It was not easy to be offended with Hollowell's kind-hearted boorishness, and after he had gone, Margaret sat a long time reflecting upon this new specimen of man in her experience. She was getting many new ideas in these days, the moral lines were not as clearly drawn as she had thought; it was impossible to ticket men off into good and bad. In Hollowell she had a glimpse of a world low-toned and vulgar; she had heard that he was absolutely unscrupulous, and she had supposed that he would appear to be a very wicked man. But he seemed to be good-hearted and tolerant and friendly. How fond he was of his family, and how charitable about Congress! And she wondered if the world was generally on Hollowell's level. She met many men more cultivated than he, gentlemen in manner and in the first social position, who took, after all, about his tone in regard to the world, very agreeable people usually, easy to get on with, not exacting, or professing much faith in anybody, and mildly cynical--only bitterly cynical when they failed to get what they wanted, and felt the good things of life slipping away from them. It was to take her some time to learn that some of the most agreeable people are those who have succeeded by the most questionable means; and when she came to this knowledge, what would be her power of judgment as to these means? “Mr. Hollowell has been here,” she said, when Henderson returned. “Old Jerry? He is a character.” “Do you trust him?” “It never occurred to me. Yes, I suppose so, as far as his interests go. He isn't a bad sort of fellow--very long-headed.” “Dear,” said Margaret, with hesitation, “I wish you didn't have anything to do with such men.” “Why, dearest?” “Oh, I don't know. You needn't laugh. It rather lets one down; and it isn't like you.” Henderson laughed aloud now. “But you needn't associate with Hollowell. We men cannot pick our companions in business and politics. It needs all sorts to keep the world going.” “Then I'd rather let it stop,” Margaret said. “And sell out at auction?” he cried, with a look of amusement. “But aren't Mr. Morgan and Mr. Fairchild business men?” “Yes--of the old-fashioned sort. The fact--is, Margaret, you've got a sort of preserve up in Brandon, and you fancy that the world is divided into sheep and goats. It's a great mistake. There is no such division. Every man almost is both a sheep and a goat.” “I don't believe it, Rodney. You are neither.” She came close to him, and taking the collar of his coat in each hand, gave him a little shake, and looking up into his face with quizzical affection, asked, “What is your business here?” Henderson stooped down and kissed her forehead, and tenderly lifted the locks of her brown hair. “You wouldn't understand, sweet, if I told you.” “You might try.” “Well, there's a man here from Fort Worth who wants us to buy a piece of railroad, and extend it, and join it with Hollowell's system, and open up a lot of new country.”