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 astonishment--would this not be an attraction to a woman of
imagination and spirit?

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 lean-to 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 girl.

"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 reception-room, drawing-rooms, a conservatory,
a music-room, a library, a morning-room, a breakfast-room, a small
dining-room and a state dining-room, Mr. Henderson's snuggery, with his
own library, a billiard-room, a picture-gallery--it is full already;
you'll have to extend it or sell some pictures--your own suite and Mr.
Henderson's suite, and t