It was as the doctor had said; each one of these middle-class ladies considered herself a special case, but their stories all seemed to fit together. Nature’s boundless and irrational fecundity was an exceedingly trying feature of the life of middle-class ladies. In the first place, the having of babies was a tedious and painful matter. One became grotesquely disfigured, and had to hide away and sever all social relationships. One lost one’s grace and attractiveness, and hence the power to hold one’s husband. And then, there were all the cares and the inconveniences of children. What was one to do with them, in a city where the best hotels and apartment-houses barred them out? Then, too, even supposing the best of intentions--there was the cost of living. At present prices it was impossible for a man who had only a salary to support more than one or two children; and with prices increasing as they were, one could not be sure of educating even these. And meanwhile, the Nature of Things had apparently planned it that a woman should bear a child once a year for half her life-time! So all these middle-class ladies used devices to prevent conception. But these were not always successful--husbands were frequently inconsiderate. And so came the abortion-business, which the doctor had described as the curse of the age. Now and then one could accomplish the thing by some of the innumerable drugs that were advertised for the purpose. But these always made one ill, and seldom did anything else. Corydon met one young person, the wife of a rising stockbroker, who had presented her husband with twins in the first year of their marriage, and who declared that she was apparently designed to populate all the tenements in the city. This airy and vivacious young lady lay back in her automobile and prattled to Corydon, declaring that she was “always in trouble.” She had tried to coax her family physician in vain, and had finally gone elsewhere. She had got quite used to the experience. All that troubled her nowadays was how to make excuses to her friends, one could not have “appendicitis” forever! But there was another side to the matter. There was one woman who had had a hemorrhage; and another whose sister had contracted blood-poisoning, and had died in agony. There were even some who pleaded and exhorted like the doctor, and talked about the thing’s being murder. All of which arguments and fears Corydon brought to her husband, to be pondered and discussed. They spent whole days wandering about in the park in agony of soul. They had one brief month in which to decide the question--the question of life or death to the possible child. Truly here, once more, was an issue to which Thyrsis might apply the words af Carlyle-- “Choose well, your choice is Brief and yet endless!”