There was no occasion for Edna’s becoming vixenish and hard. It was altogether due to the idiotic and worthless social climbing. She had a swarm of friends, yet not a single friend. She cultivated people socially, and they cultivated her, not for the natural and kindly and elevating reasons, but altogether for the detestable purposes of that ghastly craze for social position. Edna was bitter against me for a long time, never again became fully reconciled, because I soon flatly refused to have anything to do with it. “They will think there’s something wrong about you, and about me, if you don’t come with me,” pleaded she. “I need my strength for my business,” said I. “And what do I care whether they think well or ill of me? They don’t give us any money.” “You are _so_ sordid!” cried she. “Sometimes I’m almost tempted to give up, and not try to be somebody and to make somebodies of Margot and you.” “I wish you would,” said I. “Why shouldn’t we live quietly and mind our own business and be happy?” “How fortunate it is for Margot that she has a mother with ambition and pride!” “Well--no matter. But please do get another cook. This one is, if anything, worse than the last--except when we have company.” We were forever changing cooks. The food that came on our table was something atrocious. I heard the same complaint from all my married associates at the office, even from the higher officials who were rich men and lived in great state. They, too, had American wives. In the markets and shops I saw as I passed along all sorts of attractive things to eat, and of real quality. I wondered why we never had those things on our table. Heaven knows we spent money enough. The time came when I got a clew to the mystery. One day Edna said: “I’ve been doing my housekeeping altogether by telephone. I think I’ll stop it, except on rainy days and when I don’t feel well.” By telephone! I laughed to myself. No wonder we had poor stuff and paid the highest prices for it. I thought a while, then to satisfy my curiosity began to ask questions, very cautiously, for Edna was extremely touchy, as we all are in matters where in our hearts we know we are in the wrong. “Do you remember what kind of range we have in our kitchen?” I asked. “I?” exclaimed she disgustedly. “Certainly not. I haven’t been down to the kitchen since we first moved into this house. I’ve something better to do than to meddle with the servants.” “Naturally,” said I soothingly. And I didn’t let her see how her confession amused me. What if a man tried to run his business in that fashion! And ordering by telephone! Why, it was an invitation to the tradespeople to swindle us in every way. But I said nothing.