s 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 him--any woman might be
that--but, do you know, she actually believes in him."

"Why shouldn't she believe in him?" exclaimed Miss Forsythe, in
astonishment.

"Oh, of course, in a way," the girl went on. "I like Mr. Henderson--I
like him very much--but 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
just as well--and better. Don't you think it's nicer not to have any
deceptions?"

Miss Forsythe was too much stunned to make any reply. It seemed to her
that the bottom had fallen out of society.

"Do you think Mr. Henderson believes in people?" the girl persisted.

"If he does not he isn't much of a man. If people don't believe in each
other, society is going to pieces. I am astonished at such a tone from a
woman."

"Oh, it isn't any tone in me, my dear Miss Forsythe," Carmen continued,
sweetly. "Society is a great deal pleasanter when you are not anxious
and don't expect too much."

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