Yes—­as she glanced at herself in a drawing-room mirror—­they should see that Henderson’s wife was capable of a success equal to his own, and she would stop the hateful gossip about him.  She set her foot firmly as she thought about it; she would crush those people who had sneered at them as parvenu.  She strayed into the noble gallery.  Some face there touched her, some landscape soothed her.  No, she said to herself, I will win them, I do not want hateful strife.

Who knows what is in a woman? how many moods in a quarter of an hour, and which is the characteristic one?  Was this the Margaret who had walked with Lyon that Sunday afternoon of the baptism, and had a heart full of pain for the pitiful suffering of the world?

As she sat there she grew calmer.  Her thoughts went away in a vision of all the social possibilities of this wonderful house.  From vaguely admiring what she looked at, she began to be critical; this and that could be changed to advantage; this shade of hanging was not harmonious; this light did not fall right.  She smiled to think that her husband thought it all done.  How he would laugh to find that she was already planning to rearrange it!  Hadn’t she been satisfied for almost twenty-four hours?  That was a long time for a woman.  Then she thought of the reception; of the guests; of what some of them would wear; how they would look about; what they would say.  She was already in that world which was so shining and shifting and attractive.  She did not hear Henderson come in until his arm was around her.

“Well, sweet, keeping house alone?  I’ve had a jolly day; lucky as old Mr. Luck.”

“Have you?” she cried, springing up.  “I’m so glad.  Come, see the house.”

“You look a little pale,” he said, as they strolled out to the conservatory together.

“Just a little tired,” she admitted.  “Do you know, Rodney, I hated this house at five o’clock—­positively hated it?”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know; I was thinking.  But I liked it at half-past six.  I love it now.  I’ve got used to it, as if I had always lived here.  Isn’t it beautiful everywhere?  But I’m going to make some changes.”

“A hanging garden on the roof?” Henderson asked, with meekness.

“That would be nice.  No, not now.  But to make over and take off the new look.  Everything looks so new.”

“Well, we will try to live that down.”

And so they wandered on, admiring, bantering, planning.  Could Etienne Debree have seen his descendant at this moment he would have been more than ever proud of his share in establishing the great republic, and of his appreciation of the promise of its beauty.  What satisfies a woman’s heart is luxury, thought Henderson, in an admiring cynical moment.

They had come into his own den and library, and he stood looking at the rows of his favorite collection shining in their new home.  For all its newness it had a familiar look.  He thought for a moment that he might be in his old bachelor quarters.  Suddenly Margaret made a rush at him.  She shook the great fellow.  She feasted her eyes on him.