The details of Edith's campaign for mutual improvement outlined themselves one by one; but it struck Rodney as a little hard that on his side the improvement was to be carried out by definite acts of self-denial, by giving up old habits and forming new ones, whereas on Edith's side apparently the foundation was perfectly sound, and all that was necessary was to cultivate virtues already in existence. "You know, Edwin," he said to his brother one evening, a few months after his marriage and a few months before Edwin's, "there's a Hell of a lot of difference between being a bachelor and a married man. I never realised how much I'd have to change. I used to think I was pretty harmless, but according to Edith, I'm a mass of poisonous habits. Not that she isn't a wonderful woman," he added loyally, "clever and capable and all that. But she certainly has got a bee in her bonnet about drink and smoking and language." "Women are like that," said Edwin gloomily. "You know it's funny how helpless and bullied Dora used to be, with old Mrs. Pilkington giving her no end of a bad time, but now they are running about together as thick as thieves, choosing the furniture, choosing the house, and if I happen to suggest anything you may be sure it doesn't fit in with their scheme." "That's just it. They've always got a scheme. Now Edith's scheme is that I should gradually be weaned away from drink. You know how little I drink, Edwin; less than most of the men I know, but she thinks it's a habit and I'm a slave to it or something like that, and you know I believe she'd put one of those stinking pills they're always advertising into my coffee if she thought it would make me give up port." Edwin laughed morosely. "I can just see her dropping it in," he said. "All for your own good, you know, and it pains her more than you." His face grew serious, and he added rather diffidently: "I say, Rodney, I haven't had an awful lot of experience, you know; you might just tell me, does Edith cry a lot?" "Cry?" repeated Rodney, looking startled. "Oh, cry. No, she doesn't. Why, does Dora?" "Well, yes she does, rather a lot. She bursts into tears pretty easily and takes offence, but then of course she's always had such a rotten time." "Edith takes offence a good deal, but she doesn't cry. It makes her sort of cold and dignified. In fact I think she feels she's getting on with her self-improvement campaign when she just reasons gently with me instead of getting angry." Rodney suddenly felt guilty of disloyalty to his good-looking and adequate wife. He adopted the hearty tone of the happily married man and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Edith's all right," he said, "and you'll find Dora'll be all right, too. Don't worry, Edwin; things settle themselves nicely."