“I think it has, Edna,” he said simply. Then suddenly the remembrance of the conversation with his friend Randall recurred to him with vivid clearness. He looked up into his wife’s eyes and said, “After all, dear, it really rests with you. The modern woman is man’s helpmate and counsellor. What do you advise?” Edna did not answer for a few moments. Her open, sensible brow seemed to be seeking to be dispassionate as a judge and to expel every vestige of prejudice. “It’s a very close question to decide, Morgan. Of course, there are two distinct sides. You ask me to tell you, as your wife, what I think is wisest and best. I can’t set it forth as clearly as I should like--I won’t attempt to give my reasons even. But somehow my instinct tells me that if you don’t accept Mr. Dale’s offer, you will be sorry three years hence.” “Then I shall accept, Edna, dear,” he said. Three years later I took Mrs. Sidney Dale out to dinner at the house of a common friend in New York. In the course of conversation I remarked, “I believe it is you, Mrs. Dale, who is responsible for the metamorphosis in my friend, Morgan Russell.” “Is he a friend of yours?” “An old friend since college days. I never saw any one so spruced up, shall I call it? He has gained fifteen pounds, is growing whiskers, and is beginning to look the embodiment of worldly prosperity.” “It is delightful to see them--both him and his wife. Yes, I suppose I may claim to be responsible for rescuing him from obscurity. My husband finds him a most valuable man in his business. I’m very fond of Mrs. Russell. She hasn’t the obnoxious ways of most progressive women, and she certainly has executive ability and common sense. Being such an indolent person myself, I have always been fascinated by her spirit and cleverness. I’m glad she has been given a chance. They are getting on nicely.” “I think she is in her element now. I was at their house the other day,” I continued blandly. “It seems that Edna is prominent in various educational and philanthropic bodies, high in the councils of her club, and a leading spirit in diverse lines of reform. They are entertaining a good deal--a judicious sprinkling of the fashionable and the literary. The latest swashbuckler romances were on the table, and it was evident from her tone that she regarded them as great American literature. Everything was rose color. Morgan came home while I was there. His hands were full of toys for his children and violets for his wife. He began to talk golf. It’s a complete case of ossification of the soul--pleasant enough to encounter in daily intercourse, but sad to contemplate.” Mrs. Dale turned in her chair. “I believe you’re laughing at me, Mr. Randall. What is sad? And what do you mean by ossification of the soul?” Said I with quiet gravity, “Fifteen or twenty thousand dollars a year. Morgan Russell’s life is ruined--and the world had great hopes of him.”