When I went to see Charles, I expected to find him overwhelmed with genuine grief, and Margaret, if she appeared at all, endeavoring to conceal the relief that was sure to be mixed with her natural sense of loss. Of course, Helen--Mrs. Bradford, that is--I should not see, for she had her own house. I should have to pay her a visit of condolence separately. I dreaded this first meeting, though I was really very sorry for Charles, whose devotion to his mother could not be doubted. I knew that he would expect me to say things at once consoling and laudatory, which would be difficult to frame. With so vocal a family, the pressure of a hand and a murmured word would be insufficient expressions of sympathy. When I reached the old house rather too far east on Thirty-eighth Street, I was in a state of mind so craven that I would gladly have shirked my duty on any pretext whatsoever; but I could think of none. Instead, I had to tell both Margaret and Charles how deeply I felt their loss. I found them up-stairs in the library, a dismal room with too much furniture of the seventies, a mean grate, and heavy bookcases filled with an odd collection of standard sets, reports of philanthropic societies and commissions, and presentation copies of works in all fields of literature and learning. I cherished a peculiar dislike for this room, and I found no help in its dreadful reminders of Mrs. Longbow’s active life. I did not quit myself well, but I managed to speak some phrases of commonplace sympathy. Charles, lean, dark, and bearded, took up my words, while Margaret drooped in her chair as though some spring had gone wrong inside her. “It was good of you to come so soon,” he said. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t have been here for the funeral. Our friends were magnificent. We were overwhelmed by the tide of sympathy. I think I might say that the whole country mourned with us. You would have appreciated it, as we did. It made one proud of America to see how she was revered; it made me personally ready to ask forgiveness for all my cheap outbursts of temper when I’ve thought the country was going wrong.” “The papers on the other side were full of praises for her,” I remarked uncomfortably. “I know,” returned Charles. “The world must be better than we have thought. I’d like to believe that the moral awakening in which she was a leader has stirred men and women everywhere to right the wrongs of humanity. But it will take more lives like hers to complete the work.” “She interested a great many people in reform who wouldn’t have taken it up if it hadn’t been for her influence. And all of you are carrying on work along the same lines.” I had to say something, and I could think of nothing less inane. “Yes,” Charlie answered, wrinkling his forehead; “we must go on as well as we can. But it’s like losing a pilot. She had genius.” Margaret Longbow suddenly straightened herself and began to wipe her eyes delicately.