And Margaret, what view of the world did all this give her?  Did she come in contact with any one who had not his price, who was not going or wanting to go in the general current?  Was it not natural that she should take Henderson’s view?  Dear me, I am not preaching about her.  We did not see much of her in those days, and for one or two years of what I suppose was her greatest enjoyment of her social triumphs.  So far as we heard, she was liked, admired, followed, envied.  It could not be otherwise, for she did not lose her beauty nor her charm, and she tried to please.  Once when I saw her in the city and we fell into talk—­and the talk was gay enough and unconstrained—­I was struck with a certain hardness of tone, a little bitterness quite unlike her old self.  It is a very hard thing to say, and I did not say it even to my wife, but I had a painful impression that she was valuing people by the money they had, by the social position they had attained.

Was she content in that great world in which she moved?  I had heard stories of slights, of stabs, of rebuffs, of spiteful remarks.  Had she not come to know how success even in social life is sometimes attained —­the meannesses, the jealousies, the cringing?  Even with all her money at command, did she not know that her position was at the price of incessant effort?  Because she had taken a bold step today, she must take a bolder one tomorrow—­more display, more servants, some new invention of luxury and extravagance.  And seeing, as I say, the inside of this life and what it required, and how triumphs and notoriety were gained, was it a wonder that she gradually became in her gayety cynical, in her judgments bitter?

I am not criticising her.  What are we, who have had no opportunities, to sit in judgment on her!  I believe that it is true that it was at her solicitation that Henderson at last did endow a university in the Southwest.  I know that her name was on all the leading charities of the city.  I know that of all the patronesses of the charity ball her costume was the most exquisite, and her liberality was most spoken of.  I know that in the most fashionable house of worship (the newspapers call it that) she was a constant attendant; that in her modest garb she never missed a Lenten service; and we heard that she performed a novena during this penitential season.

Why protract the story of how Margaret was lost to us?  Could this interest any but us—­we who felt the loss because we still loved her?  And why should we presume to set up our standard of what is valuable in life, of what is a successful career?  She had not become what we hoped, and little by little all the pleasure of intercourse on both sides, I dare say, disappeared.  Could we say that life, after all, had not given her what she most desired?  Rather than write on in this strain about her, I would like to read her story as it appeared to the companions whose pleasures were her pleasures, whose successes were her successes—­her story written by one who appreciated her worldly advantages, and saw all the delight there was in this attractive worldliness.