“That sort of thing is bully for dessert, but I want it after a long, satisfying meal of quiet contentment.” “Such as you have in Diversity?” “Such as can be had in Diversity,” he replied. “What makes contentment? I should like to have it.” “Contentment,” he said, slowly, selecting his words cautiously, “means to me the quiet feeling of decency and satisfaction and restfulness that comes to a man who is busy with a worth-while job. To have it fully there must be a home, a real home with a wife in it, and lads, and a dog and cat. All of them must be glad to see you come home at night, and sorry to see you leave in the morning. To have it your wife must believe in you more than you deserve, and you must trust her, and confide in her, and advise with her on all your concerns, sure of her interest. Yes, I think that is the indispensable element—marriage. The right sort of marriage—the sort the majority of folks are blessed with.” “It all sounds rather tame,” she said. “Marriage. Must I marry to be contented?” “To be so perfectly.” She laughed shortly. “I shall depend on a steady routine of excitement to make me forget I’m not contented,” she said. “Marriage!” She spoke almost savagely. “Of course marriage is the solution of everything. Women are taught to look forward to it from the cradle as—as their means of support. We’re trained to please men; we’re dressed to attract men; our whole lives are aimed at men. We catch one at twenty or at twenty-five, and our career is over. We’ve succeeded in life. Then we live on till sixty.” “You’ve read only the introduction to the story,” he said, soberly. “The book doesn’t begin to get interesting until you pass that.” “Very well, then. I must marry to be contented. But whom? Diversity isn’t swarming with husbands of any sort. Among the few available male inhabitants, how many would you pick out as welcome husbands for a girl with ambitions above turnips and the number of eggs a day? If you were a girl, with reasonable intelligence, reasonable capabilities to appreciate what we consider it cultured to appreciate, what man here would you pick out from Diversity’s young men who wouldn’t be a constant horror to you?” “You’re not limited to Diversity.” “But that is exactly what I am.” There was no obvious answer to this, and Jim drove on in silence. He sensed something of the girl’s position; appreciated, as he had not before appreciated, the feeling almost of despair that came over her as she looked into the future and found it gray, without gleaming lights or frightening shadows. She was a bird imprisoned among frogs. Presently they came to a little bridge over a stream which added its little flow to the volume of the lake. It was one of those reed-bordered streams which travel with a soothing lilt, winding along leisurely, contentedly.