. 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 because there had been a
shade of doubt about it.

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 cross-purposes 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 books.

"That was my intention," replied Carmen; "now we can read together. I'm
taking Spanish lessons of Count Crispo. I've learned two Spanish poems
and a Castilian dance."

"Is he married?"

"Not now. He told me, when he was teaching me the steps, that his heart
was buried in Seville."

"He seems to be full of sentiment."

"Perhaps that is because his salary is so small. Mamma says, of all