Margaret left Washington with regret.  She had a desire to linger in the opening of the charming spring there, for the little parks were brilliant with flower beds-tulips, hyacinths, crocuses, violets—­the magnolias and redbuds in their prodigal splendor attracted the eye a quarter of a mile away, and the slender twigs of the trees began to be suffused with tender green.  It was the sentimental time of the year.  But Congress had gone, and whatever might be the promise of the season, Henderson had already gathered the fruits that had been forced in the hothouse of the session.  He was in high spirits.

“It has all been so delightful, dear!” said Margaret as they rode away in the train, and caught their last sight of the dome.  They were in Hollowell’s private car, which the good-natured old fellow had put at their disposal.  And Margaret had a sense of how delightful and prosperous this world is as seen from a private car.

“Yes,” Henderson answered, thinking of various things; “it has been a successful winter.  The capital is really attractive.  It occurred to me the other day that America has invented a new kind of city, the apotheosis of the village—­Washington.”

They talked of the city, of the acquaintances of the winter, of Hollowell’s thoughtfulness in lending them his car, that their bridal trip, as he had said, might have a good finish.  Margaret’s heart opened to the world.  She thought of the friends at Brandon, she thought of the poor old ladies she was accustomed to look after in the city, of the ragged-school that she visited, of the hospital in which she was a manager, of the mission chapel.  The next Sunday would be Easter, and she thought of a hundred ways in which she could make it brighter for so many of the unfortunates.  Her heart was opened to the world, and looking across to Henderson, who was deep in the morning paper, she said, with a wife’s unblushing effrontery, “Dearest, how handsome you are!”

The home life took itself up again easily and smoothly in Washington Square.  Did there ever come a moment of reflection as to the nature of this prosperity which was altogether so absorbing and agreeable?  If it came, did it give any doubts and raise any of the old questions that used to be discussed at Brandon?  Wasn’t it the use that people made of money, after all, that was the real test?  She did not like Hollowell, but on acquaintance he was not the monster that he had appeared to her in the newspapers.  She was perplexed now and then by her husband’s business, but did it differ from that of other men she had known, except that it was on a larger scale?  And how much good could be done with money!

On Easter morning, when Margaret returned from early service, to which she had gone alone, she found upon her dressing-table a note addressed to “My Wife,” and in it a check for a large sum to her order, and a card, on which was written, “For Margaret’s Easter Charities.”  Flushed with pleasure, she ran to meet her husband on the landing as he was descending to breakfast, threw her arms about his neck, and, with tears in her eyes, cried, “Dearest, how good you are!”