Miss Forsythe told Margaret that she thought Miss Eschelle was a dangerous woman.  Margaret did not defend her, but she did not join, either, in condemning her; she appeared to have accepted her as a part of her world.  And there were other things that Margaret seemed to have accepted without that vigorous protest which she used to raise at whatever crossed her conscience.  To her aunt she was never more affectionate, never more solicitous about her comfort and her pleasure, and it was almost enough to see Margaret happy, radiant, expanding day by day in the prosperity that was illimitable, only there was to her a note of unreality in all the whirl and hurry of the busy life.  She liked to escape to her room with a book, and be out of it all, and the two weeks away from her country life seemed long to her.  She couldn’t reconcile Margaret’s love of the world, her tolerance of Carmen, and other men and women whose lives seemed to be based on Carmen’s philosophy, with her devotion to the church services, to the city missions, and the dozens of charities that absorb so much of the time of the leaders of society.

“You are too young, dear, to be so good and devout,” was Carmen’s comment on the situation.

To Miss Forsythe’s wonder, Margaret did not resent this impertinence, but only said that no accumulation of years was likely to bring Carmen into either of these dangers.  And the reply was no more satisfactory to Miss Forsythe than the remark that provoked it.

That she had had a delightful visit, that Margaret was more lovely than ever, that Henderson was a delightful host, was the report of Miss Forsythe when she returned to us.  In a confidential talk with my wife she confessed, however, that she couldn’t tell whither Margaret was going.

One of the worries of modern life is the perplexity where to spend the summer.  The restless spirit of change affects those who dwell in the country, as well as those who live in the city.  No matter how charming the residence is, one can stay in it only a part of the year.  He actually needs a house in town, a villa by the sea, and a cottage in the hills.  When these are secured—­each one an establishment more luxurious year by year—­then the family is ready to travel about, and is in a greater perplexity than before whether to spend the summer in Europe or in America, the novelties of which are beginning to excite the imagination.  This nomadism, which is nothing less than society on wheels, cannot be satirized as a whim of fashion; it has a serious cause in—­the discovery of the disease called nervous prostration, which demands for its cure constant change of scene, without any occupation.  Henderson recognized it, but he said that personally he had no time to indulge in it.  His summer was to be a very busy one.  It was impossible to take Margaret with him on his sudden and tedious journeys from one end of the country to the other, but she needed a change.  It was therefore arranged that after a visit to Brandon she should pass the warm months with the Arbusers in their summer home at Lenox, with a month—­the right month—­in the Eschelle villa at Newport; and he hoped never to be long absent from one place or the other.