as gay
enough and unconstrained--I was struck with a certain hardness of tone, a
little bitterness quite unlike her old self. It is a very hard thing to
say, and I did not say it even to my wife, but I had a painful impression
that she was valuing people by the money they had, by the social position
they had attained.

Was she content in that great world in which she moved? I had heard
stories of slights, of stabs, of rebuffs, of spiteful remarks. Had she
not come to know how success even in social life is sometimes attained
--the meannesses, the jealousies, the cringing? Even with all her money
at command, did she not know that her position was at the price of
incessant effort? Because she had taken a bold step today, she must take
a bolder one tomorrow--more display, more servants, some new invention of
luxury and extravagance. And seeing, as I say, the inside of this life
and what it required, and how triumphs and notoriety were gained, was it
a wonder that she gradually became in her gayety cynical, in her
judgments bitter?

I am not criticising her. What are we, who have had no opportunities, to
sit in judgment on her! I believe that it is true that it was at her
solicitation that Henderson at last did endow a university in the
Southwest. I know that her name was on all the leading charities of the
city. I know that of all the patronesses of the charity ball her costume
was the most exquisite, and her liberality was most spoken of. I know
that in the most fashionable house of worship (the newspapers call it
that) she was a constant attendant; that in her modest garb she never
missed a Lenten service; and we heard that she performed a novena during
this penitential season.

Why protract the story of how Margaret was lost to us? Could this
interest any but us--we who felt the loss because we still loved her? And
why should we presume to set up our standard of what is valuable in life,
of what is a successful career? She had not become what we hoped, and
little by little all the pleasure of intercourse on both sides, I dare
say, disappeared. Could we say that life, after all, had not given her
what she most desired? Rather than write on in this strain about her, I
would like to read her story as it appeared to the companions whose
pleasures were her pleasures, whose successes were her successes--her
story written by one who appreciated her worldly advantages, and saw all
the delight there was in this attractive wor