t.

"No, I'm talking about men," Morgan continued. "Consider Henderson--it's
entirely impersonal--as a gardener. What does he get out of his
occupation? He can look at the flower. Perhaps that is enough. He gets a
good dinner when he has time for it, an hour at his club now and then,
occasionally an evening or half a day off at home, a decent wardrobe--"

"Fifty-two suits," interposed Margaret.

"His own brougham--"

"And a four-in-hand," added Margaret.

"A pass on the elevated road--"

"And a steam-yacht."

"Which he never gets time to sail in; practically all the time on the
road, or besieged by a throng in his office, hustled about from morning
till night, begged of, interviewed, a telegraphic despatch every five
minutes, and--"

"And me!" cried Margaret, rising. The guests all clapped their hands.

The Hendersons liked to have their house full, something going on
--dinners, musicales, readings, little comedies in the theatre; there was
continual coming and going, calling, dropping in for a cup of tea, late
suppers after the opera; the young fellows of town found no place so
agreeable for a half-hour after business as Mrs. Henderson's
reception-room. I fancied that life would be dull and hang heavily,
especially for Margaret, without this perpetual movement and excitement.
Henderson, who certainly had excitement enough without seeking it at
home, was pleased that his wife should be a leader in society, as he was
in the great enterprises in which his fortune waxed to enormous
proportions. About what we call the home life I do not know. Necessarily,
as heretofore, Henderson was often absent, and whether Margaret
accompanied him or not, a certain pace of life had to be kept up.

I suppose there is no delusion more general than that of retiring upon a
fortune--as if, when gained, a fortune would let a person retire, or,
still more improbable, as if it ever were really attained. It is not at
all probable that Henderson had set any limit to that he desired; the
wildest speculations about its amount would no doubt fall short of
satisfying the love of power which he expected to gratify in immeasurably
increasing it. Does not history teach us that to be a great general, or
poet, or philanthropist, is not more certain to preserve one's name than
to be the richest man, the Croesus, in his age? I could imagine Margaret
having a certain growing pride in this distinction, and a glowing
ambition to be socially what her