Ida Edgham was, in some respects, a peculiar personality.  She was as much stronger, in another way, than her husband, as her predecessor had been.  She was that anomaly:  a creature of supreme self-satisfaction, who is yet aware of its own limits.  She was so unemotional as to be almost abnormal, but she had head enough to realize the fact that absolute unemotionlessness in a woman detracts from her charm.  She therefore simulated emotion.  She had a spiritual make-up, a panoply of paint and powder for the soul, as truly as any actress has her array of cosmetics for her face.  She made no effort to really feel, she knew that was entirely useless, but she observed all the outward signs and semblance of feeling more or less successfully.  She knew that to take up her position in Harry Edgham’s house like a marble bust of Diana, which had been one of her wedding-presents, would not be to her credit.  She therefore put herself to the pace which she would naturally be expected to assume in her position.  She showed everybody who called her new possessions, with a semblance of delight which was quite perfect.  She was, in reality, less deceptive in that respect than in others.  She had a degree of the joy of possession, or she would not have been a woman at all, and, in fact, would not have married.  She had wanted a home and a husband; not as some women want them, for the legitimate desire for love and protection, but because she felt a degree of mortification on account of her single estate.  She had had many admirers, but, although no one ever knew it, not one offer of marriage, the acceptance of which would not have been an absurdity, before poor Harry Edgham.  She was not quite contented to accept him.  She had hoped for something better; but he was good-looking, and popular, and his social standing, in her small world, was good.  He was an electrical engineer, with an office in the city, and had a tolerably good income, although his first wife’s New England thrift had compelled him to live parsimoniously.

Ida made up her mind from the first that thrift, after the plan of the first woman, should not be observed in her household.  Without hinting to that effect, or without Harry’s recognizing it, she so managed that within a few weeks after her marriage he put an insurance on his life, which would insure her comfort in case she outlived him.  He owned his house, and she had herself her little savings, well invested.  She then considered that they could live up to Harry’s income without much risk, and she proceeded to do so.  It was not long before the saturnine Hungarian, who could have provided a regiment of her own countrymen with the coarse food of her race, but seemed absolutely incapable of carrying out American ideas of good cookery, was dismissed, and a good cook, at a price which at first staggered Harry, installed in her place.  Then a young girl was found to take care of the bedrooms, and wait on table, attired in white gowns and aprons and caps.