HENRY GOWER was dead at sixty-one—the end of a lifelong fraud whichnever had been suspected, and never would be. With the world, with hisacquaintances and neighbors, with his wife and son and daughter, hepassed as a generous, warm-hearted, good-natured man, ready at alltimes to do anything to help anybody, incapable of envy or hatred ormeanness. In fact, not once in all his days had he ever thought ordone a single thing except for his own comfort. Like all intenselyselfish people who are wise, he was cheerful and amiable, because thatwas the way to be healthy and happy and to have those around oneagreeable and in the mood to do what one wished them to do. He toldpeople, not the truth, not the unpleasant thing that might help them,but what they wished to hear. His family lived in luxurious comfortonly because he himself was fond of luxurious comfort. His wife and hisdaughter dressed fashionably and went about and entertained in thefashionable, expensive way only because that was the sort of life thatgratified his vanity. He lived to get what he wanted; he got it everyday and every hour of a life into which no rain ever fell; he died,honored, respected, beloved, and lamented.
The clever trick he had played upon his fellow beings came very near todiscovery a few days after his death. His widow and her son anddaughter-in-law and daughter were in the living-room of the charminghouse at Hanging Rock, near New York, alternating between sorrowingsover the dead man and plannings for the future. Said the widow:
"If Henry had only thought what would become of us if he were takenaway!"
"If he had saved even a small part of what he made every year from thetime he was twenty-six—for he always made a big income," said his son,Frank.
"But he was so generous, so soft-hearted!" exclaimed the widow. "Hecould deny us nothing."
"He couldn't bear seeing us with the slightest wish ungratified," saidFrank.
"He was the best father that ever lived!" cried the daughter, Mildred.
And Mrs. Gower the elder and Mrs. Gower the younger wept; and Mildredturned away to hide the emotion distorting her face; and Frank staredgloomily at the carpet and sighed. The hideous secret of the life ofduplicity was safe, safe forever.
In fact, Henry Gower had often thought of the fate of his family if heshould die. In the first year of his married life, at a time whenpassion for a beautiful bride was almost sweeping him into generousthought, he had listened for upward of an hour to the eloquence of alife insurance agent. Then the agent, misled by Gower's effusivelygenerous and unselfish expressions, had taken a false tack. He haddescanted upon the supreme satisfaction that would be felt by a dyingman as he reflected how his young widow would be left in affluence. Hemade a vivid picture; Gower saw—saw his bride h