can't overcome; that's the rival who is breaking our
hearts. You are the man of business, Charles--I'm the woman out of a
job! That's all there is to it."

Hamilton listened dazedly to this fluent discourse, the meaning of which
was not altogether clear to him. He frowned in bewilderment, as he again
seated himself in the chair opposite his wife. He could think of
nothing with which to rebuke her diatribe, save the stock platitudes of
a past generation, and to these necessarily he had immediate recourse.

"You have the home--the house--to look out for, Cicily. That's a woman's
work. What more can you wish?"

"The home! The house!" The exclamation was eloquent of disgust. "Ah,
yes, once on a time, it was a woman's work--once on a time! But, then,
you men were dependent on us. Marriage was a real partnership. Nowadays,
what with servants and countless inventions, so that machinery supplies
the work, the home is a joke. The house itself is an automatic machine
that runs on--buttons, push-buttons. You men can get along without us
just as well. You don't really depend on us for anything in the home.
Your lives are full up with interest; every second is occupied. Our
lives are empty. My life is empty, Charles. I'm lonely, and
heart-hungry, I've no ambition to go in for bridge. I'm not a gambler by
choice. I don't wish to follow society as a vocation. I'm not eager even
to be a suffragette. I want to be an old-fashioned wife--to do something
that counts in my husband's life. I want him to depend on me for some
things, always. I want to be my husband's partner." Little by little,
while she was speaking, the coldness passed from the woman's voice; in
its stead grew warmth; there was passionate fervor in the final plea. It
moved Hamilton to pity, although he was ignorant as to the means by
which he might assuage his wife's so great discontent. Manlike, he
attempted to overcome emotion by argument.

"Cicily," he urged, "just now, I'm up to my ears and over in work. They
are crowding me mighty hard. There's dissatisfaction at the mill--danger
of a strike. Morton is heading a syndicate--a trust, really--trying to
absorb us. I'm fighting for my very life--my business life.... Cicily,
you wouldn't throw obstacles in my way now, would you?"

"Obstacles! No; I want to help you."

"In business?" Hamilton queried, astounded. "You--help me--in business?"

"Yes," Cicily answered, steadily. "I can do something, I know." There
was inte