“But you don’t quite understand,” said she. “_I_ want children. I am thinking of selecting some trustworthy man with good physical and mental qualities. I have had experience. I ought to be able to judge--and not being in love with him I shall not be so likely to make a mistake. I shall marry, and the children will give me love and occupation. You may laugh, but I tell you the only occupation worthy of a man or a woman is bringing up children. All the rest--for men as well as for women--is--is like a hen laying eggs to rot in the weeds.... Bringing up children to develop us, to give us a chance to make them an improvement on ourselves. That’s the best.” As the full meaning of what she had said unfolded I was filled with astonishment. How clear and simple--how true. Why had I not seen this long ago--why had it been necessary to have it pointed out by another? “I believe--yes, I’m sure--that’s what I’ve been groping for,” I said to her. “I thought you’d understand,” said she, and most flattering was her tone of pleasure at my obvious admiration. Thus our friendship was born. I could not but envy her freedom to seek to satisfy the longing I thus discovered in my own heart. So strongly did the mood for confidence possess me that only my long and hard training in self-restraint held me from the disloyalty of speaking my thoughts. I said: “It’s dismal to grow old with no ties in the oncoming generation. The sense of the utter futility of life would weigh more and more heavily. I’m surprised that you’ve realized it so young.” “A woman realizes it earlier than a man,” she reminded me. “For a woman has no career to interfere and prevent her seeing the truth.” A woman! Rather, a rare occasional Mary Kirkwood. Most women never looked beyond the gratification of the crudest, easiest vanities and appetites. “Yes, you are right,” I continued. “You ought to marry--as soon as you can. The man isn’t important, except in the ways you spoke of. So far as man and woman love is concerned, that quickly passes--where it ever exists at all. But the bond of father, mother, and children is enduring--at least, I’m sure _you_ would make it so.” We sat lost in thought for some time--I reflecting moodily upon my own baffled and now seemingly hopeless longing, she probably busy with the ideas suggested in her next speech. “The main trouble is money,” said she. “Except for that my husband would have been all right. When we first met he did not know my family had wealth. He thought I belonged to another and poor branch. And I think he cared for me, and would have been the man I sought but for the money. It roused a dormant side of his nature, and everything went to pieces.” “Then, marry a rich man,” I suggested.