perhaps ennobled by it.
Is there not something supernatural in such a love itself? It has a
wonderful transforming power. It is certain that a new light, a tender
light, was cast upon her world. And who can say that some time, in the
waiting and working future, this new light might not change life
altogether for this faithful soul?

There was one person upon whom the tragedy of life thus far sat lightly.
Even her enemies, if she had any, would not deny that Carmen had an
admirable temperament. If she had been a Moslem, it might be predicted
that she would walk the wire 'El Serat' without a tremor. In these days
she was busy with the plans of her new house. The project suited her
ambition and her taste. The structure grew in her mind into barbaric
splendor, but a barbaric splendor refined, which reveled in the exquisite
adornment of the Alhambra itself. She was in daily conferences with her
architect and her artists, she constantly consulted Jack about it, and
Mavick whenever he was in town, and occasionally she awakened the
interest of Henderson himself, who put no check upon her proceedings,
although his mind was concerned with a vaster structure of his own.
She talked of little else, until in her small world there grew up a vast
expectation of magnificence, of which hints appeared from time to time in
the newspapers, mysterious allusions to Roman luxury, to Nero and his
Golden House. Henderson read these paragraphs, as he read the paragraphs
about his own fortune, with a grim smile.

"Your house is getting a lot of free advertising," he said to Carmen one
evening after dinner in the library, throwing the newspaper on the table
as he spoke.

"They all seem to like the idea," replied Carmen. "Did you see what one
of the papers said about the use of wealth in adorning the city? That's
my notion."

"I suppose," said Henderson, with a smile, "that you put that notion into
the reporter's head."

"But he thought he suggested it to me."

"Let's look over the last drawing." Henderson half rose from his chair
to pull the sheet towards him, but instantly sank back, and put his hand
to his heart. Carmen saw that he was very pale, and ran round to his
chair.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, taking a long breath. "Just a stitch. Indigestion.
It must have been the coffee."

Carmen ran to the dining-room, and returned with a wineglass of brandy.

"There, take that."

He drank it. "Yes, that's better. I'm all right