And it is difficult to condemn a person who goes with the general opinion of his generation.  Carmen was under no illusions about Henderson, or the methods and manners of which she was a part.  “Why pretend?” she said.  “We are all bad together, and I like it.  Uncle Jerry is the easiest person to get on with.”  I remember a delightful, wicked old baroness whom I met in my youth stranded in Geneva on short allowance—­European resorts are full of such characters.  “My dear,” she said, “why shouldn’t I renege?  Why shouldn’t men cheat at cards?  It’s all in the game.  Don’t we all know we are trying to deceive each other and get the best of each other?  I stopped pretending after Waterloo.  Fighting for the peace of Europe!  Bah!  We are all fighting for what we can get.”

So the Catachoobee Henderson Hall was dedicated, and Mr. Henderson got great credit out of it.

“It’s a noble deed, Mr. Henderson,” Carmen remarked, when they were at dinner on the car the day of their departure.  “But”—­in an aside to her host—­“I advise the lambs in Wall Street to look alive at your next deal.”

XX

We can get used to anything.  Morgan says that even the New England summer is endurable when you learn to dress warmly enough.  We come to endure pain and loss with equanimity; one thing and another drops out of our lives-youth, for instance, and sometimes enthusiasm—­and still we go on with a good degree of enjoyment.  I do not say that Miss Forsythe was quite the same, or that a certain zest of life and spring had not gone out of the little Brandon neighborhood.

As the months and the years went by we saw less and less of Margaret —­less and less, that is, in the old way.  Her rare visits were perfunctory, and gave little satisfaction to any of us; not that she was ungracious or unkindly, but simply because the things we valued in life were not the same.  There was no doubt that any of us were welcome at the Hendersons’ when they were in the city, genuinely, though in an exterior way, but gradually we almost ceased to keep up an intercourse which was a little effort on both sides.  Miss Forsythe came back from her infrequent city visits weary and sad.

Was Margaret content?  I suppose so.  She was gay; she was admired; she was always on view in that semi-public world in which Henderson moved; she attained a newspaper notoriety which many people envied.  If she journeyed anywhere, if she tarried anywhere, if she had a slight illness, the fact was a matter of public concern.  We knew where she worshiped; we knew the houses she frequented, the charities she patronized, the fetes she adorned, every new costume that her wearing made the fashion.  Was she content?  She could perhaps express no desire that an attempt was not made to gratify it.  But it seems impossible to get enough things enough money, enough pleasure.  They had a magnificent place in Newport; it was not