Our lives are largely made up of the things we do not have. In May, the time of the apple blossoms--just a year from the swift wooing of Margaret--Miss Forsythe received a letter from John Lyon. It was in a mourning envelope. The Earl of Chisholm was dead, and John Lyon was Earl of Chisholm. The information was briefly1 conveyed, but with an air of profound sorrow. The letter spoke2 of the change that this loss brought to his own life, and the new duties laid upon him, which would confine him more closely to England. It also contained congratulations--which circumstances had delayed--upon Mrs. Henderson's marriage, and a simple wish for her happiness. The letter was longer than it need have been for these purposes; it seemed to love to dwell upon the little visit to Brandon and the circle of friends there, and it was pervaded3 by a tone, almost affectionate, towards Miss Forsythe, which touched her very deeply. She said it was such a manly5 letter.
America, the earl said, interested him more and more. In all history, he wrote, there never had been such an opportunity for studying the formation of society, for watching the working out of political problems; the elements meeting were so new, and the conditions so original, that historical precedents6 were of little service as guides. He acknowledged an almost irresistible7 impulse to come back, and he announced his intention of another visit as soon as circumstances permitted.
I had noticed this in English travelers of intelligence before. Crude as the country is, and uninteresting according to certain established standards, it seems to have a "drawing" quality, a certain unexplained fascination8. Morgan says that it is the social unconventionality that attracts, and that the American women are the loadstone. He declares. that when an Englishman secures and carries home with him an American wife, his curiosity about the country is sated. But this is generalizing on narrow premises9.
There was certainly in Lyon's letter a longing10 to see the country again, but the impression it made upon me when I read it--due partly to its tone towards Miss Forsythe, almost a family tone--was that the earldom was an empty thing without the love of Margaret Debree. Life is so brief at the best, and has so little in it when the one thing that the heart desires is denied. That the earl should wish to come to America again without hope or expectation was, however, quite human nature. If a man has found a diamond and lost it, he is likely to go again and again and wander about the field where he found it, not perhaps in any defined hope of finding another, but because there is a melancholy11 satisfaction in seeing the spot again. It was some such feeling that impelled12 the earl to wish to see again Miss Forsythe, and perhaps to talk of Margaret, but he certainly had no thought that there were two Margaret Debrees in America.
To her aunt's letter conveying the intelligence of Mr. Lyon's loss, Margaret replied with a civil message of condolence. The news had already reached the Eschelles, and Carmen, Margaret said, had written to the new earl a most pious13 note, which contained no allusion14 to his change of fortune, except an expression of sympathy with his now enlarged opportunity for carrying on his philanthropic plans--a most unworldly note. "I used to think," she had said, when confiding15 what she had done to Margaret, "that you would make a perfect missionary16 countess, but you have done better, my dear, and taken up a much more difficult work among us fashionable sinners. Do you know," she went on, "that I feel a great deal less worldly than I used to?"
Margaret wrote a most amusing account of this interview, and added that Carmen was really very good-hearted, and not half as worldly-minded as she pretended to be; an opinion with which Miss Forsythe did not at all agree. She had spent a fortnight with Margaret after Easter, and she came back in a dubious17 frame of mind. Margaret's growing intimacy18 with Carmen was one of the sources of her uneasiness. They appeared to be more and more companionable, although Margaret's clear perception of character made her estimate of Carmen very nearly correct. But the fact remained that she found her company interesting. Whether the girl tried to astonish the country aunt, or whether she was so thoroughly19 a child of her day as to lack certain moral perceptions, I do not know, but her candid20 conversation greatly shocked Miss Forsythe.
"Margaret," she said one day, in one of her apparent bursts of confidence, "seems to have had such a different start in life from mine. Sometimes, Miss Forsythe, she puzzles me. I never saw anybody so much in love as she is with Mr. Henderson; she doesn't simply love him, she is in love with him. I don't wonder she is fond of him--any woman might be that--but, do you know, she actually believes in him."
"Why shouldn't she believe in him?" exclaimed Miss Forsythe, in astonishment21.
"Oh, of course, in a way," the girl went on. "I like Mr. Henderson--I like him very much--but I don't believe in him. It isn't the way now to believe in anybody very much. We don't do it, and I think we get along just as well--and better. Don't you think it's nicer not to have any deceptions22?"
Miss Forsythe was too much stunned23 to make any reply. It seemed to her that the bottom had fallen out of society.
"Do you think Mr. Henderson believes in people?" the girl persisted.
"If he does not he isn't much of a man. If people don't believe in each other, society is going to pieces. I am astonished at such a tone from a woman."
"Oh, it isn't any tone in me, my dear Miss Forsythe," Carmen continued, sweetly. "Society is a great deal pleasanter when you are not anxious and don't expect too much."
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 condemning24 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 solicitous25 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 tolerance26 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 delightful27 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 confidential28 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 villa29 by the sea, and a cottage in the hills. When these are secured--each one an establishment more luxurious30 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 nomadism31, which is nothing less than society on wheels, cannot be satirized32 as a whim33 of fashion; it has a serious cause in--the discovery of the disease called nervous prostration34, 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.
Margaret came to Brandon at the beginning of June, just at the season when the region was at its loveliest, and just when its society was making preparations to get away from it to the sea, or the mountains, or to any place that was not home. I could never understand why a people who have been grumbling35 about snow and frost for six months, and longing for genial36 weather, should flee from it as soon as it comes. I had made the discovery, quite by chance--and it was so novel that I might have taken out a patent on it--that if one has a comfortable home in our northern latitude37, he cannot do better than to stay in it when the hum of the mosquito is heard in the land, and the mercury is racing38 up and down the scale between fifty and ninety. This opinion, however, did not extend beyond our little neighborhood, and we may be said to have had the summer to ourselves.
I fancied that the neighborhood had not changed, but the coming of Margaret showed me that this was a delusion39. No one can keep in the same place in life simply by standing40 still, and the events of the past two years had wrought41 a subtle change in our quiet. Nothing had been changed to the eye, yet something had been taken away, or something had been added, a door had been opened into the world. Margaret had come home, yet I fancied it was not the home to her that she had been thinking about. Had she changed?
She was more beautiful. She had the air--I should hesitate to call it that of the fine lady--of assured position, something the manner of that greater world in which the possession of wealth has supreme42 importance, but it was scarcely a change of manner so much as of ideas about life and of the things valuable in it gradually showing itself. Her delight at being again with her old friends was perfectly43 genuine, and she had never appeared more unselfish or more affectionate. If there was a subtle difference, it might very well be in us, though I found it impossible to conceive of her in her former role of teacher and simple maiden44, with her heart in the little concerns of our daily life. And why should she be expected to go back to that stage? Must we not all live our lives? Miss Forsythe's solicitude45 about Margaret was mingled46 with a curious deference47, as to one who had a larger experience of life than her own. The girl of a year ago was now the married woman, and was invested with something of the dignity that Miss Forsythe in her pure imagination attached to that position. Without yielding any of her opinions, this idea somehow changed her relations to Margaret; a little, I thought, to the amusement of Mrs. Fletcher and the other ladies, to whom marriage took on a less mysterious aspect. It arose doubtless from a renewed sense of the incompleteness of her single life, long as it had been, and enriched as it was by observation.
In that June there were vexatious strikes in various parts of the country, formidable combinations of laboring48-men, demonstrations49 of trades-unions, and the exhibition of a spirit that sharply called attention to the unequal distribution of wealth. The discontent was attributed in some quarters to the exhibition of extreme luxury and reckless living by those who had been fortunate. It was even said that the strikes, unreasonable50 and futile51 as they were, and most injurious to those who indulged in them, were indirectly52 caused by the railway manipulation, in the attempt not only to crush out competition, but to exact excessive revenues on fictitious53 values. Resistance to this could be shown to be blind, and the strikers technically54 in the wrong, yet the impression gained ground that there was something monstrously55 wrong in the way great fortunes were accumulated, in total disregard of individual rights, and in a materialistic56 spirit that did not take into account ordinary humanity. For it was not alone the laboring class that was discontented, but all over the country those who lived upon small invested savings57, widows and minors58, found their income imperiled by the trickery of rival operators and speculators in railways and securities, who treated the little private accumulations as mere59 counters in the games they were playing. The loss of dividends60 to them was poorly compensated61 by reflections upon the development of the country, and the advantage to trade of great consolidations, which inured62 to the benefit of half a dozen insolent63 men.
In discussing these things in our little parliament we were not altogether unprejudiced, it must be confessed. For, to say nothing of interests of Mr. Morgan and my own, which seemed in some danger of disappearing for the "public good," Mrs. Fletcher's little fortune was nearly all invested in that sound "rock-bed" railway in the Southwest that Mr. Jerry Hollowell had recently taken under his paternal64 care. She was assured, indeed, that dividends were only reserved pending65 some sort of reorganization, which would ultimately be of great benefit to all the parties concerned; but this was much like telling a hungry man that if he would possess his appetite in patience, he would very likely have a splendid dinner next year. Women are not constituted to understand this sort of reasoning. It is needless to say that in our general talks on the situation these personalities66 were not referred to, for although Margaret was silent, it was plain to see that she was uneasy.
Morgan liked to raise questions of casuistry, such as that whether money dishonestly come by could be accepted for good purposes.
"I had this question referred to me the other day," he said. "A gambler--not a petty cheater in cards, but a man who has a splendid establishment in which he has amassed67 a fortune, a man known for his liberality and good-fellowship and his interest in politics--offered the president of a leading college a hundred thousand dollars to endow a professorship. Ought the president to take the money, knowing how it was made?"
"Wouldn't the money do good--as much good as any other hundred thousand dollars?" asked Margaret.
"Perhaps. But the professorship was to bear his name, and what would be the moral effect of that?"
"Did you recommend the president to take the money, if he could get it without using the gambler's name?"
"I am not saying yet what I advised. I am trying to get your views on a general principle."
"But wouldn't it be a sneaking68 thing to take a man's money, and refuse him the credit of his generosity69?"
"But was it generosity? Was not his object, probably, to get a reputation which his whole life belied70, and to get it by obliterating71 the distinction between right and wrong?"
"But isn't it a compromising distinction," my wife asked, "to take his money without his name? The president knows that it is money fraudulently got, that really belongs to somebody else; and the gambler would feel that if the president takes it, he cannot think very disapprovingly72 of the manner in which it was acquired. I think it would be more honest and straightforward73 to take his name with the money."
"The public effect of connecting the gambler's name with the college would be debasing," said Morgan; "but, on the contrary, is every charity or educational institution bound to scrutinize74 the source of every benefaction? Isn't it better that money, however acquired, should be used for a good purpose than a bad one?"
"That is a question," I said, "that is a vital one in our present situation, and the sophistry75 of it puzzles the public. What would you say to this case? A man notoriously dishonest, but within the law, and very rich, offered a princely endowment to a college very much in need of it. The sum would have enabled it to do a great work in education. But it was intimated that the man would expect, after a while, to be made one of the trustees. His object, of course, was social position."
"I suppose, of course," Margaret replied, "that the college couldn't afford that. It would look like bribery76."
"Wouldn't he be satisfied with an LL.D.?" Morgan asked.
"I don't see," my wife said, "any difference between the two cases stated and that of the stock gambler, whose unscrupulous operations have ruined thousands of people, who founds a theological seminary with the gains of his slippery transactions. By accepting his seminary the public condones77 his conduct. Another man, with the same shaky reputation, endows a college. Do you think that religion and education are benefited in the long-run by this? It seems to me that the public is gradually losing its power of discrimination between the value of honesty and dishonesty. Real respect is gone when the public sees that a man is able to buy it."
This was a hot speech for my wife to make. For a moment Margaret flamed up under it with her old-time indignation. I could see it in her eyes, and then she turned red and confused, and at length said:
"But wouldn't you have rich men do good with their money?"
"Yes, dear, but I would not have them think they can blot78 out by their liberality the condemnation79 of the means by which many of them make money. That is what they are doing, and the public is getting used to it."
"Well," said Margaret, with some warmth, "I don't know that they are any worse than the stingy saints who have made their money by saving, and act as if they expected to carry it with them."
"Saints or sinners, it does not make much difference to me," now put in Mrs. Fletcher, who was evidently considering the question from a practical point of view, "what a man professes80, if he founds a hospital for indigent81 women out of the dividends that I never received."
Morgan laughed. "Don't you think, Mrs. Fletcher, that it is a good sign of the times, that so many people who make money rapidly are disposed to use it philanthropically?"
"It may be for them, but it does not console me much just now."
"But you don't make allowance enough for the rich. Perhaps they are under a necessity of doing something. I was reading this morning in the diary of old John Ward4 of Stratford-on-Avon this sentence: 'It was a saying of Navisson, a lawyer, that no man could be valiant82 unless he hazarded his body, nor rich unless he hazarded his soul.'"
"Was Navisson a modern lawyer?" I asked.
"No; the diary is dated 1648-1679."
"I thought so."
There was a little laugh at this, and the talk drifted off into a consideration of the kind of conscience that enables a professional man to espouse83 a cause he knows to be wrong as zealously84 as one he knows to be right; a talk that I should not have remembered at all, except for Margaret's earnestness in insisting that she did not see how a lawyer could take up the dishonest side.
Before Margaret went to Lenox, Henderson spent a few days with us. He brought with him the abounding85 cheerfulness, and the air of a prosperous, smiling world, that attended him in all circumstances. And how happy Margaret was! They went over every foot of the ground on which their brief courtship had taken place, and Heaven knows what joy there was to her in reviving all the tenderness and all the fear of it! Busy as Henderson was, pursued by hourly telegrams and letters, we could not but be gratified that his attention to her was that of a lover. How could it be otherwise, when all the promise of the girl was realized in the bloom and the exquisite86 susceptibility of the woman? Among other things, she dragged him down to her mission in the city, to which he went in a laughing and bantering87 mood. When he had gone away, Margaret ran over to my wife, bringing in her hand a slip of paper.
"See that!" she cried, her eyes dancing with pleasure. It was a check for a thousand dollars. "That will refurnish the mission from top to bottom," she said, "and run it for a year."
"How generous he is!" cried my wife. Margaret did not reply, but she looked at the check, and there were tears in her eyes.
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briefly
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spoke
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pervaded
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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manly
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precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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irresistible
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fascination
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premises
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longing
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melancholy
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impelled
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pious
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allusion
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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missionary
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dubious
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intimacy
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thoroughly
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candid
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astonishment
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deceptions
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stunned
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condemning
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solicitous
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tolerance
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delightful
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confidential
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villa
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luxurious
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nomadism
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satirized
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whim
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prostration
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grumbling
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genial
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latitude
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racing
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delusion
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standing
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wrought
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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perfectly
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maiden
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solicitude
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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deference
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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futile
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indirectly
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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monstrously
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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minors
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| n.未成年人( minor的名词复数 )；副修科目；小公司；[逻辑学]小前提v.[主美国英语]副修，选修，兼修( minor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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condones
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的第三人称单数 ) | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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