“I--suppose,” said the earl, rising, “we shall see you again on the other side?” “Perhaps,” with a smile. Could anything be more commonplace than such a parting? Good-by, I shall see you tomorrow or next year, or in the next world. Hail and farewell! That is the common experience. But, oh, the bitterness of it to many a soul! It is quite possible that when the Earl of Chisholm said good-by, with an air of finality, Margaret felt that another part of her life was closed. He was not in any way an extraordinary person, he was not a very rich peer, probably with his modesty and conscientiousness, and devotion to the ordinary duties of his station, he would never attain high rank in the government. Yet no one could be long with him without apprehending that his life was on a high plane. It was with a little irritation that Margaret recognized this, and remembered, with a twinge of conscience, that it was upon that plane that her life once traveled. The time had been when the more important thing to her was the world of ideas, of books, of intellectual life, of passionate sympathy with the fortunes of humanity, of deepest interest in all the new thoughts struck out by the leaders who studied the profound problems of life and destiny. That peace of mind which is found only in the highest activity for the noblest ends she once had, though she thought it then unrest and striving--what Carmen, who was under no illusions about Henderson, or Uncle Jerry, or the world of fashion, and had an intuitive perception of cant that is sometimes denied to the children of light, called “taking pleasure in the things of the mind.” To do Margaret justice, there entered into her reflections no thought of the title and position of the Earl of Chisholm. They had never been alluring to her. If one could take any satisfaction in this phase of her character, her worldiness was purely American. “I hardly know which I should prefer,” Carmen was saying when they were talking over the ball and the earl's departure, “to be an English countess or the wife of an American millionaire.” “It might depend upon the man,” replied Margaret, with a smile. “The American,” continued Carmen, not heeding this suggestion, “has the greater opportunities, and is not hindered by traditions. If you were a countess you would have to act like a countess. If you are an American you can act--like anything--you can do what you please. That is nicer. Now, an earl must do what an earl has always done. What could you do with such a husband? Mind! Yes, I know, dear, about things of the mind. First, you know, he will be a gentleman socialist (in the magazines), and maybe a Christian socialist, or a Christian scientist, or something of that sort, interested in the Mind Cure.” “I should think that would suit you. Last I knew, you were deep in the Mind Cure.”