“I’ll admit I like this better than the way we used to live in Passaic. Polly, you’ve got the best there is going. All the rest--all the luxury and other nonsense--is nothing but a source of unhappiness.” She did not answer. I noted a touching sadness in her expression. “You don’t agree with me?” said I. “Yes, I do,” replied she emphatically. “I wasn’t thinking of that.” “What have _you_ got to be unhappy about?” “You think I’m ungrateful to you,” said she, with quick sensitiveness. “But I’m not, Godfrey--indeed I’m not.” “Ungrateful?” I laughed. “Don’t talk nonsense.” “You’ve done all you could--all anyone could. And in a way I am happy. But----” “Yes?” I urged, as she hesitated. “Well, I’ve found out--looking back over my life--I’ve found out that I-- It seems to me I’ve got all the _tools_ of happiness, but nothing to _work on_. I keep thinking, ‘How happy I could be if I only had something to work on!’” I was silent. A shadow crept out of a black corner of my heart and cast a somberness and a chill over me. “You understand?” said she. I nodded. “I thought you would,” she went on. “Godfrey, I’ve often felt sorry for you--sorrier than I do for myself.” She laid her hand on my arm. “But you’re a man--a handsome, attractive, _young_ man. You’ll have only yourself to blame if you waste your life as mine’s been wasted.” “You don’t realize how lucky you’ve been,” said I, with a bitterness that surprised me. “You’ve at least escaped marriage.” “I wish to God I hadn’t,” cried she with an energy that startled me. There was a fierce look of pain in her eyes. “I thought you understood. But I see you don’t.” “What do you mean, Polly Ann?” said I gently. “The real unhappiness isn’t an unhappy marriage,” replied she. “It’s being not married at all--not having any children. You know what I am--an old maid. You think that means the same thing as old bachelor. Well, it don’t.” “Why not?” “An old bachelor--nine times out of ten that means simply an old, selfish, comfortable man. But an old maid-- The nature of woman’s different from the nature of man. A woman’s got to have a home--_her_ home--her nest, with her children in it. And I’m an old maid. If I’d been a man--” She turned on me. “I’m ugly, ain’t I? You know I am. _I_ know it. Dress me up in men’s clothes and I’d be a good-looking person--as a man. But as a woman I’m ugly. If I’d have been a man I could have got a mighty nice, mighty nice-looking wife--one that’d have been grateful to me for taking her and would have cared for me. But as a woman I couldn’t get a husband.” “You can get a very good one,” said I. “Money--what would have bought you a wife as a man--what buys most men their wives--will buy you a husband. And he’ll be grateful and loving, so long as you manage the purse strings well--just as most wives are loving and grateful if their husbands don’t treat them too indulgently.”