I enjoyed this virtuous talk for itself; still more, I enjoyed teasing her. Her delicate, refined, ladylike nerves were aristocratically sensitive. Have you observed that peculiarity of lady nerves? A lady will live with the most shocking husband for luxury. She will endure the most degrading humiliations to get dresses, jewels, motor cars. She will crawl in the dirt to gain or to improve social position. She will, without a quiver, kiss her worst enemy, cut her dearest friends, in the furtherance of any ladylike purpose. But talk to her of self-respecting independence, of earning her own living, or of any of the homely decencies of life--of her ignorant old parents or unsightly poor relatives--and what a fairy princess of high-strung nerves she straightway becomes. Yes, Edna was a lady--a perfect lady, as perfect as if she had been born to it. To my surprise I had daunted her only for the day; the following afternoon she began again. “This heavenly weather!” she exclaimed. “It tempts me to stay on and on.” “I hope it will last over Sunday,” said I. She ignored the shaft, and went on with undiminished enthusiasm: “And really New York has improved. In some respects it can be compared to Paris--though, of course, it has no background. A city can be built in a generation or so. But to build up the country--that takes centuries.” “It’s building up rapidly,” said I. “You’ll be astonished Sunday by the change down where the old folks are. The Fosdicks have bought up twenty farms or so, and are making a park. I saw Amy Siersdorf not long ago and she spoke of having stopped at father’s place and got milk and corn bread.” “The fluffy little cat,” said Edna, not especially ruffled. “I shall snub her the first time we meet. But I was about to speak of our house. I am arranging to open it. Of course, Margot can’t come over _this_ winter, but I don’t really need her. We owe it to our friends here to do something socially. I want to stop the gossip.” “The gossip?” said I. “The talk because we are not living together. It isn’t dangerous, but it’s uncomfortable. I believe people like us ought to maintain the best social traditions--ought to set a good example to the lower classes.” “Oh, bother!” said I as good-humoredly as I could. “We’ll do as we please. Otherwise, where’s the use in having money?” A pause which I felt was hopeful. Edna said with affected carelessness: “_You_ don’t think people have a right to--to divorce?” At last! My intuition had been correct! “Why not?” replied I, my tone as casual as hers. “Certainly, if they wish.” A long silence. Then she: “Sometimes I feel that way myself. When two people find that they’re uncongenial, that they’d be better off--happier--if free to go their separate ways and to realize to the full their own ideals of life-- Why not?” “Precisely my view,” said I. Again a long silence. She finally said: “Has it ever occurred to you, Godfrey, that you and I might be better off--apart?”