warm, glorious companionship of the honeymoon, to quarrels, to
truces, to discussion, to a recognition of their utter difference in
point of view, and to this final independent, cool adjustment, that
left their lives as utterly separated as if they had never met.

Yet she had done only what all the women she knew had done, Margaret
reminded herself in self-justification. She had done it a little
more brilliantly, perhaps; she had spent more money, worn handsomer
jewels and gowns; she had succeeded in idling away her life in that
utter leisure that was the ideal of them all, whether they were
quite able to achieve it or not. Some women had to order their
dinners, had occasionally to go about in hired vehicles, had to
consider the cost of hats and gowns; but Margaret, the envied, had
her own carriage and motor-car, her capable housekeeper, her yearly
trip to Paris for uncounted frocks and hats.

All the women she knew were useless, boasting rather of what they
did not have to do than of what they did, and Margaret was more
successfully useless than the others. But wasn't that the lot of a
woman who is rich, and marries a richer man? Wasn't it what married
life should be?

"I don't know what makes me nervous to-night," Margaret said to
herself finally, settling back comfortably in her furs. "Perhaps I
only imagine John is going to make one of his favorite scenes when
we get home. Probably he hasn't seen the article at all. I don't
care, anyway! If it SHOULD come to a divorce, why, we know plenty of
people who are happier that way. Thank Heaven, there isn't a child
to complicate things!"