ies, the books, that unlimited money and the
opportunity of foreign travel had collected in all these years. "We must
either build or send our things to a warehouse," Henderson had long
ago said. Among the obligations of wealth is the obligation of display.
People of small means do not allow for the expansion of mind that
goes along with the accumulation of property. It was only natural that
Margaret, who might have been contented with two rooms and a lean-to
as the wife of a country clergyman, should have felt cramped in her old
house, which once seemed a world too large for the country girl.

"I don't see how you could do with less room," Carmen said, with an air
of profound conviction. They were looking about the house on its last
uninhabited day, directing the final disposition of its contents. For
Carmen, as well as for Margaret, the decoration and the furnishing of
the house had been an occupation. The girl had the whim of playing the
part of restrainer and economizer in everything; but Henderson used to
say, when Margaret told him of Carmen's suggestions, that a little more
of her economy would ruin him.

"Yes," Margaret admitted, "there does not seem to be anything that is
not necessary."

"Not a thing. When you think of it, two people require as much space
as a dozen; when you go beyond one room, you must go on. Of course you
couldn't get on without a reception-room, drawing-rooms, a conservatory,
a music-room, a library, a morning-room, a breakfast-room, a small
dining-room and a state dining-room, Mr. Henderson's snuggery, with his
own library, a billiard-room, a picture-gallery--it is full already;
you'll have to extend it or sell some pictures--your own suite and Mr.
Henderson's suite, and the guest-rooms, and I forgot the theatre in the
attic. I don't see but you have scrimped to the last degree."

"And yet there is room to move about," Margaret acknowledged, with a
gratified smile, as they wandered around. "Dear me, I used to think the
Stotts' house was a palace."

It was the height of the season before Lent. There had been one delay
and another, but at last all the workmen had been expelled, and Margaret
was mistress of her house. Cards for the house-warming had been out for
two weeks, and the event was near. She was in her own apartments this
pale, wintry afternoon, putting the finishing touches to her toilet.
Nothing seemed to suit. The maid found her in a very bad humor.
"Remember," she had said