I was thinking of the dozen or so women whom she called and who called her by the first name, women she was with early and late. Women she was daily playing bridge with-- Bridge! I have a friend who declares that bridge is ruining the American home, and I see his point, but I think he doesn’t look deep enough. If it weren’t bridge it would be something else. Bridge is a striking example, but only a single example, of the results of feminine folly and idleness that all flow from the same cause. However, let us go back to my talk with Edna. She met my protest in behalf of her friends with a contemptuous: “I don’t know a soul who isn’t _frightfully_ common.” “They’re the same sort of people we are.” “Not the same sort that _I_ am,” declared she proudly. “And not the sort Margot and you are going to be. You’ll see. You don’t know about these things. But fortunately I do.” “You don’t seriously mean that you want to leave this splendid old house----” “Splendid? It’s hardly fit to live in. Of course, we had to endure it while we were poor and obscure. But now it won’t do at all.” “And go away from all these people you’ve worked so hard to get in with--all these friends--go away among strangers. _I_ don’t mind. But what would _you_ do? How’d you pass the days?” “These vulgar people bore me to death,” declared she. “I’ve been advancing, if you have stood still. Thank God, _I’ve_ got ambition.” “Heaven knows they’ve never been _my_ friends,” said I. “But I must say they seem nice enough people, as people go. What’s the matter with ’em?” “They’re common,” said she with the languor of one explaining when he feels he will not be understood. “They’re tiresome.” “I’ll admit they’re tiresome,” said I. “That’s why I’ve kept away from them. But I doubt if they’re more tiresome than people generally. The fact is, my dear, people are all tiresome. That’s why they can’t amuse themselves or each other, but have to be amused--have to hire the clever people of all sorts to entertain them. Instead of asking people here to bore us and to be bored, why not send them seats at a theater or orders for a first-class meal at a first-class restaurant?” “I suppose you think that’s funny,” said my wife. She had no sense of humor, and the suggestion of a jest irritated her. “Yes, it does strike me as funny,” I admitted. “But there’s sense in it, too.... I’m sure you don’t want to abandon your friends here. Why make ourselves uncomfortable all over again?” I took a serious persuasive tone. “Edna, we’re beginning to get used to the more stylish way of living we took up when we left Passaic and came here to live. Is it sensible to branch out again into the untried and the unknown? Will we be any wiser or any happier? You can shine as the big star now in this circle of friends. You like to run things socially. Here’s your chance.”