le 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, his brain
would have told him the value of the sympathy of a good woman.

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 days--days 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 sometimes
will fan it into a flame.

The days went by, and Margaret's visit was over. I am obliged to say that
the leave-taking 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 bade her entertainers an
affectionate good-by, she could not look very unhappy.

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 all
her veins.

X

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