to have "made a mess of things"--what more could one ask?

Of course, pounding irritably with her club, the only reason for not
marrying him was that there were too many reasons for doing so. She could
not think of a single person who would furnish the stimulus of an
objection. Stupid to have every one so pleased! But there must always be
something wrong, so let that be appeased in having everything just right.
And then there was Cuba for one's adventurous sense.

She looked about her with satisfaction. It frequently happened that the
place where one was inspired keen sense of the attractions of some other
place. But this time there was no place she would rather be than just
where she found herself. For she was a little tired, after a long round
of visits at gay places, and this quiet, beautiful island out in the
Mississippi--large, apart, serene--seemed a great lap into which to sink.
She liked the quarters: big old-fashioned houses in front of which the
long stretch of green sloped down to the river. There was something
peculiarly restful in the spaciousness and stability, a place which the
disagreeable or distressing things of life could not invade. Most of the
women were away, which was the real godsend, for the dreariness and
desolation of pleasure would be eliminated. A quiet post was charming
until it tried to be gay--so mused Miss Katherine Wayneworth Jones.

And of various other things, mused she. Her brother, Captain Wayneworth
Jones, was divorced from his wife and wedded to something he was hoping
would in turn be wedded to a rifle; all the scientific cells of the
family having been used for Wayne's brain, it was hard for Katie to get
the nature of the attachment, but she trusted the ordnance department
would in time solemnly legalize the affair--Wayne giving in
marriage--destruction profiting happily by the union. Meanwhile Wayne was