“Suppose there were a button before you, and by pressing it you could have your heart’s dearest wish--wealth, fame, power, love, happiness--but if you did press that button, instantly a human being away off in China would fall dead. It might be an old man about to die anyhow--or horribly diseased--or some dreadful criminal--or the mother of some baby needing all her love and care--or the father and only support of a family--or some girl like yourself, about to marry and be happy. You would never know whom you had killed; but--some one would be dead. Would you press the button or not?” “Isn’t that terrible!” said she. “Well, in these days the gentlemen who are so eager to be very rich have constructed a button--the corporation. It gives them their dearest wish--wealth and power. It removes responsibility away off, beyond their sight. They do not hesitate. They press the button. And then, away off, beyond their sight, so far from them that they can pretend--can make many believe, including themselves--that they really didn’t know and don’t know what the _other_ consequences of pressing the button are--away off there, as the button is pressed, people die, people starve, babies are slaughtered, misery blackens countless lives. The prosperous, respectable gentlemen press the button. And not they, but the corporation grabs public property--bribes public officials--hires men they never see to do their dirty work, their cruel work, their work of shame and death. They press the button--and the dividends pour in--and they ignore and forget the rest.” A long silence. He sat in one of his favorite attitudes--body bent forward, elbow on knees, eyes staring at the carpet. She slowly smoothed down first one sleeve of her blouse, then the other. At last she said: “Yes--that is it. I understand.” “We can’t take any of that money.” Again silence. Then she: “No, George--we can’t.” “You are _sure_ you understand?” “Ever since we became engaged I’ve been getting ready to be your wife.” “You have no secret hope--perhaps unknown to yourself--that I will change--will join your class?” “For a while--last spring--I had,” she confessed. “But soon--when I knew you better--and understood your speeches--then I didn’t want you to change.” She smiled quizzically--“not even your tailor.” He looked down at the new suit in which he thought himself almost too fine. But he couldn’t see how characteristically it bunched and bagged upon his figure intolerant of fashionable clothing. “Don’t you like this suit?” he inquired anxiously. “I got it to please you. I hoped you’d like it.” “I _love_ it,” she declared. “I wouldn’t have you changed one least little bit.” He rose. “I’ll go get the license. We can marry to-morrow--and start for home. We can stop off and look at Niagara Falls if you like. I’ve never seen it.”