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 wellbred scenery, the luxury that lulled the senses into oblivion of the vulgar struggle

and anxiety which ordinarily attend life, it was little less than paradise. To float along with Carmen, going

deeper and deeper into the shifting gayety which made the days fly without thought and with no care for

tomorrow, began to seem an admirable way of passing life. What could one do fitter, after all, for a world

hopelessly full of suffering and poverty and discontent, than to set an example of cheerfulness and

enjoyment, and to contribute, as occasion offered, to the less fortunate? Would it help matters to be

personally anxious and miserable? To put a large bill in the plate on Sunday, to open her purse wide for the

objects of charity and relief daily presented, was indeed a privilege and a pleasure, and a satisfaction to the

"I don't believe you have a bit of conscience," said Margaret to Carmen one Sunday, as they walked home

from morning service, when Margaret had responded "extravagantly," as Carmen said, to an appeal for the

"I never said I had, dear. It must be the most troublesome thing you can carry around with you. Of course I

am interested in the heathen, but charitythat is where I agree with Uncle Jerrybegins at home, and I

"If you were as bad as you make yourself out, I wouldn't walk with you another 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 among the neglected children. Not that I care anything about the Irish," added

"No; for mother. She can't get over the idea that she is still bringing me up. And Mr. Lyon! Goodness! there

was no living with him after his visit to Brandon. Do you know, Margaret, that I think you are just a little bit

"Dear, I don't blame you," said the impulsive creature, wheeling short round and coming close to Margaret.

When Henderson came, Margaret's world was full; no desire was ungratified. He experienced a little relief

when she did not bother him about his business nor inquire into his operations with Hollowell, and he fancied

that she was getting to accept the world as Carmen accepted it. There had been moments since his marriage

when he feared that Margaret's scruples would interfere with his career, but never a moment when he had

doubted that her love for him would be superior to any solicitations from others. Carmen, who knew him like

a book, would have said that the model wife for Henderson would be a woman devoted to him and to his

interests, and not too scrupulous. A wife is a torment, if you can't feel at ease with her.

"If there were only a French fleet in the harbor, dear," said Margaret one day," I should feel that I had quite

They were sailing in Hollowell's yacht, in which Uncle Jerry had brought his family round from New York.

He hated the water, but Mrs. Hollowell and the children doted on the sea, he said.

"Hardly. But it shows the change of a hundred years. Only, isn't it odd, this personal dropping back into an

"The accounts say she was the belle of Newport. I suppose Newport has a belle once in a hundred years. The

time has come round. But I confess I don't miss the French fleet," replied Henderson, with a look of love that

"But you would have been an officer on the fleet, and I should have fallen in love with you. Ah, well, it is

And it was better. The days went by without a cloud. Even after Henderson had gone, the prosperity of life

"She might have been like me," Carmen said to herself, "if she had only started right; but it is so hard to get

When Margaret stayed in her room, one morning, to write a longpostponed letter 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 another thing on paper, addressed to the loving eyes at

Brandon. There were too much luxury and idleness and triviality in it, too much Carmen and Count Crispo

She tore it up, and went to the window and looked out upon the sea. She was indignant with the Brandon

people that they should care so little about this charming life. She was indignant at herself that she had torn

up the letter. What had she done that anybody should criticise her? Why shouldn't she live her life, and not be

She sat down again, and took up her pen. Was she changingwas she changed? Why was it that she had felt

a little relief when her last Brandon visit was at an end, a certain freedom in Lenox and a greater freedom in

Newport? The old associations became strong again in her mind, the life in the little neighborhood, the

simplicity of it, the high ideals of it, the daily love and tenderness. Her aunt was no doubt wondering now

that she did not write, and perhaps grieving that Margaret no more felt at home in Brandon. It was too much.

She loved them, she loved them all dearly. She would write that, and speak only generally of her frivolous,

happy summer. And she began, but somehow the letter seemed 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 be thinking of what they would think at Brandon? It was an intolerable bondage.

They had no right to set themselves up over her. Suppose her aunt didn't like Carmen. She was not

responsible for Carmen. What would they have her do? Be unhappy because Henderson was prosperous, and

she could indulge her tastes and not have to drudge in school? Suppose she did look at some things

differently from what she used to. She knew more of the world. Must you shut yourself up because you found

you couldn't trust everybody? What was Mr. Morgan always hitting at? Had he any better opinion of men and

women than her husband had? Was he any more charitable than Uncle Jerry? She smiled as she thought of

Uncle Jerry and his remark"It's a very decent world if you don't huff it." No; she did like this life, and she

was not going to pretend that she didn't. It would 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 she hardened her heart a little at the

thought that she could not help it if they chose to misunderstand her and change.

Carmen was calling from the stairs that it was time to dress for the drive. She dashed off a note. It contained

messages of love for everybody, but it was the first one in her life written to her aunt not from her heart.

Shall we never have done with this carping at people who succeed? Are those 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 slowcoach merchants and planters thrown up to us? Talk of George

Washington and the men of this day! Were things any better because they were on a small scale? Wasn't the

thrifty George Washington always adding to his plantations, and squeezing all he could out of his land and

his slaves? What are the negro traditions about it? Were they all patriots in the Revolutionary War? Were

there no contractors who amassed fortunes then? And how was it in the late war? The public has a great

Something like this Henderson was flinging out to Carmen as he paced back 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 even to Uncle

Jerry. She was coiled up in a corner of the sofa, her eyes sparkling with admiration of his indignation and

force. I confess that he had been irritated by the comments of the newspapers, and by the prodding of the

"Why, there was old Mansfield saying in his argument that he had had some little experience in life, but he

never had known a man to get rich rapidly, barring some piece of luck, except by means that it would make

him writhe to have made public. I don't know but that Uncle Jerry was right, that we made a mistake in not

"Not if you win," said Carmen, softly. "The public won't care for the remark unless you fail."

"And he tried to prejudice the Court by quoting the remark attributed to Uncle Jerry, 'The public be dd' as

if, said Mansfield, the public has no rights asagainst the railroad wreckers. Uncle Jerry laughed, and

interrupted: 'That's nonsense, reporters' nonsense. What I said was that if the public thought I was fool

enough to make it our enemy, the public might be dd (begging your honor's pardon).' Then everybody

laughed. 'It's the bond holders, who want big dividends, that stand in the way of the development of the

country, that's what it is,' said he, as he sat down, to those around him, but loud enough to be heard all over

the room. Mansfield asked the protection of the Court against these claptrap interruptions. The judge said it

was altogether irregular, and Uncle Jerry begged pardon. The reporters made this incident the one prominent

"What a delightful Uncle Jerry it is!" said Carmen. "You'd better keep an eye on him, Rodney; he'll be giving

"That reminds me," Henderson said, cooling down, "of a paragraph in The Planet, the other day, about the

amount of my gifts unknown to the public. I showed it to Uncle Jerry, and he said, 'Yes, I mentioned it to the

"I saw it, and wondered who started it," Carmen replied, wrinkling her brows as if she had been a good deal

"I thought," said Henderson, with a smile, "that it ought to be explained to you."

"No," she said, reflectively; "you are liberal enough, goodness knows too liberalbut 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 a mask with Carmen. Her moral sense was tolerant and elastic, and feminine sympathy

of this sort is a grateful cushion. She admired Henderson, without thinking any too well of the world in

general, and she admired him for the qualities that were most conformable to his inclination. It was no case of

heroworship, to be sure, nor for tragedy; but then what a satisfaction it must be to sweet Lady Macbeth,

The Hendersons had come back to Washington Square late in the autumn. It is a merciful provision that one

has an orderly and wellappointed home to return to from the fatigues of the country. Margaret, at any rate,

was a little tired with the multiform excitements of her summer, and experienced a feeling of relief when she

crossed her own threshold and entered into the freedom and quiet of her home. She was able to shut the door

there even against the solicitations of nature and against the weariness of it also. How quiet it was in the

square in those late autumn days, and yet not lifeless by any means! Indeed, it seemed all the more a haven

because the roar of the great city environed it, and one could feel, without being disturbed by, the active

pulsation of human life. And then, if one has sentiment, is there anywhere that it is more ministered to than in

the city at the close of the year? The trees in the little park grow red and yellow and brown, the leaves fall and

swirl and drift in windrows by the paths, the flowerbeds flame forth in the last dying splendor of their color;

the children, chasing each other with hoop and ball about the walks, are more subdued than in the

springtime; the old men, seeking now the benches where the sunshine falls, sit in dreamy reminiscence of

the days that are gone; the wandering 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 off and 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 the trees has a salt smell,

and sends a premonitory shiver of change to the fading foliage. But how bright are the squares and the streets,

But the social season opened languidly. It takes some time to recover from the invigoration of the summer

gayetyto pick up again the threads and weave them into that brilliant pattern, which scarcely shows all its

loveliness of combination and color before the weavers begin to work in the subdued tints of Lent. How

delightful it is to see this knitting and unraveling of the social fabric year after year! and how untiring are the

senders of the shuttles, the dyers, the hatchelers, the spinners, the everbusy makers and destroyers of the

intricate web we call society! After one campaign, must there not be time given to organize for another? Who

has fallen out, who are the new recruits, who are engaged, who will marry, who have separated, who has lost

his money? Before we can safely reorganize we must not only examine the hearts but the stocklist. No

matter how many brilliant alliances have been arranged, no matter how many husbands and wives have

drifted apart in the local whirlpools of the summer's current, the season will be dull if 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 not all look ,about us in the pews, when he thus moralizes, to see who has prospered? The B's have

taken a back seat, the C's have moved up nearer the pulpit. There is a reason for these things, my friends.

I am sorry to say that Margaret was usually obliged to go alone to the little church where she said her prayers;

for however restful her life might have been while that season was getting under way, Henderson was

involved in the most serious struggle of his lifea shameful kind of conspiracy, Margaret told Carmen,

against him. I have hinted at his annoyance in the courts. Ever since September he had been pestered with

injunctions, threatened with attachments. And now December had come and Congress was in session; in the

very first days an investigation had been ordered into the land grants involved in the Southwestern operations.

Uncle Jerry was in Washington to explain matters there, and Henderson, with the ablest counsel in the city,

was fighting in the courts. The affair made a tremendous stir. Some of the bondholders of the A. and B.

happened to be men of prominence, and able to make a noise about their injury. As several millions were

involved in this one branch of the case the suit of the bondholdersthe newspapers treated it with the

consideration and dignity it deserved. It was a vast financial operation, some said, scathingly, a "deal," but

the magnitude of it prevented it from falling into the reports of petty swindling that appear in the policecourt

column. It was a public affair, and not to be judged by one's private standard. I know that there were remarks

made about Henderson that would have pained Margaret if she had heard them, but I never heard that he lost

standing in the street. Still, in justice to the street it must be said that it charitably waits for things to be

proven, and that if Henderson had failed, he might have had little more lenient judgment in the street than

In fact, those were very trying days for himdays when he needed all the private sympathy he could get, and

to be shielded, in his great fight with the conspiracy, from petty private annoyances. It needed all his courage

and goodtemper and bonhomie to carry him through. That he went through was evidence not only of his

adroitness and ability, but it was proof also that he was a good fellow. If there were people who thought

otherwise, I never heard that they turned their backs on him, or failed in that civility which he never laid aside

If a man present a smiling front to the world under extreme trial, is not that all that can be expected of him?

Shall he not be excused for showing a little irritation at home when things go badly? Henderson was as

goodhumored a man as I ever knew, and he loved Margaret, he was proud of her, he trusted her. Since when

did the truest love prevent a man from being petulant, even to the extent of wounding those he best loves,

especially if the loved one shows scruples when sympathy is needed? The reader knows that the present

writer has no great confidence in the principle of Carmen; but if she had been married, and her husband had

wrecked an insurance company and appropriated all the surplus belonging to the policyholders, I don't

And yet Margaret loved Henderson with her whole soul. And in this stage of her progress in the world she

showed that she did, though not in the way Carmen would have showed her love, if she had loved, and if she

It may have been inferred from Henderson's exhibition of temper that his case had gone against him. It is

true; an injunction had been granted in the lower court, and public opinion went with the decree, and was in a

great measure satisfied by it. But this fight had really only just begun; it would go on in the higher courts,

with new resources and infinite devices, which the public would be unable to fathom or follow, until

byandby it would come out that a compromise had been made, and the easy public would not understand

that this compromise gave the looters of the railway substantially all they ever expected to get. The morning

after the granting of the injunction Henderson had been silent and very much absorbed at breakfast, hardly

polite, Margaret thought, and so inattentive to her remarks that she asked him twice whether they should

accept the Brandon invitation to Christmas. "Christmas! I don't know. I've got other things to think of than

Christmas," he said, scarcely looking at her, and rising abruptly and going away to his library.

When the postman brought Margaret's mail there was a letter in it from her aunt, which she opened leisurely

after the other notes had been glanced through, on the principle that a family letter can wait, or from the fancy

that some have of keeping the letter likely to be most interesting till the last. But almost the first line

enchained her attention, and as she read, her heart beat faster, and her face became scarlet. It was very short,

and I am able to print it, because all Margaret's correspondence ultimately came into possession of her aunt:

"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 housekeeping, 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.

Margaret's hand that held the letter trembled, and the eyes that read these words were hot with indignation;

but she controlled herself into an appearance of calmness as she marched away with it straight to the library.

As she entered, Henderson was seated at his desk, with bowed head and perplexed 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 of

his desk. Then, turning his eyes for a moment, and putting out his left hand to her, he said, " Well, what is it,

"Will you read that?" said Margaret, in a voice that sounded strange in her own ears.

"If it can, I cannot," Margaret answered, in a tone that caused him to turn abruptly and look at her. He was so

impatient and occupied that even 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 minutes in my office."

Henderson took the letter with a gesture of extreme annoyance, ran his eye through it, flung it from him on

"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 I have time to attend to every poor

"Oh, yes; no doubt. I lost a hundred thousand yesterday; did I whine about it? If I want to buy anything in the

market, have I got to look into every tuppenny interest concerned in it? If Mrs. Fletcher or anybody else has

any complaint against me, the courts are open. I defy the whole pack!" Henderson thundered out, rising and

"And you have nothing else to say, Rodney?" Margaret persisted, not quailing in the least before his

indignation. He had never seen her so before, and he was now too much in a passion to fully heed her.

"Oh, women, women!" he said, taking up his hat, "you have sympathy enough for anybody but your

Margaret turned to follow him. She would have cried "Stop!" but the word stuck in her throat. She was half

beside herself with rage for a moment. But he had gone. She heard the outer door close. Shame and grief

overcame her. She sat down in the chair he had just occupied. It was infamous the way Mrs. Fletcher was

treated. And her husbandher husband was so regardless of it. If he was not to blame for it, why didn't he

tell herwhy didn't he explain? And he had gone away without looking at her. He had left her for the first

time since they were married without kissing her! She put her head down on the desk and sobbed; it seemed

as if 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 could he be angry with her for her

natural anxiety about her old friend! He was unjust. There must be something wrong in these schemes, these

great operations that made so many confiding people suffer. Was everybody grasping and selfish? She got up

and walked about the dear room, which recalled to her only the sweetest memories; she wandered aimlessly

about the lower part of the house. She was wretchedly unhappy. Was her husband capable of such conduct?

Would he cease to love her for what she had donefor what she must do? How lovely this home was!

Everything spoke of his care, his tenderness, his quickness to anticipate her slightest wish or whim. It had

been all created for her. She looked listlessly at the pictures, the painted ceiling, where the loves garlanded

with flowers chased each other; she lifted and let drop wearily the rich hangings. He had said that it was all

hers. How pretty was this vista through the luxurious rooms down to the green and sunny conservatory 1 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?

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 anything else? Does it take the place of duty, of conscience? And yet what an

unbearable desert, what a den of wild beasts it would be, this world, without love, the passionate,

In the chambers, in her own apartments, into which she dragged her steps, it was worse than below.

Everything here was personal. Mrs. Fairchild had said that it was too rich, too luxurious; but her husband

would have it so. Nothing was too costly, too good, for the woman he loved. 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 a chilly day, and a bright fire crackled on the hearth. The square was almost

deserted, though the sun illuminated it, and showed all the delicate tracery of the branches and twigs. It was a

December sun. Her easychair was drawn to the fire and her bookstand by it, with the novel turned down

that she had been reading the night before. She sat down 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 dressingroom and selected a street dress. She took pleasure in putting on the

plainest costume she could find, rejecting every ornament, everything but the necessary and the simple. She

It was after midday. In the keen air and the bright sunshine the streets were brilliant. Margaret walked on up

the avenue. How gay was the city, what a zest of life in the animated scene! The throng increased as she

approached Twentythird Street. In the place where three or four currents meet there was the usual jam of

carriages, furniture wagons, carts, cars, and hurried, timid, halfbewildered passengers trying to make their

way through it. It was all such a whirl and confusion. A policeman aided Margaret to gain the side of the

square. Children were playing there; whitecapped maids were pushing about babycarriages; the sparrows

chattered and fought with as much vivacity as if they were natives of the city instead of foreigners in

possession. It seemed all so empty and unreal. What was she, one woman with an aching heart, in the midst

of it all? What had she done? How could she have acted otherwise? Was he still angry with her? The city was

so vast and cruel. On the avenue again there was the same unceasing roar of carts and carriages; business,

pleasure, fashion, idleness, the stream always went by. From one and another carriage Margaret received a

bow, a cool nod, or a smile of greeting. Perhaps the occupants wondered to see her on foot and alone. What

did it matter? How heartless it all was! what an empty pageant! If he was alienated, there was nothing. And

yet she was right. For a moment she thought of the Arbusers. She thought of Carmen. She must see

somebody. No, she couldn't talk. She couldn't trust herself. She must bear it alone.

And how weary it was, walking, walking, with such a burden! House after house, street after street, closed

doors, repellant fronts, staring at her. Suppose she were poor and hungry, a woman wandering forlorn, how

stony and pitiless these insolent mansions! And was she not burdened and friendless and forlorn! Tired, she

reached at last, and with no purpose, the great white cathedral. The door was open. In all this street of

churches and palaces there was no other door open. Perhaps here for a moment she could find shelter from

She entered. It was almost empty, but down the vista of the great columns hospitable lights gleamed, and here

and there a man or a woman more women than menwas kneeling in the great aisle, before a picture, at

the side of a confessional, at the steps of the altar. How hushed and calm and sweet it was! She crept into a

pew in a side aisle in 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 great spaces like a benediction. She fancied that the saints, the

glorified martyrs in the painted windows illumined by the sunlight, could feel, could hear, were touched by

human sympathy in their beatitude. There was peace here at any rate, and perhaps strength. What a dizzy

whirl it all was in which she had been borne along! The tones of the organ rose fuller and fuller, and now at

the side entrances came pouring in children, the boys on one side, the girls on anotherschool children with

their books and satchels, the poor children of the parish, long lines of girls and of boys, marshaled by priests

and nuns, streaming inin frolicsome mood, and filling all the pews of the nave at the front. They had their

books out, their singingbooks; at a signal they all stood up; a young priest with his baton stepped into the

centre aisle; he waved his stick, Margaret heard his sweet tenor voice, and then the whole chorus of children's

voices rising and filling all the house with the innocent concord, but always above all the penetrating, soaring

notes of the prieststrong, clear, persuading. Was it not almost angelic there at the moment? And how

Ah, me! it is not all of the world worldly, then. I don't know that the singing was very good: it was not

classical, I fear; not a voice, maybe, that priest's, not a chorus, probably, that, for the Metropolitan. I hear the

organ is played better elsewhere. Song after song, chorus after chorus, repeated, stopped, begun again: it was

only drilling the little urchins of the parochial schoolslittle ragamuffins, I dare say, many of them. What

was there in this to touch a woman of fashion, sitting there crying in her corner? Was it because they were

children's voices, and innocent? Margaret did not care to check her tears. She was thinking of her old home,

of her own childhood, nay, of her girlhoodit was not so long agoof her ideals then, of her notion of the

world and what it would bring her, of the dear, affectionate life, the simple life, the school, the little church,

her room in the cottagethe chamber where first the realization of love came to her with the odors of May.

Was it gone, that life?gone or going out of her heart? Andgreat heavens! 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 should

this childish singing raise these contrasts, and put her at odds so with her own life? For a moment I doubt not

this dear girl saw herself as we were beginning to see her. Who says that the rich and the prosperous and the

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 the organ ceased, and the children had filed out, she stole away also, wearily

and humbly enough, and took the stage down the avenue. It was near the dinnerhour, and Henderson, if he

came, would be at home any moment. It seemed as if she could not waitonly to see him!

Do you suppose that Henderson had never spoken impatiently and sharply to his wife before, that Margaret

had never resented it and replied with spirit, and been hurt and grieved, and that there had never been

reconciliations? In writing any biography there are some things that are taken for granted with an intelligent

public. Are men always gentle and considerate, and women always eventempered and consistent, simply by

But this was a more serious affair. Margaret waited in a tumult of emotion. She felt that she would die if she

did not see him soon, and she dreaded his coming. A horrible suspicion had entered her mind that respect for

her husband, confidence in him, might be lowered, and a more horrible doubt that she might lose his love.

That she could not bear. And was Henderson unconscious of all this? I dare say that in the perplexing

excitement of the day he did recall for a moment with a keen thrust of regret the scene of the morninghis

wife standing there flushed, wounded, indignant. "I might have turned back, and taken her in my arms, and

told her it was all right," he thought. He wished he had done so. But what nonsense it was to think that she

could be seriously troubled! Besides, he couldn't have women interfering with him every moment.

How inconsiderate men are! They drop a word or a phrasethey do not know how cruel it isor give a

lookthey do not know how cold it isand are gone without a second thought about it; but it sinks into the

woman's heart and rankles there. For the instant it is like a mortal blow, it hurts so, and in the brooding spirit

it is exaggerated into a hopeless 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 love when she becomes insensible to these little stabs!

Henderson hurried home, then, more eagerly than usual, with reparation in his heart, but still with no

conception of the seriousness of the breach. Margaret heard the key in the door, heard his hasty step in the

hall, heard him call, as he always did on entering, "Margaret! where is Margaret?" and she, sitting there in the

deep window looking on the square, longed to run to him, as usual also, and be lifted up in his strong arms;

but she could not stir. Only when he found her did she rise 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 her heart was heavy.

"Dinner will be served as soon as you dress," she said. What a greeting was this! Who says that a woman

cannot be as cruel as a man? The dinner was not very cheerful, though Margaret did her best not to appear

constrained, and Henderson rattled on about the events of the day. It had been a deuce of a day, but it was

coming right; he felt sure that the upper court would dissolve the injunction; the best counsel said so; and the

criminal proceedings"Had there been criminal proceedings?" asked Margaret, with a stricture at her

hearthad broken down completely, hadn't a leg to stand on, never had, were only begun to bluff the

company. It was a purely malicious prosecution. And Henderson did not think it necessary to tell Margaret

that only Uncle Jerry's dexterity had spared both of them the experience of a night in the Ludlow Street jail.

"Come," said Henderson" come into the library. I have something to tell you." He put his arm round her as

they walked, and seating himself in his chair by his desk in front of the fire, he tried to draw Margaret to sit

He took out his pocketbook, selected a slip of paper, and laid it on the 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 Fletcher bonds.

"Oh, no; that wouldn't do. I cannot send it, nor know anything about it. It would raise thewell, it wouldif

the other bondholders knew anything about it. But you can change that for your check, and nobody the

"Oh, Rodney!" She was on his knee now. He was good, after all. Her head was 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 it this

minuteI'll run and get my checkbook! " But before she reached the door she turned back, and came and

stood by him and kissed him again and again, and tumbled up his hair, and looked at him. There is, after all,

"Time enough in the morning," said Henderson, detaining her. "I want to tell you all about it."

What he told her was, in fact, the case as it had been presented by his lawyers, and it seemed a very large, a

constitutional, kind of case. "Of course," he said, "in the rivalry and competition of business somebody must

go to the wall, and in a great scheme of development and reorganization of the transportation of a region as

big as an empire some individual interests will suffer. You can't help these changes. I'm sorry for some of

themvery sorry; but nothing would ever be done if we waited to consider every little interest. And that the

men who create these great works, and organize these schemes for the benefit of the whole public, shouldn't

make anything by their superior enterprise and courage is all nonsense. The world is not made that way."

The explanation, I am bound to say, was one that half the world considers valid; it was one that squeezed

through the courts. And when it was done, and the whole thing had blown over, who cared? There were some

bondholders who said that it was rascally, that they had been boldly swindled. In the clubs, long after, you

would hear it said that Hollowell and Henderson were awfully sharp, and hard to beat. It is a very bad

business, said the Brandon parliament, and it just shows that the whole country is losing its moral sense, its

I do not say that this explanation, the nature of which I have only indicated, would have satisfied the clear

mind of Margaret a year or two before. But it was made by the man she loved, the man who had brought her

out into a world that was full of sunlight and prosperity and satisfied desire; and more and more, day by day,

she saw the world through his eyes, and accepted his estimate of the motives of peopleand a low estimate I

fear it was. Who would not be rich if he could? Do you mean to tell me that a man who is getting fat

dividends out of a stock does not regard more leniently the manner in which that stock 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, happy acceptance of it, she would have shaken her pretty head and said, " They are getting too

In the morning the letter was despatched to Miss Forsythe, enclosing the check for Mrs. Fletchera joyful

note, full of affection. "We cannot come," Margaret wrote. "My husband cannot leave, and he does not want

to spare me"the little hypocrite! he had told her that she could easily go for a day "but we shall think of

you dear ones all day, and I do hope that now there will not be the least cloud on your Christmas."

It seems a great pity, in view of the scientific organization of society, that there are so many sensibilities

unclassified and unprovided for in the otherwise perfect machinery. Why should the beggar to whom you toss

a silver dollar from your carriage feel a little grudge against you? Perhaps he wouldn't like to earn the dollar,

but if it had been accompanied by a word of sympathy, his sensibility might have been soothed by your

recognition of human partnership in the goods of this world. 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 swallow until selfrespect is a little

broken down. Probably the resentment lies in the recognition of the truth that it is much easier to be

charitable than to be just. If Margaret had seen the effect produced by her letter she might have thought of

this; she might have gone further, and reflected upon what would have been her own state of mind two years

earlier if she had received such a letter. Miss Forsythe read it with a very heavy heart. She hesitated about

showing it to Mrs. Fletcher, and when 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 she comprehended it.

"Not insolence," pleaded Miss Forsythe, softly; " it is out of the kindness of her heart. She would be

"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 her as a charity what her husband knows is mine by right?"

"No," Mrs. Fletcher interrupted. "Why didn't he send it, then? why didn't the company send it? They owe it.

I'm not a pauper. And all the other bondholders who need the money as much as I do! I'm not saying that if

the company sent it I should refuse it because the others had been treated unjustly; but to take it as a favor,

Mrs. Fletcher would have shared her last crust with Miss Forsythe, and if her own fortune were absolutely

lost, she would not hesitate to accept the shelter of her present home, using her energies to add to their limited

income, serving and being served in all love and trust. But this is different from taking a bounty from the

The check had to go back. Even my wife, who saw no insolence in Margaret's attempt, applauded Mrs.

Fletcher's spirit. She told Miss Forsythe that if things did not mend they might get a few little pupils for Mrs.

Fletcher from the neighborhood, and Miss Forsythe knew that she was thinking that her own boy might have

been one of them if he had lived. Mr. Morgan was a little satirical, as usual. He thought it would be a pity to

check Margaret's growing notion that there was no wrong that money could not heal a remark that my wife

thought unjust to the girl. Mrs. Fletcher was for reenclosing the check without a word of comment, but that

"My dearest Margaret," she wrote, "I know the kindness of heart that moved you to do this, and I love you

more than ever, and am crying as I think of it. But you must see yourself, when you reflect, that Mrs. Fletcher

could not take this from you. Her selfrespect would not permit it. Somebody has done a great wrong, and

only those who have done it can undo it. I don't know much about such things, my dear, and I don't believe

all that the newspapers have been saying, but there would be no need for charity if there had not been

dishonesty somewhere. I cannot help thinking that. We do not blame you. And you must not take it to heart

that I am compelled to send this back. I understand why you sent it, and you must try to understand why it

There was more of this sort in the letter. It was full of a kind of sorrowful yearning, as if there was fear that

Margaret's love were slipping away and all the old relations were being broken up, but yet it had in it a

certain moral condemnation that the New England spinster could not conceal. Softened as it was by

affectionate words, and all the loving messages of the season, it was like a slap in the face to Margaret. She

read it in the first place with intense mortification, and then with indignation. This was the way her loving

spirit was flung back upon her! They did not blame her! They blamed her husband, then. They condemned

Is there a particular moment when we choose our path in life, when we take the right or the left? At this

instant, when Margaret arose with the crumpled letter in her hand, and marched towards her husband's

library, did she choose, or had she been choosing for the two years past, and was this only a publication of

her election? Why had she secretly been a little relieved from restraint when her Brandon visit ended in the

spring? They were against her husband; they disapproved of him, 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.. Was this simply

because she loved her husband, or was this indignation a little due also to her liking for the world which so

fell in with her inclinations? The motives in life are so mixed that it seems impossible wholly to condemn or

wholly to approve. If Margaret's destiny had been united with such a man as John Lyon, what would have

been her discernment in such a case as this? It is such a pity that for most people there is only one chance in

She laid the letter and the check upon her husband's desk. He read it with a slight frown, which changed to a

"Well, it was a missgo. Those folks up there are too good for this world. You'd better send it to the

"Oh, I can stand it. People usually don't try to hurt my feelings that way. Don't mind it, child. They will come

Yes, it was nonsense. And how generous and kind at heart her husband was! 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 was

glad she was not going to Brandon for Christmas; she would not submit herself to its censorship. The note of

acknowledgment she wrote to her aunt was short and almost formal. She was very sorry they looked at the

matter in that way. She thought she was doing right, and they might blame her or not, but her aunt would see

that she could not permit any distinction to be set up between her and her husband, etc.

Was this little note a severance of her present from her old life? I do not suppose she regarded it so. If she had

fully realized that it was a step in that direction, would she have penned it with so little regret as she felt? Or

did she think that circumstances and not her own choice were responsible for her state of feeling? She was

A year ago Carmen would have been the last person to whom Margaret would have spoken about a family

affair of this kind. Nor would she have done so now, notwithstanding the intimacy established at Newport, if

Carmen had not happened in that day, when Margaret was still hurt and excited, and skillfully and most

sympathetically extracted from her the cause of the mood she found her in. But even with all these

allowances, that Margaret should confide such a matter to Carmen was the most startling sign of the change

"Well," said this wise person, after she had wormed out the whole story, and expressed her profound

sympathy, and then fallen into an attitude of deep reflection"well, I wish I could cast my bread upon the

"Why not? I couldn't have resisted such a righteous chance of making her feel bad."

"Just a little? You will never convince people that you are unworldly this way. Even Uncle Jerry wouldn't do

"You and Uncle Jerry are very much alike," cried Margaret, laughing in spite of herself"both of you as bad

To some of us at Brandon, Margaret's letter was scarcely a surprise, though it emphasized a divergence we

had been conscious of. But with Miss Forsythe it was far otherwise. The coolness of Margaret's tone filled

her with alarm; it was the premonition of a future which she did not dare to face.

There was a passage in the letter which she did not show; not that it was unfeeling, she told my wife

afterwards, but that it exhibited a worldly mindedness that she could not have conceived of in Margaret. She

could bear separation from the girl on whom she had bestowed her tenderest affection, that she had schooled

herself to expect upon her marriage that, indeed, was only a part of her life of willing selfsacrifice

their paths must lie apart, and she could hope to see little 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 thought of her going

farther and farther away into that world whose cynical and materialistic view of life made her shudder. I think

there are few tragedies in life comparable to this to a sensitive, trusting soulnot death itself, with its

gracious healing and oblivion and pathos. Family quarrels have something sustaining in them, something of a

sense of wrong and even indignation to keep up the spirits. There was no family quarrel here, no indignation,

just simple, helpless grief and sense of loss. In one sense it seemed to the gentle spinster that her own life was

ended, she had lived so in this girlever since she came to her a child, in long curls and short frocks, the

sweetest, most trustful, mischievous, affectionate thing. These two then never had had any secrets, never any

pleasure, never any griefs they did not share. She had seen the child's mind unfold, the girl's grace and

intelligence, the woman's character. Oh, Margaret, she cried, to herself, if you only knew what 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 any time, and be a girl again. Here were many of the things which she had cherished;

indeed everything in the room spoke of the simple days of her maidenhood. It was here that Miss Forsythe sat

in her loneliness the morning after she received the letter, by the window with the muslin curtain, looking out

through the shrubbery to the blue hills. She must be here; she could stay nowhere else in the house, for here

the little Margaret came back to her. Ah, and when she turned, would she hear the quick steps and see the

smiling face, and would she put back the tangled hair and lift her up and kiss her? There in that closet still

hung articles of her clothingdresses that had been laid aside when she became a womankept with the

sacred sentiment of New England thrift. How each one, as Miss Forsythe took them down, recalled the girl!

In the inner closet was a pile of paper boxes. I do not know what impulse it was that led the heavyhearted

woman to take them down one by one, and indulge her grief in the memories enshrined in them. In one was a

little bonnet, a spring bonnet; Margaret had worn it on the Easter Sunday when she took her first communion.

The little thing was out of fashion now; the ribbons were all faded, but the spray of moss rosebuds on the.

side was almost as fresh as ever. How well she remembered it, and the girl's delight in the nodding roses!

When Mrs. Fletcher had called again and again, with no response, and finally opened the door and peeped in,

there the spinster sat by the window, the pitiful little bonnet in her hand, and the tears rolling down her

The medical faculty are of the opinion that a sprain is often worse than a broken limb; a purely scientific,

view of the matter, in which the patient usually does not coincide. Wellbred people shrink from the

vulgarity of violence, and avoid the publicity of any open rupture in domestic and social relations. And yet,

perhaps, a lively quarrel would be less lamentable than the withering away of friendship while appearances

are kept up. Nothing, indeed, is more pitiable than the gradual drifting apart of people who have been dear to

each othera severance produced by change of views and of principle, and the substitution of indifference

for sympathy. This disintegration is certain to take the spring and taste out of life, and commonly to habituate

There was no rupture between the Hendersons and the Brandon circle, but there was little intercourse of the

kind that had existed before. There was with us a profound sense of loss and sorrow, due partly to the

growing knowledge, not pleasing to our vanity, that Margaret could get on very well without us, that we were

not necessary to her life. Miss Forsythe recovered promptly her cheerful serenity, but not the elasticity of

hope; she was irretrievably hurt; it was as if life was now to be endured. That Margaret herself was

apparently unconscious of this, and that it did not affect much her own enjoyment, made it the harder to bear.

The absolute truth probably was that she regretted it, and had moments of sentimental unhappiness; but there

is great compensation for such loss in the feeling of freedom to pursue a career that is more and more

agreeable. And I had to confess, when occasionally I saw Margaret during that winter, that she did not need

us. Why should she? Did not the city offer her everything that she desired? And where in the world are

beauty, and gayety with a touch of daring, and a magnificent establishment better appreciated? I do not know

what criterion newspaper notoriety is of social prestige, but Mrs. Rodney Henderson's movements were as

faithfully chronicled as if she had been a visiting princess or an actress of eccentric proclivities. Her name

appeared as patroness of all the charities, the balls, the soirees, musical and literary, and if it did not appear in

a list of the persons at any entertainment, one might suspect that the affair lacked the cachet of the best

society. I suppose the final test of one's importance is 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 our interested household

could not follow her in all the changing splendor of her raiment. In time even Miss Forsythe ceased to read all

these details, but she cut them out, deposited them with other relics in a sort 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 just a little envy

of such unclouded prosperity. It is so much easier to forgive a failure than a success.

In the spring the Hendersons went abroad. The resolution to go may have been sudden, for Margaret wrote of

it briefly, and had not time to run up and say goodby. The newspapers said that the trip was taken on

account of Mrs. Henderson's health; that it was because Henderson needed rest from overwork; that he found

it convenient to be away for a time, pending the settlement of certain complications. There were ugly stories

afloat, but they were put in so many forms, and followed by so many different sorts of denial, and so much

importance was attached to every word Henderson uttered, and every step he took, that the general

impression of his farreaching sagacity and Napoleonic command of fortune was immensely raised. Nothing

is more significant of our progress than the good humored deference of the world to this sort of success. It is

said that the attraction of gravitation lessens according to the distance from the earth, and there seems to be a

region of aerial freedom, if one can attain it, where the moral forces cease to be operative.

They remained in Europe a year, although Mr. Henderson in the interim made two or three hasty trips to this

country, always, so far as it was made public, upon errands of great importance, and in connection with

names of wellknown foreign capitalists and enterprises of dignity. Margaret wrote seldom, but always with

evident enjoyment of her experiences, which were mainly social, for wherever they went they commanded

the consideration that is accorded to fortune. What most impressed me in these hasty notes was that the

woman was so little interested in the persons and places which in the old days she expressed such a lively

desire to see. If she saw them at all, it was from a different point of view than that she formerly had. She did

indeed express her admiration of some charming literary friends of ours in London, to whom I had written to

call on herpeople in very moderate circumstances, I am ashamed to saybut she had not time to see much

of them. She and her husband had spent a couple of days at Chisholm delightful days. Of the earl she had

literally nothing to say, except that he was very kind, and that his family received them with the most

engaging and simple cordiality. "It makes me laugh," she wrote from Chisholm, "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" to Miss Forsythe, expressing the great pleasure it was to return, even in so poor a way, the hospitality

he had received at Brandon. I did not see it, but Miss Forsythe said it was a sad little note.

In Paris Margaret was illvery ill; and this misfortune caused for a time a revival of all the old affection, in

sympathy with a disappointment which awoke in our womankind all the tenderness of their natures. She was

indeed a little delicate for some time, but all our apprehensions were relieved by the reports from Rome of a

succession of gayeties little interfered with by archaeological studies. They returned in June. Of the year

abroad there was nothing to chronicle, and there would be nothing to note except that when Margaret passed

a day with us on her return, we felt, as never before, that our interests in life were more and more divergent.

How could it be otherwise? There were so many topics of conversation that we had to avoid. Even light

remarks on current news, comments that we used to make freely on the conduct of conspicuous persons, now

carried condemnation that took a personal color. The doubtful means of making money, the pace of

fashionable life, the wasteful prodigality of the time, we instinctively shrank from speaking of before

Margaret. Perhaps we did her injustice. She was never more gracious, never more anxious to please. I fancied

that there was at times something pathetic in her wistful desire for our affection and esteem. She was always

a generous girl, and I have no doubt she felt repelled at the quiet rejection of her wellmeant efforts to play

the Lady Bountiful. There were moments during her brief visit when her face was very sad, but no doubt her

predominant feeling escaped her in regard to the criticism quoted from somebody on Jerry Hollowell's

My wife said to me that she was reminded of the gentle observation of Carmen Eschelle, "The people I

cannot stand are those who pretend they are not wicked." If one does not believe in anybody his cynicism has

usually a quality of contemptuous bitterness in it. One brought up as Margaret had been could not very well

come to her present view of life without a touch of this quality, but her disposition was so lovely perhaps

there is no moral quality in a good temperthat change of principle could not much affect it. And then she

was never more winning; perhaps her beauty had taken on a more refined quality from her illness abroad;

perhaps it was that indefinable knowledge of the world, which is recognized as well in dress as in manner,

which increased her attractiveness. This was quite apart from the fact that she was not so sympathetically

companionable to us as she once was, and it was this very attractiveness of the worldly sort, I fancied, that

How could it be otherwise than that our interests should diverge? It was a very busy summer with the

Hendersons. They were planning the New York house, which had been one of the objects of Henderson's

early ambition. The seaair had been prescribed for Margaret, and Henderson had built a steamyacht, the

equipment and furnishing of which had been a prolific newspaper topic. It was greatly admired by yachtsmen

for the beauty of its lines and its speed, and pages were written about its sumptuous and comfortable interior.

I never saw it, having little faith in the comfort of any structure that is not immovably reposeful, but from the

descriptions it was a boudoir afloat. In it short voyages were made during the summer all along the coast

from New York to Maine, and the arrival and departure of the Henderson yacht was one of the telegraphic

items we always looked for. Carmen Eschelle was usually of the party on board, sometimes the Misses

Arbuser; it was always a gay company, and in whatever harbor it dropped anchor there was a new impetus

given to the somewhat languid pleasure of the summer season. We read of the dinners and lunches on board,

the entertainments where there were wine and dancing and moonlight, and all that. I always thought of it as a

fairy sort of ship, sailing on summer seas, freighted with youth and beauty, and carrying pleasure and

goodfortune wherever it went. What more pleasing spectacle than this in a world that has such a bad name

Henderson was master of the situation. The sudden accumulation of millions of money is a mystery to most

people. If Henderson had been asked about it he would have said that he had not a dollar which he had not

earned by hard work. None worked harder. If simple industry is a virtue, he would have been an example for

Sundayschool children. The object of life being to make money, he would have been a perfect example.

What an inspiration, indeed, for all poor boys were the names of Hollowell and Henderson, which were as

familiar as the name of the President! There was much speculation as to the amount of Henderson's fortune,

and many wild estimates of it, but by common consent he was one of 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 in

the very fact that the amount he could command was unknown. I have said that his accumulation was sudden;

it was probably so only in appearance. For a dozen years, by operations, various, secret, untiring, he had been

laying the foundations for his success, and in the maturing of his schemes it became apparent how vast his

transactions had been. For years he had been known as a rising man, and suddenly he became an important

man. The telegraph, the newspapers, chronicled his every movement; whatever he said was construed like a

Delphic oracle. The smile or the frown of Jay Hawker himself had not a greater effect upon the market. The

Southwest operation, which made so much noise in the courts, was merely an incident. In the lives of many

successful men there are such incidents, which they do not care to have inquired into, turningpoints that one

slides over in the subsequent gilded biography, or, as it is called, the nickelplated biography. The

uncomfortable A. and B. bondholders had been settled with and silenced, after a fashion. In the end, Mrs.

Fletcher had received from the company nearly the full amount of her investment. I always thought this was

due to Margaret, but I made no inquiries. There were many people who had no confidence in Henderson, but

generally his popularity was not much affected, and whatever was said of him in private, his social position

was almost as unchallenged as his financial. It was a great point in his favor that he was very generous to his

family and his friends, and his public charities began to be talked of. Nothing could have been more

admirable than a paper which appeared about this time in one of the leading magazines, written by a great

capitalist during a strike in his "system," off the uses of wealth and the responsibilities of rich men. It amused

Henderson and Uncle Jerry, and Margaret sent it, marked, to her aunt. Uncle Jerry said it was very timely, for

at the moment there was a report that Hollowell and Henderson had obtained possession of one of the great

steamship lines in connection with their transcontinental system. I thought at the time that I should like to

The continued friendly alliance of Rodney Henderson and Jerry Hollowell was a marvel to the public, which

expected to read any morning that the one had sold out the other, or unloaded in a sly deal. The Stock

Exchange couldn't understand it; it was so against all experience that it was considered something outside of

human nature. But the explanation was simple enough. The two kept a sharp eye on each other, and, as Uncle

Jerry would say, never dropped a stitch; but the simple fact was that they were necessary to each other, and

there had been no opportunity when the one could handsomely swallow the other. So it was beautiful to see

One day in Henderson's officeit was at the time they were arranging the steamship "scoop" while they

"By the way, old man, what's all this about a quarter of a million for a colored college down South?"

"Oh, that's Mrs. Henderson's affair. They say it's the most magnificent college building south of Washington.

It's big enough. I've seen the plan of it. Henderson Hall, they are going to call it. I suggested Margaret

"One end of it is scientific, geological, chemical, electric, biological, and all that; and the other end is

"She's a daisythat girl. Seems to me, though, that you are educating the colored brother all on top. I suppose,

however, it wouldn't have been so philanthropic to build a hall for a white college."

Henderson laughed. "You keep your eye on the religious sentiment of the North, Uncle Jerry. I told Mrs.

Henderson that we had gone long on the colored brother a good while. She said this was nothing. We could

endow a Henderson University byandby in the Southwest, white as alabaster, and I suppose we shall."

"Yes, probably we've got to do something in that region to keep 'em quiet. The public is a curious fish. It

"And something to talk about," continued Henderson. "We are going down next week to dedicate Henderson

The trip was made in Henderson's private car; in fact, in a special train, vestibuled; a neat baggage car with

library and readingroom in one end, a diningroom car, a private car for invited guests, and his own cara

luxurious structure, with drawingroom, sleepingroom, bathroom, and office for his telegrapher and

typewriter. The whole was a most commodious house of one story on wheels. The cost of it would have

built and furnished an industrial school and workshop for a hundred negroes; but this train was, I dare say, a

much more inspiring example of what they might attain by the higher education. There were half a dozen in

the party besides the HendersonsCarmen, of course; Mr. Ponsonby, the English attache; and Mrs.

Laflamme, to matronize three New York young ladies. Margaret and Carmen had never been so far South

Is it not agreeable to have sweet charity silver shod? This sumptuous special train caused as much comment

as the errand on which it went. Its coming was telegraphed from station to station, and crowds everywhere

collected to see it. Brisk reporters boarded it; the newspapers devoted columns to descriptions of it; editorials

glorified it as a signal example of the progress of the great republic, or moralized on it as a sign of the

luxurious decadence of morals; pointing to Carthage and Rome and Alexandria in withering sarcasm that

made those places sink into insignificance as corrupters of the world. There were covert allusions to

Cleopatra ensconced in the silken hangings of the boudoir car, and one 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 glory of the

republic, and it all increased the importance of Henderson. To hear the exclamations, "That's he!" "That's

him!" "That's Henderson!" was to Margaret in some degree a realization of her ambition; and Carmen

So the Catachoobee University had its splendid new buildingas great a contrast to the shanties from which

its pupils came as is the Capitol at Washington to the huts of a third of its population. If the reader is curious

he may read in the local newspapers of the time glowing accounts of its "inaugural dedication"; but

universities are so common in this country that it has become a little wearisome to read of ceremonies of this

sort. Mr. Henderson made a modest reply to the barefaced eulogy on himself, which the president pronounced

in the presence of six hundred young men and women of various colors and invited guestsa eulogy which

no one more thoroughly enjoyed than Carmen. I am sorry to say that she refused to take the affair seriouslv.

"I felt for you, Mr. Henderson,"; she said, after the exercises were over. "I blushed for you. I almost felt

"You seem, Miss Eschelle," remarked Mr. Ponsonby, "to be enthusiastic about the education and elevation of

"Yes, I am; I quite share Mr. Henderson's feeling about it. I'm for the elevation of everything."

"There is a capital chance for you," said Henderson; "the university wants some scholarships."

"And I've half a mind to found onethe Eschelle Scholarship of Washing and Clearstarching. You ought to

have seen my clothes that came back to the car. Probably they were not done by your students. The things

looked as if they had been dragged through the Catawhatdoyoucallit River, and ironed with a pine

"I think I could, if I was obliged to. But I couldn't get through that university, with all its ologies and

laboratories and Greek and queer bottles and machines. You have neglected my education, Mr. Henderson."

"It is not too late to begin now; you might see if you could pass the examination here. It is part of our plan

"Yes, I know; and did you see that some of the scholars had red hair and blue eyes, quite in the present style?

And how nice the girls looked," she rattled on; "and what a lot of intelligent faces, and how they kindled up

when the president talked about the children of Israel in the wilderness forty years, and Caesar crossing the

Rubicon! And you, sir" she turned to the Englishman"I've heard, were against all this emancipation

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Ponsonby, "we never were against emancipation, and wanted the best side to

"You'd better ask them. My opinion is that everybody should do what he likes in this world."

"Because these philanthropists, like Mr. Henderson and Uncle Jerry Hollowell, are all building on top;

"Haven't you found out, Mr. Ponsonby," Margaret interrupted, "that if there were eight sides to a question,

"And right, too. There are eight sides to every question, and generally more. I think the negro question has a

hundred. But there is only one side to Henderson Hall. It is a noble institution. I like to think about it, and

Uncle Caesar Hollowell crossing the Rubicon in his theological seminary. It is all so beautiful!"

"No, not bad, dear; only confused with such a lot of good deeds in a naughty world."

That this junketing party was deeply interested in the cause of education for whites or blacks, no one would

have gathered from the conversation. Margaret felt that Carmen had exactly hit the motives of this sort of

philanthropy, and she was both amused and provoked by the girl's mockery. By force of old habit she

"You must have a high standard," she said. "You cannot have good lower schools without good higher

schools. And these colleges, which you think above the colored people, will stimulate them and gradually

"So I have always heard," replied the incorrigible. "I have always been a philanthropist about the negro till I

Mrs. Laflamme was not a very eager apostle either, and the young ladies devoted themselves to the

picturesque aspects of the population, without any concern for the moral problems. They all declared that

they liked the negro. But Margaret was not to be moved from her goodhumor by any amount of badgering.

She liked Henderson Hall; she was proud of the consideration it brought her husband; she had a comfortable

sense of doing something that was demanded by her opportunity. It is so difficult to analyze motives, and in

Margaret's case so hard to define the change that had taken place in her. That her heart was not enlisted in this

affair, 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, through her husband's eyes, to take the worldly view, which is not inconsistent

with much good feeling and easygoing charity. She also felt the necessitya necessity totally unknown to

such a nature as Carmen'sof making compensation, of compounding for her pleasures. Gradually she was

learning to play her husband's game in life, and to see no harm in it. What, then, is this thing we call

conscience? Is it made of India rubber? I once knew a clever Southern woman, who said that New England

women seemed to her all conscienceSouthern women all soul and impulse. If it were possible to generalize

in this way, we might say that Carmen had neither conscience nor soul, simply very clever reason. Uncle

Jerry had no more conscience than Carmen, but he had a great deal of natural affection. Henderson, with an

abundance of goodnature, was simply a man of his time, troubled with no scruples that stood in the way of

his success. Margaret, with a finer nature than either of them, stifling her scruples in an atmosphere of

worldlymindedness, was likely to go further than either of them. Even such a worldling as Carmen

understood this. "I do things," she said to Mrs. Laflammeshe made anybody her confidant when the fit was

on her"I do things because I don't care. Mrs. Henderson does the same, but she does care."

Margaret would be a sadder woman, but not a better woman, when the time came that she did not care. She

had come to the point of accepting Henderson's methods of overreaching the world, and was tempering the

result with private liberality. Those were hypocrites who criticised him; those were envious who disparaged

him; the sufficient ethics of the world she lived in was to be successful and be agreeable. And it is difficult to

condemn a person who goes with the general opinion of his generation. Carmen was under no illusions about

Henderson, or the methods 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 easiest person to get on with." I remember a delightful, wicked old

baroness whom I met in my youth stranded in Geneva on short allowanceEuropean resorts are full of such

characters. "My dear," she said, "why shouldn't I renege? Why shouldn't men cheat at cards? It's all in the

game. Don't we all know we are trying to deceive each other and get the best of each other? I stopped

pretending after Waterloo. Fighting for the peace of Europe! Bah! We are all fighting for what we can get."

So the Catachoobee Henderson Hall was dedicated, and Mr. Henderson got great credit out of it.

"It's a noble deed, Mr. Henderson," Carmen remarked, when they were at dinner on the car the day of their

departure. "But"in an aside to her host"I advise the lambs in Wall Street to look alive at your next deal."

We can get used to anything. Morgan says that even the New England summer is endurable when you learn

to dress warmly enough. We come to endure pain and loss with equanimity; one thing and another drops out

of our livesyouth, for instance, and sometimes enthusiasmand still we go on with a good degree of

enjoyment. I do not say that Miss Forsythe was quite the same, or that a certain zest of life and spring had not

As the months and the years went by we saw less and less of Margaret less and less, that is, in the old way.

Her rare visits were perfunctory, and gave little satisfaction to any of us; not that she was ungracious or

unkindly, but simply because the things we valued in life were not the same. There was no doubt that any of

us were welcome at the Hendersons' when they were in the city, genuinely, though in an exterior way, but

gradually we almost ceased to keep up an intercourse which was a little effort on both sides. Miss Forsythe

Was Margaret content? I suppose so. She was gay; she was admired; she was always on view in that

semipublic world in which Henderson moved; she attained a newspaper notoriety which many people

envied. If she journeyed anywhere, if she tarried anywhere, if she had a slight illness, the fact was a matter of

public concern. We knew where she worshiped; we knew the houses she frequented, the charities she

patronized, the fetes she adorned, every new costume that her wearing made the fashion. Was she content?

She could perhaps express no desire that an attempt was not made to gratify it. But it seems impossible to get

enough things enough money, enough pleasure. They had a magnificent place in Newport; it was not large

enough; they were always adding to itawning, a ballroom, some architectural whim or another. Margaret

had a fancy for a cottage at Bar Harbor, but they rarely went there. They had an interest in Tuxedo; they

belonged to an exclusive club on Jekyl Island. They passed one winter yachting among the islands in the

eastern Mediterranean; a part of another sailing from one tropical paradise to another in the West Indies. If

there was anything that money could not obtain, it seemed to be a place where they could rest in serene peace

I used to wonder whether Margaret was satisfied with her husband's reputation. Perhaps she mistook the

newspaper homage, the notoriety, for public respect. She saw his influence and his power. She saw that he

was feared, and of course hated, by somethe unsuccessfulbut she saw the terms he was on with his

intimates, due to the fact that everybody admitted that whatever Henderson was in "a deal," privately he was

Was this an ideal married life? Henderson's selfishness was fully developed, and I could see that he was

growing more and more hard. Would Margaret not have felt it, if she also had not been growing hard, and

accustomed to regard the world in his unbelieving way? No, there was sharpness occasionally between them,

tiffs and disagreements. He was a great deal away from home, and she plunged into a life of her own, which

had all the external signs of enjoyment. I doubt if he was ever very selfish where she was concerned, and love

can forgive almost any conduct where there is personal indulgence. I had a glimpse of the real state of things

in a roundabout way. Henderson loved his wife and was proud of her, and he was not unkind, but he might

have been a brute and tied her up to the bedpost, and she never would have shown by the least sign to the

When the Earl of Chisholm was in this country it was four years after Margaret's marriagewe naturally saw

a great deal of him. The young fellow 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 was only the responsibility of his position,

or, as Morgan said, the modern weight that must press upon an earl who is conscientious. He was still

unmarried. The friendship between him and Miss Forsythe, which had been kept alive by occasional

correspondence, became more cordial and confidential. In New York he had seen much of Margaret, not at

all to his peace of mind in many ways, though the generous fellow would have been less hurt if he had not

estimated at its real value the life she was leading. It did not need Margaret's introduction for the earl to be

sought for by the novelty and pleasure loving society of the city; but he got, as he confessed, small

satisfaction out of the whirl of it, although we knew that he met Mrs. Henderson everywhere, and in a manner

assisted in her social triumphs. But he renewed his acquaintance with Miss Eschelle, and it was the prattle of

"How nice it is of you, Mr. Lyonmay I call you so, to bring back the old relations? to come here and

revive the memory of the dear old days when we were all innocent and happy! Dear me, I used to think I

could patronize that little country girl from Brandon! I was so worldlydon't you remember? and she was

so good. And now she is such a splendid woman, it is difficult for the rest of us to keep pace with her. The

nerve she has, and the things she will do! I just envy her. I sometimes think she will drive me into a convent.

And don't you think she is more beautiful than ever? Of course her face is a little careworn, but nobody

makes up as she does; she was just ravishing the other night. Do you know, I think she takes her husband too

"Why shouldn't she be?" Carmen asked in return. "She has everything she wants. 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 they

don't agree they let each other alone for a little. I think she is as happy as anybody can be who is married.

Now you are shocked! Well, I don't know any one who is more in love than she is, and that may be

happiness. She is becoming exactly like Mr. Henderson. You couldn't ask anything more than that."

If Margaret were really happy, the earl told Miss Forsythe, he was glad, but it was scarcely the career he

Meantime, the great house was approaching completion. Henderson's palace, in the upper part of the city, had

long been a topic for the correspondents of the country press. It occupied half a square. Many critics were

discontented with it because it did not occupy the whole square. Everybody was interested in having it the

finest residence on the continent. Why didn't Henderson take the whole block of ground, build his palace on

three sides, with the offices and stables on the fourth, throw a glass roof over the vast interior court, plant it

with tropical trees and plants, adorn it with flowerbeds and fountains, and make a veritable wintergarden,

giving the inhabitants a temperate climate all the cold months? He might easily have summer in the centre of

the city from November to April. These rich people never know what to do with their money. Such a place

would give distinction to the city, and compel foreigners to recognize the high civilization of America. A

great deal of fault was found with Henderson privately for his parsimony in such a splendid opportunity.

Nevertheless it was already one of the sights of the town. Strangers were taken to see it, as it rose in its

simple grandeur. Local reporters made articles on the progress of the interior whenever they could get an

entrance. It was not ornate enough to please, generally, but those who admired the old Louvre liked the

simplicity of its lines and the dignity of the elevations. They discovered the domestic note in its quiet

character, and said that the architect had avoided the look of an "institution " in such a great mass. He was not

afraid of dignified wall space, and there was no nervous anxiety manifested, which would have belittled it

Perhaps it was not an American structure, although one could find in it all the rare woods and stones of the

continent. Great numbers of foreign workmen were employed in its finishing and decoration. One could

wander in it from Pompeii to Japan, from India to Versailles, from Greece to the England of the Tudors, from

the Alhambra to colonial Salem. It was so cosmopolitan that a representative of almost any nationality,

ancient or 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 variety that appealed to the imagination. From time to time paragraphs appeared in

English, French, and Italian journals, regarding the work of this and that famous artist who was designing a

set of furniture or furnishing the drawings of a room, or carving the paneling and statuary, or painting the

ceiling of an apartment in the great Palazzo Henderson in New York Washington. The United American

Workers (who were half foreigners by birth) passed resolutions denouncing Henderson for employing foreign

pauper labor, and organized more than one strike while the house was building. It was very unpatriotic and

unAmerican to have anything done that could not be done by a member of the Union. There was a firm of

excellent stonecutters which offered to make all the statuary needed in the house, and set it up in good

shape, and when the offer was declined, it memorialized Congress for protection.

Although Henderson gave what time he could spare to the design and erection 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 the days when she had wondered at the

magnificence of the Washington Square home, and modestly protested against its luxury. Her own boudoir

Don't you think, dear," she said, puzzling over the drawings, "that it would better be all sandalwood? I hate

"Oh, the ebony and gold? That is the adjoining sittingroomsuch a pretty contrast."

"It has such a beautiful polish. That is another room. Carmen says that will be our sober room, where we go

"Well, if you have any sandalwood left over, you can work it into your Boys' Lodginghouse, you know."

"Don't be foolish! And then the ballroom, ninety feet longit looks small on the paper. And do you think

we'd better have those lifesize figures all round, mediaeval statues, with the incandescents? Carmen says she

would prefer a row of monkssomething piquant about that in a ballroom. I don't know that I like the

"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 of dancinggirls? Dear me, I don't know what to do. Rodney, you must

"Might line it with gold plate. I'll make arrangements so that you can draw on the Bank of England."

Margaret looked hurt. "But you told me, dear, not to spare anything that we would have the finest house in

"Oh, I want it," resumed Henderson, goodhumoredly. "Go ahead, little wife. We shall pull through."

"Women beat me," Henderson confessed to Uncle Jerry next day. "They are the most economical of beings

and the most extravagant. I've got to look round for an extra million somewhere today."

"Yes, there is this good thing about women," Uncle Jerry responded, with a twinkle in his eyes, "they share

your riches just as cheerfully as they do your poverty. I tell Maria that if I had the capacity for making money

To have the finest house in the city, or rather, in the American newspaper phrase, in the Western world, was a

comprehensible ambition for Henderson, for it was a visible expression of his wealth and his cultivated taste.

But why Margaret should wish to exchange her dainty and luxurious home in Washington Square for the care

of a vast establishment big enough for a royal court, my wife could not comprehend. But why not? To be the

visible leader in her world, to be able to dispense a hospitality which should surpass anything heretofore seen,

to be the mistress and autocrat of an army of servants, with ample room for their evolution, in a palace whose

dimensions and splendor should awaken envy and astonishmentwould this not be an attraction to a woman

Besides, they had outgrown the old house. There was no longer room for the display, scarcely for the storage,

of the works of art, the pictures, the curiosities, the books, that unlimited money and the opportunity of

foreign travel had collected in all these years. "We must either build or send our things to a warehouse,"

Henderson had long ago said. Among the obligations of wealth is the obligation of display. People of small

means do not allow for the expansion of mind that goes along with the accumulation of property. It was only

natural that Margaret, who might have been contented with two rooms and a leanto as the wife of a country

clergyman, should have felt cramped in her old house, which once seemed a world too large for the country

"I don't see how you could do with less room," Carmen said, with an air of profound conviction. They were

looking about the house on its last uninhabited day, directing the final disposition of its contents. For Carmen,

as well as for Margaret, the decoration and the furnishing of the house had been an occupation. The girl had

the whim of playing the part of restrainer and economizer in everything; but Henderson used to say, when

Margaret told him of Carmen's suggestions, that a little more of her economy would ruin him.

"Yes," Margaret admitted, "there does not seem to be anything that is not necessary."

"Not a thing. When you think of it, two people require as much space as a dozen; when you go beyond one

room, you must go on. Of course you couldn't get on without a receptionroom, drawingrooms, a

conservatory, a musicroom, a library, a morningroom, a breakfastroom, a small diningroom and a state

diningroom, Mr. Henderson's snuggery, with his own library, a billiardroom, a picturegalleryit is full

already; you'll have to extend it or sell some picturesyour own suite and Mr. Henderson's suite, and the

guestrooms, and I forgot the theatre in the attic. I don't see but you have scrimped to the last degree."

"And yet there is room to move about," Margaret acknowledged, with a gratified smile, as they wandered

It was the height of the season before Lent. There had been one delay and another, but at last all the workmen

had been expelled, and Margaret was mistress of her house. Cards for the housewarming had been out for

two weeks, and the event was near. She was in her own apartments this pale, 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 brougham after breakfast, "sharp seven, we

are to dine alone the first time." It lacked two hours yet of dinnertime, but she was dressing for want of

Was this then the summit of her ambition? She had indeed looked forward to some such moment as this as

one of exultation in the satisfaction of all 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 all ratified." It was like a sting. Why

should she think at this moment of her girlhood; of the ideals indulged in during that quiet time; of her aunt's

cheerful, tender, lonely life; of her rejection of Mr. Lyon? She did not love Mr. Lyon; she was not satisfied

then. How narrow that little life in Brandon had been! She threw the book from her. She hated all that

restraint and censoriousness. If her aunt could see her in all this splendor, she would probably be sadder than

ever. What right had she to sit there and mournas she knew her aunt didand sigh over her career? What

She went out from her room, down the great stairway, into the spacious house, pausing in the great hall to see

opening vista after vista in the magnificent apartments. It was the first time that she had alone really taken the

full meaning of ithad possessed it with the eye. It was hers. Wherever she went, all hers. No, she had

desires yet. It should be filled with lifeit should be the most brilliant house in the world. Society should

see, should acknowledge the leadership. Yesas she glanced at herself in a drawingroom mirrorthey

should see that Henderson's wife was capable of a success equal to his own, and she would stop the hateful

gossip about him. She set her foot firmly as she thought about it; she would crush those people who had

sneered at them as parvenu. She strayed into the noble gallery. Some face there touched her, some landscape

soothed her. No, she said to herself, I will win them, 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 had walked with Lyon that Sunday afternoon of the baptism, and had a heart

As she sat there she grew calmer. Her thoughts went away in a vision of all the social possibilities of this

wonderful house. From vaguely admiring what she looked at, she began to be critical; this and that could be

changed to advantage; this shade of hanging was not harmonious; this light did not fall right. She smiled to

think that her husband thought it all done. How he would laugh to find that she was already planning to

rearrange it! Hadn't she been satisfied for almost twenty four hours? That was a long time for a woman.

Then she thought of the reception; of the guests; of what some of them would wear; how they would look

about; what they would say. She was already in that world which was so shining and shifting and attractive.

"Well, sweet, keeping house alone? I've had a jolly day; lucky as old Mr. Luck."

"You look a little pale," he said, as they strolled out to the conservatory together.

"Just a little tired," she admitted. "Do you know, Rodney, I hated this house at five o'clockpositively hated

"Oh, I don't know; I was thinking. But I liked it at halfpast six. I love it now. I've got used to it, as if I had

always lived here. Isn't it beautiful everywhere? But I'm going to make some changes."

"That would be nice. No, not now. But to make over and take off the new look. Everything looks so new."

And so they wandered on, admiring, bantering, planning. Could Etienne Debree have seen his descendant at

this moment he would have been more than ever proud of his share in establishing the great republic, and of

his appreciation of the promise of its beauty. What satisfies a woman's heart is luxury, thought Henderson, in

They had come into his own den and library, and he stood looking at the rows of his favorite collection

shining in their new home. For all its newness it had a familiar look. He thought for a moment that he might

be in his old bachelor quarters. Suddenly Margaret made a rush at him. She shook the great fellow. She

"What's got into you to look so splendid? Do you hear, go this instant and dress, and make yourself ten times

Live not unto yourselves! Can any one deny that this blessed sentiment is extending in modern life? Do we

build houses for ourselves or for others? Do we make great entertainments for our own comfort? I do not

know that anybody regarded the erection of the Henderson palace as an altruistic performance. The socialistic

newspapers said that it was pure ostentation. But had it not been all along in the minds of the builders to ask

all the world to see it, to share the delight of it? Is this a selfish spirit? When I stroll in the Park am I not

pleased with the equipages, with the display of elegance upon which so much money has been lavished for

All the world was asked to the Henderson reception. The coming event was the talk of the town. I have now

cuttings from the great journals, articles describing the house, more beautifully written than Gibbon's stately

periods about the luxury of later Rome. It makes one smile to hear that the day of fine writing is over.

Everybody was eager to go; there was some plotting to obtain invitations by those who felt that they 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 know them, but who shared the general curiosity; and everybody vowed that he supposed he

must go, but he hated such a crush and jam as it was sure to be. Yet no one would have cared to go if it had

not promised to be a crush. I said that all the world was asked, which is our way of saying that a thousand or

Invitations came to Brandon, of course, for old times' sake. The Morgans said that they preferred a private

view; Miss Forsythe declared that she hadn't the heart to go; in short, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild alone went to

I am sorry to say that the reader must go to the files of the city press for an account of the night's festivity.

The pen that has been used in portraying Margaret's career is entirely inadequate to it. There is a general

impression that an American can do anything that he sets his hand 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 acquiredthat astonishing, irresponsible

command of the English language; that warm, lyrical tone; that color, and bewildering metaphorical

brilliancy; that picturesqueness; that use of words as the painter uses pigments, in splashes and blotches

which are so effective; that touch of raillery and sarcasm and condescension; that gay enjoyment of reveling

in the illimitable; that air of superior knowledge and style; that dash of sentiment; that calm and somewhat

I am always impressed at such an entertainment with the goodhumor of the American people, no matter

In all the push and thrust and confusion, amid the rending of trains, the tearing of lace, the general crushing of

costumes, there was the merriest persiflage, laughter, and chatter, and men and women entered into and drew

out of the fashionable wreck in the highest spirits. For even in such a spacious mansion there were spots

where currents met, and rooms where there was a fight for mere breath. It would have been a tame affair

without this struggle. And what an epitome of life it all was! There were those who gave themselves up to

admiration, who gushed with enthusiasm; there were those who had the weary air of surfeit with splendor of

this sort; there were the bustling and volatile, who made facetious remarks, and treated the affair like a Fourth

of July; and there were also groups dark and haughty, like the Stotts, who held a little aloof, and coldly

admitted that it was most successful; it lacked je 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 the inherent vulgarity of the bestbred

people, so that some have doubted whether the highest civilization will tolerate these crushing and hilarious

At any rate, one could enjoy the general effect. There might be vulgar units, and one caught notes of talk that

disenchanted, but there were so many women of rare and stately beauty, of exquisite loveliness, of charm in

manner and figureso many men of fine presence, with such an air of power and manly prosperity and

selfrelianceI doubt if any other assembly in the world, undecorated by orders and uniforms, with no

blazon of rank, would have a greater air of distinction. Looking over it from a landing in the great stairway

that commanded vistas and ranges of the lofty, brilliant apartments, vivified by the throng, which seemed

ennobled by the spacious splendor in which it moved, one would be pardoned a feeling of national pride in

the spectacle. I drew aside to let a stately train of beauty and of fashion descend, and saw it sweep through the

hall, and enter the drawingrooms, until it was lost in a sea of shifting color. It was like a dream.

And the centre of all this charming plutocratic graciousness and beauty was MargaretMargaret and her

handsome husband. Where did the New Hampshire boy learn this simple dignity of bearing, this

goodhumored cordiality without condescension, this easy air of the man of the world? Was this the railway

wrecker, the insurance manipulator, the familiar of Uncle Jerry, the king of the lobby, the pride and the

bugaboo of Wall Street? Margaret was regnant. And how charmingly she received her guests! How well I

knew that halfimperious toss of the head, and the glance of those level, large gray eyes, softened instantly,

on recognition, into the sweetest smile of welcome playing about the dimple and the expressive mouth! What

woman would not feel a little thrill of triumph? The world was at her feet. Why was it, I wonder, as I stood

there watching the throng which saluted this queenly woman of the world, in an hour of supreme social

triumph, while the notes of the distant orchestra came softly on the air, and the overpowering perfume of

banks of flowers and tropical plantswhy 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 Debreehow often I had

seen her thus!sitting on her little veranda, swinging her chip hat by the string, glowing from some errand in

which her heart had played a much more important part than her purse. I caught the odor of the honeysuckle

"You seem to be in a brown study," said Carmen, who came up, leaning on the arm of the Earl of Chisholm.

"I'm lost in admiration. You must make allowance, Miss Eschelle, for a person 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, up in Maine, talking with Mr. Stott, whose father came in on the towpath of

the Erie Canal. You don't dance? The earl has just been giving me a whirl in the ballroom, and I've been

"Yes," the earl rejoined; "Miss Eschelle has been interpreting to me republican simplicity."

"And he cannot point out, Mr. Fairchild, why this is not as good as a reception at St. James. I suppose it's his

"Indeed, it is all very charming. It must be a great thing to be the architect of your own fortune."

"I am, and I get dreadfully tired of it sometimes. I have to read over the Declaration and look at the map of

"Why, this seems pretty substantial," I said, wondering what the girl was driving at.

"Oh, yes; I suppose the world looks solid from a balloon. I heard one man say to another just now, 'How long

do you suppose Henderson will last?' Probably we shall all come down by the run together byandby."

"I guess it's the influence of the earl. But I am the most misunderstood of women. What I really like is

simplicity. Can you have that without the social traditions," she appealed to the earl, "such as you have in

"I really cannot say," the earl replied, laughing. "I fancied there was simplicity in Brandon; perhaps that was

"Oh, Brandon!" Carmen cried, "see what Brandon does when it gets a chance. I assure your lordship that we

used to be very simple people in New York. Come, let us go and tell Mrs. Henderson how delightful it all is.

As I moved about afterwards with my wife we heard not many comments, a word here and there about

Henderson's wonderful success, a remark about Margaret's beauty, some sympathy for her in such a

wearisome ordealthe world is full of kindnessthe house duly admired, and the ordinary compliments

paid; the people assembled were, as usual, absorbed in their own affairs. From all we could gather, all those

present were used to living in a palace, and took all the splendor quite as a matter of course. Was there no

envy? Was there nothing said about the airs of a country schoolma'am, the aplomb of an adventurer? Were

there no criticisms afterwards as the guests rolled home in their carriages, surfeited and exhausted? What

The newspapers said that it was the most brilliant affair the metropolis had 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 words addressed by

the earl to Margaret, when he said goodnight, at their full value. She flushed with pleasure at his modest

The house was opened. The world had seen it. The world had gone. If sleep did not come that night to her

tired head on the pillow, what wonder? She had a position in the great world. In imagination it opened wider

and wider. Could not the infinite possibilities of it fill the hunger of any soul?

The echoes of the Henderson reception continued long in the country press. Items multiplied as to the cost. It

was said that the sum expended in flowers alone, which withered in a night, would have endowed a ward in a

charity hospital. Some wag said that the price of the supper would have changed the result of the Presidential

election. Views of the mansion were given in the illustrated papers, and portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Henderson.

In country villages, in remote farmhouses, this great social event was talked of, Henderson's wealth was the

subject of conjecture, Margaret's toilet was an object of interest. It was a shining example of success.

Preachers, whose sensational sermons are as widely read as descriptions of great crimes, moralized on

Henderson's career and Henderson's palace, and raised up everywhere an envied image of worldly prosperity.

When he first arrived in New York, with only fifty cents in his pocketso the story ranand walked up

Broadway and Fifth Avenue, he had nearly been run over at the corner of Twentysixth Street by a carriage,

the occupants of which, a lady and gentleman, had stared insolently at the country youth. Never mind, said

the lad to himself, the day will come when you will cringe to me. And the day did come 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 the preacher, if he had only devoted his

great talents to the service of the Good and the True! Behold how vain are all the triumphs of this world! see

the result of the worship of Mammon! My friends, the age is materialized, a spirit of worldliness is abroad; be

vigilant, lest the deceitfulness of riches send your souls to perdition. And the plain country people thanked

God for such a warning, and the country girl dreamed of Margaret's career, and the country boy studied the

ways of Henderson's success, and resolved that he, too, would seek his fortune in this bad metropolis.

The, Hendersons were important people. It was impossible that a knowledge of their importance should not

have a reflex influence upon Margaret. Could it be otherwise than that gradually the fineness of her

discrimination should be dulled by the almost universal public consent in the methods by which Henderson

had achieved his position, and that in time she should come to regard adverse judgment as the result of envy?

Henderson himself was under less illusion; the world was about what he had taken it for, only a little

worsemore gullible, and with less principle. Carmen had mocked at Margaret's belief in Henderson. It is

certainly a pitiful outcome that Margaret, with her naturally believing nature, should in the end have had a

less clear perception of what was right and wrong than Henderson himself. Yet Henderson would not have

shrunk, any more than Carmen would, from any course necessary to his ends, while Margaret would have

shrunk from many things; but in absolute worldliness, in devotion to it, the time had come when Henderson

felt that his Puritan wife was no restraint upon him. It was this that broke gentle Miss Forsythe's heart when

I said that the world was at Margaret's feet. Was it? How many worlds are there, and does one ever, except by

birth (in a republic), conquer them all? Truth to say, there were penetralia in New York society concerning

which this successful woman was uneasy in her heart. There were people who had accepted her invitations, to

whose houses she had been, who had a dozen ways of making her feel that she was not of them. These

peopleI suppose that if two castaways landed naked on a desert island, one of them would instantly be the

ancien regimehad spoken of Mrs. Henderson and her ambition to the Earl of Chisholm in a way that

pained him. They graciously assumed that he, as one of the elect, would understand them. It was therefore

I cannot imagine anything more uncomfortable for an old lover than a meeting of this sort; but I suppose the

honest fellow could not resist the inclination to see Margaret once more. I dare say she had a little flutter of

pride in receiving him, in her consciousness of the change in herself into a wider experience of the world.

And she may have been a little chagrined that he was not apparently more impressed by her surroundings, nor

noticed the change in herself, but met her upon the ground of simple sincerity where they had once stood.

What he tried to see, what she felt he was trying to see, was not the beautiful woman about whose charm and

He talked a little, a very little, about himself and his work in England, and a great deal about what had

interested him here on his second visit, the social drift, the politics, the organized charities; and as he talked,

Margaret was conscious how little the world in which she lived seemed to interest him; how little importance

he attached to it. And she saw, as in a momentary vision of herself, that the things that once absorbed her and

stirred her sympathies were now measurably indifferent to her. Book after book which he casually mentioned,

as showing the drift of the age, and profoundly affecting modern thought, she knew only by name. "I guess,"

said Carmen, afterwards, when Margaret spoke of the earl's conversation, "that he is one of those who are

"Yes, it is very well managed," Margaret replied; "but it is uphill work, the poor are so ungrateful for

"Well, work isn't what they want when we give it, and they'd rather live in the dirt than in clean apartments."

"Many of them don't know any better, and a good many of our poor resent condescension."

"Yes," said Margaret, with warmth; "they are getting to demand things as their right, and they are insolent.

The last time I drove down in that quarter I was insulted by their manner. What are you going to do with such

people? One big fellow who was leaning against a lamppost growled, 'You'd better stay in your own palace,

miss, and not come prying round here.' And a brazen girl cried out: 'Shut yer mouth, Dick; the lady's got to

"It's very hard, I know," said the earl; "perhaps we are all on the wrong track."

"Maybe. Mr. Henderson says that the world would get on better if everybody minded his own business."

"I wish it were possible," the earl remarked, with an air of finishing the topic. "I have just been up to

Brandon, Mrs. Henderson. I fear that I have seen the dear place for the last time."

"I thought Miss Forsythewhat a sweet, brave woman she is!was looking sad and weary."

"Oh, aunt won't do anything, or take an interest in anything. She just stays there. I've tried in vain to get her

here. Do you know"and she turned upon the earl a look of the old playfulness"she doesn't quite approve

"Oh," he replied, hesitating a little"I think, Mrs. Henderson, that her heart is bound up in you. It isn't for

"Yes, I know. If I'd only" and she stopped, with a petulant look on her fair face"well, it doesn't matter.

"Perhaps," with a smile. Could anything be more commonplace than such a parting? Goodby, I shall see you

tomorrow or next year, or in the next world. Hail and farewell! That is the common experience. But, oh, the

It is quite possible that when the Earl of Chisholm said goodby, with an air of finality, Margaret felt that

another part of her life was closed. He was not in any way an extraordinary person, he was not a very rich

peer, probably with his modesty and conscientiousness, and devotion to the ordinary duties of his station, he

would never attain high rank in the government. Yet no one could be long with him without apprehending

that his life was on a high plane. It was with a little irritation that Margaret recognized this, and remembered,

with a twinge of 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 of ideas, of books, of intellectual life, of passionate sympathy

with the fortunes of humanity, of deepest interest in all the new thoughts struck out by the leaders who

That peace of mind which is found only in the highest activity for the noblest ends she once had, though she

thought it then unrest and strivingwhat Carmen, who was under no illusions about Henderson, or Uncle

Jerry, or the world df fashion, and had an intuitive perception of cant that is sometimes denied to the children

of light, called "taking pleasure in the things of the mind." To do Margaret justice, there entered into her

reflections no thought of the title and position of the Earl of Chisholm. They had never been alluring to her. If

one could take any satisfaction in this phase of her character, her worldiness was purely American.

"I hardly know which I should prefer," Carmen was saying when they were talking over the ball and the earl's

"The American," continued Carmen, not heeding this suggestion, "has the greater opportunities, and is not

hindered by traditions. If you were a countess you would have to act like a countess. If you are an American

you can actlike anythingyou can do what you please. That is nicer. Now, an earl must do what an earl

has always done. What could you do with 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

"I should think that would suit you. Last I knew, you were deep in the Mind Cure."

"So I was. That was last week. Now I'm in the Faith Cure; I've found out about both. The difference is, in the

Mind Cure you don't require any faith; in the Faith Cure you don't require any mind. The Faith Cure just suits

"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. If you loved an earl he would stay an earl. If you loved an American millionaire, ten

Margaret did not escape the responsibility of her success. Who does? My dear Charmian, who wrote the

successful novel of last year, do you not already repent your rash act? If you do not write a better novel this

year, will not the public flout you and jeer you for a pretender? Did the public overpraise you at first? Its

mistaken partiality becomes now your presumption. Last year the press said you were the rival of Hawthorne.

This year it is, "that Miss Charmian who set herself up as a second Hawthorne." When the new house was

opened, it might be said that socially Mrs. Henderson had "arrived." Had she? When one enters on the path of

worldliness is there any restingplace? Is not eternal vigilance the 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 king in the street, great enterprises sought his aid, all the charities

knocked at his door, his word could organize a syndicate or a trust, his nod could smash a "corner." There

were fabulous stories about his wealth, about his luck. This also was Margaret's world. Her ambition

expanded in it with his. The things he set his heart on she coveted. Alas! there is always another round to the

Seeing the means by which he gained his ends, and the public condonation of them, would not his cynicism

harden into utter unbelief in general virtue and goodness? I don't know that Henderson changed much,

accented as his grasping selfishness was on occasion; prosperity had not impaired that indifferent

goodfellowship and toleration which had early gained him popularity. His presence was nowhere a rebuke

to whatever was going on. He was always accessible, often jocular. The younger members in the club 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 talk with a liberal

And Margaret, what view of the world did all this give her? Did she come in contact with any one who had

not his price, who was not going or wanting to go in the general current? Was it not natural that she should

take Henderson's view? Dear me, I am not preaching about her. We did not see much of her in those days,

and for one or two years of what I suppose was her greatest enjoyment of her social triumphs. So far as we

heard, she was liked, admired, followed, envied. It could not be otherwise, for she did not lose her beauty nor

her charm, and she tried to please. Once when I saw her in the city and we fell into talkand the talk was

gay enough and unconstrainedI was struck with a certain hardness of tone, a little bitterness quite unlike

her old self. It is a very hard thing to say, and I did not say it even to my wife, but I had a 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 heard stories of slights, of stabs, of rebuffs, of

spiteful remarks. Had she not come to know how success even in social life is sometimes attained the

meannesses, the jealousies, the cringing? Even with all her money at command, did she not know that her

position was at the price of incessant effort? Because she had taken a bold step today, she must take a bolder

one tomorrowmore display, more servants, some new invention of luxury and extravagance. And seeing,

as I say, the inside of this life and what it required, and how triumphs and notoriety were gained, 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 at her solicitation that Henderson at last did endow a university in the Southwest. I know

that her name was on all the leading charities of the city. I know that of all the patronesses of the charity ball

her costume was the most exquisite, and her liberality was most spoken of. I know that in the most

fashionable house of worship (the newspapers call it that) she was a constant attendant; that in her modest

garb she never missed a Lenten service; and we heard that she performed a novena during this penitential

Why protract the story of how Margaret was lost to us? Could this interest any but uswe who felt the loss

because we still loved her? And why should we presume to set up our standard of what is valuable in life, 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, I dare say, disappeared. Could we say that life, after all, had not given her what she

most desired? Rather than write on in this strain about her, I would like to read her story as it appeared to the

companions whose pleasures were her pleasures, whose successes were her successesher story written by

one who appreciated her worldly advantages, and saw all the delight there was in this attractive worldliness.

What comfort there was in it we had in knowing that she was a favorite in the society of which we read such

glowing descriptions, and that no one else bore its honors more winningly. It was not an easy life, with all its

exactions and incessant movement. It demanded more physical strength than most women possess, and we

were not surprised to hear from time to time that she was delicate, and that she went through her season with

feverish excitement. But she chose it; it had become necessary to her. Can women stop in such a career, even

Yes, she chose it. I, for one, never begrudged her any pleasure she had in life, and I do not know but she was

as happy as it is possible for human 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 possibilities of her royal nature under circumstances

favorable to its development, felt more and more her departure from her own ideals. Her life in its spreading

prosperity seemed more and more shallow. I do not say she was heartless, I do not say she was uncharitable, I

do not say that in all the externals of worldly and religious observance she was wanting; I do not say that the

more she was assimilated to the serenely worldly nature of her husband she did not love him, or that she was

unlovely in the worldliness that ingulfed her and bore her onward. I do not know that there is anything

singular in her history. But the pain of it to us was in the certaintyand it seemed so nearthat in the decay

of her higher life, in the hardening process of a material existence, in the transfer of all her interests to the

trivial and sensuous gratificationstime, mind, heart, ambition, all fixed on themwe should never regain

our Margaret. What I saw in a vision of her future was a dead soula beautiful woman in all the success of

It is difficult not to convey a false impression of Margaret at this time. Habits, manners, outward

conductnay, the superficial kindliness in human intercourse, the exterior graceful qualities, may all remain

when 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 with

suffering when the soul itself has ceased to struggle for the higher life, when the mind has lost, in regard to

Perhaps it is fairer to Margaret to consider the general opinion of the world regarding her. No doubt, if we

had now known her for the first time, we should have admired her exceedingly, and probably have accounted

her thrice happy in filling so well her brilliant position. That her loss of interest in things intellectual, in a

wide range of topics of human welfare, which is in the individual soul a sign of warmth and growth, made her

less companionable to some is true, but her very absorption in the life of her world made her much more

attractive to 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 of the society people there assembled. Margaret shone in it. The

light and daring touch of her raillery Carmen herself might have envied, and the spirit in which she handled

the trifles and personal gossip tossed to the surface, like the bubbles on the champagne.

It was such a pretty picturethe noble diningroom, the table sparkling with glass and silver and glowing

with masses of choicest flowers from the conservatory, the animated convives, and Margaret presiding,

"After all," Morgan was saying, apropos of the position of women, "men get mighty little out of it in the

"I've always said, Mr. Morgan," Margaret retorted, "that you came into the world a couple of centuries too

"Well, men were of some account then. I appeal to Henderson," Morgan persisted, "if he gets more than his

"Oh, my husband has to make his way; he's no time for idling and philosophizing round."

"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 wonder what the fellows did when polygamy was the fashion."

"Polygamy, indeed!" cried Margaret. "So men only dropped the a pluribus unum method on account of the

"Not at all," replied Henderson. "Women are so much better now than formerly that one wife is quite

"But," continued Margaret for him, "you think as things are going that polyandry will have to come in

"Yes, dear, you'll have to be born again. But, Mr. Morgan, you don't seem to understand what civilization is."

"I'm beginning to. I've been thinkingthis is entirely impersonalthat it costs more to keep one fine lady

going than it does a college. Just reckon it up." (Margaret was watching him with sparkling eyes.) "The

palace in town is for her, the house in the mountains, the house by the sea, are for her, the army of servants is

for her, the horses and carriages for all weathers are for her, the opera box is for her, and then the

wardrobewhy, half Paris lives on what women wear. I say nothing of what would become of the medical

"Well, why shouldn't we support the workingpeople of Paris and elsewhere? Do you want us to make our

own clothes and starve the sewing women? Suppose there weren't any balls and fine dresses and what you

call luxury. What would the poor do without the rich? Isn't it the highest charity to give them work? Even

"That is too deep for me," said Morgan, evasively. "I suppose they ought to be contented to see us enjoying

"It's just as I thought," said Margaret, more lightly. "You haven't an inkling of what civilization is. See that

flower before you. It is the most exquisite thing in this room. See the refinement of its color and form. That

was cultivated. The plant came from South Africa. I don't know what expense the gardener has been to about

it, what material and care have been necessary to bring it to perfection. You may take it to Mrs. Morgan as an

objectlesson. It is a thing of beauty. You cannot put any of your mercantile value on it. Well, that is woman,

"But he will go on next about the luxury of the age, and the extravagance of women, and goodness knows

"No, I'm talking about men," Morgan continued. "Consider Hendersonit's entirely impersonalas a

gardener. What does he get out of his occupation? He can look at the flower. Perhaps that is enough. He gets

a good dinner when he has time for it, an hour at his club now and then, occasionally an evening or half a day

"Which he never gets time to sail in; practically all the time on the road, or besieged by a throng in his office,

hustled about from morning till night, begged of, interviewed, a telegraphic despatch every five minutes,

The Hendersons liked to have their house full, something going on dinners, musicales, readings, little

comedies in the theatre; there was continual coming and going, calling, dropping in for a cup of tea, late

suppers after the opera; the young fellows of town found no place so agreeable for a halfhour after business

as Mrs. Henderson's reception 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 at home, was pleased that his wife should be a leader in society, as he was in the great

enterprises in which his fortune waxed to enormous proportions. About what we call the home life I do not

know. Necessarily, as heretofore, Henderson was often absent, and whether Margaret accompanied him or

I suppose there is no delusion more general than that of retiring upon a fortuneas if, when gained, a fortune

would let a person retire, or, still more improbable, as if it ever were really attained. It is not at all probable

that Henderson had set any limit to that he desired; the wildest speculations about its amount would no doubt

fall short of satisfying the love of power which he expected to gratify in immeasurably increasing it. Does not

history teach us that to be a great general, or poet, or philanthropist, is not more certain to preserve one's

name than to be the richest man, the Croesus, in his age? I could imagine Margaret having a certain growing

pride in this distinction, and a 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 possession of

everything that selfishness covets, and hardened into absolute worldliness. I knew once an old lady whose

position and wealth had always made her envied, and presumably happy, who was absolutely to be pitied for

The sun still shone on Margaret, and life yielded to her its specious sweets. She was still young. If in her

great house, in her dazzling career, in the whirl of resplendent prosperity, she had hours of unsatisfied

yearning for something unattainable in this direction, the world would not have guessed it. Whenever we

heard of her she was the centre and star of whatever for the moment excited the world of fashion. It was

indeed, at last, in the zenith of her gay existence that I, became aware of a certain feminine anxiety about her

in our neighborhood. She had been, years before, very ill in Paris, and the apprehensions for her safety now

were based upon the recollection of her peril then. The days came when the tenderhearted Miss Forsythe

went about the house restless, impatient, tearful, waiting for a summons that was sure to come when she was

needed. She thought only of her child, as she called her, and all the tenderness of her nature was stirredthese

years of cloud and separation and pain were as they had not been. Little Margaret had promised to send for

her. She would not obtrude before she was wanted, but Margaret was certain to send. And she was ready for

departure the instant the despatch came from Henderson"Margaret wants you to come at once." I went

In calamity, trouble, sorrow, it is wonderful how the ties of blood assert themselves. In this hour I am sure

that Margaret longed for no one more than her dear aunt, in whose arms, as a child, she had so often forgotten

her griefs. She had been able to live without hernay, for a long time her presence had been something of a

restraint and a rebuke, and her feelings had hardened towards her. Why is it that the heart hardens in

When we arrived Margaret was very ill. The house itself had a serious air: it was no longer the palace of

festivity and gayety, precautions had been taken to secure quiet, the pavement was littered, and within the

hushed movements and the sombre looks spoke of apprehension and the absence of the spirit that had been

the life and light of the house. Our arrival seemed to be a relief to Henderson. Little was said. I had never

before seen him nervous, never before so restless and anxious, probably never before in all his career had he

"She has been asking for you this moment," he said, as he accompanied Miss Forsythe to Margaret's

"Dear, dear aunt, I knew you would comeI love you so;" she had tried to raise herself a little in her bed,

The vigil began. The nurses were in waiting. The family physician would not 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; a

man past middle life, smooth shaven, thin irongray hair, grave, usually taciturn, deliberate in all his

movements, as if every gesture were important and significant, but with a kindly face. Knowing that every

moment of his waking life was golden, I could not but be impressed with the power that could command his

exclusive service for an indefinite time. When he came down, we talked together in Henderson's room.

"It is a question of endurance, of constitution," he said; "many weak women have this quality of persistence;

many strong women go to pieces at once; we know little about it. Mrs. Henderson"glancing about

him"has everything to live for; that's in her favor. I suppose there are not two other men in the country

I do not know how it was, probably the patient was not forgotten, but in a moment the grave doctor was

asking me if I had seen the last bulletin about the yacht regatta. He took the keenest interest in the contest,

and described to me the build and sailing qualities of the different yachts entered, and expressed his opinion

as to which would win, and why. From this he passed to the city government and the recent electionlike a

true New Yorker, his chief interest centred in the city politics and not in the national elections. Without the

least unbending from his dignity, he told me many anecdotes about city politicians, which would have been

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 crisis had come. I was waiting in Henderson's library. An hour passed, when Henderson

"Is doing very well!" He touched a bell, and gave an order to the servant. "We will drink to the dear girl and

He was in great spirits. The doctor joined us, but I noticed that he was anxious, and he did not stay long.

Henderson was in and out, talking, excited, restless. But everything was going very well, he thought. At last,

Alas! there had been an heir of the house of Henderson for just two hours; and Margaret was not sustaining

Why go on? Henderson was beside himself; stricken with grief, enraged, I believe, as well, at the thought of

his own impotence. Messengers were despatched, a consultation was called. The best skill of the city, at any

cost, was at Margaret's bedside. Was there anything, then, that money could not do? How weak we are!

The next day the patient was no better, she was evidently sinking. The news went swiftly round the city. It

needed a servant constantly at the door to answer the stream of sympathetic inquirers. Reporters were

watching the closed house from the opposite pavement. I undertook to satisfy some of them who gained the

steps and came forward, civil enough and notebooks in hand, when the door was opened. This intrusion of

The great house was silent. How vain and empty and pitiful it all seemed as I wandered alone through the

gorgeous apartments! What a mockery it all was of the tragedy impending abovestairsthe approach on

listshod feet of the great enemy! Let us not be unjust. He would have come just the same if his prey had lain

A day and a night, and another dayand then! It was Miss Forsythe who came down to me, with strained

eyes and awe in her face. It needed no words. She put her face upon my shoulder, and sobbed as if her heart

I could not stay in the house. I went out into the streets, the streets brilliant in the sun of an autumn day, into

the town, gay, bustling, crowded, pulsing with vigorous life. How blue the sky was! The sparrows twittered

in Madison Square, the idlers sat in the sun, the children chased their hoops about the fountain.

I wandered into the club. The news had preceded me there. More than one member in the readingroom

grasped my hand, with just a word of sympathy. Two young fellows, whom I had last seen at the Henderson

"It's rough, Jack"the speaker paused, with a match in his hand"it's rough. I'll be if she was not the finest

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 turned to the house, we saw Carmen enter a box, radiant, in white. Henderson followed,

and took a seat a little in shadow behind her. There were others in the box. There was a little movement and