Up to that time I had interested myself in only one aspect of human nature--the aspect that concerned me as a business man. But from that time I began to study the human animal in all his--and her--aspects. And it was not long before I learned what that animal is forced to become when exposed to the powerful thrusts and temptings of wealth and social position. In our alternations of pride and humility we habitually take undue credit or give undue blame to ourselves for what is wholly the result of circumstance. The truth is, we are like flocks of birds in a high wind. Some of us fly more steadily than others, some are quite beaten down, others seem almost self-directing; but all, great and small, weak and strong, are controlled by the wind, and those who make the best showing are those who adapt themselves most skillfully to the will of the wind. At the time when Edna and I were talking I had not become a philosopher. I was in the primitive stages of development in which most men and nearly all women remain their whole lives through--the stage in which you live, gentle reader, with your shallow mistaken notions of what is and your shallower mistaken notions of what ought to be. So, as Edna uncovered herself to me, I shrank in horror. It was fortunate--for her, at least--that I had always trained myself never to make hasty speeches. My expertness in that habit has probably been the principal cause of my business success, of my ability to outwit even abler men than myself. I did not yield to the impulse to burst out against her. I compressed my lips and silently watched as she lifted the veil over our family life and revealed to me the truth about it. “What are you going to do?” she asked impatiently, yet with a certain uneasiness born no doubt of a something in my manner that made her vaguely afraid, for while she knew I was her slave and despised me, as I was to learn, for being so weak before a mere woman, she also knew that, outside of her domain, I was not her slave nor anybody’s, but planned and executed at the pleasure of my own will. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said I slowly. “I must think. All this is new to me.” “If you haven’t any pride in yourself, or in me,” said she, “still you surely must have pride for Margot.” “I think so,” said I. “If you could know how they have made the poor child suffer!” I made no reply, nor did I encourage her to talk further. In fact, when she began again I stopped her with: “I’ve heard enough, my dear. And I’ve some important business to attend to.”