ith 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
things an impecunious count! But he is amusing."

"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 ever marry, it will be with an
American."

"But suppose you fall in love with a poor man?"

"That would be against my principles. Never fall below your ideals--that
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 depends upon what they are," said Margaret, in the same bantering
tone.

"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 twenty-four hours, even if he had his crown on?"

"I can imagine a great deal worse husbands than the Earl of Chisholm."

"Well, I haven't any imagination."

There was no reading that day nor the next. In the morning there was 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 there-after 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 we