“Well, it looks as if we had seen the last of that particular type of woman,” her husband said cheerfully.  “Or at least it looks as if that woman would find her own level, deliberately separate herself from her more ambitious sisters, who want to develop higher arts than that of mere housekeeping.”

“And how do you happen to know so much about it, Kane ?”

“I?  Oh, it’s in the air, I guess,” the man admitted.  “The whole idea is changing.  A man used to be ashamed of the idea of his wife working.  Now men tell you with pride that their wives paint or write or bind books—­Bates’ wife makes loads of money designing toys, and Mrs. Brewster is consulting physician on a hospital staff.  Mary Shotwell—­she was a trained nurse—­what was it she did?”

“She gave a series of talks on hygiene for rich people’s children,” his wife supplied.  “And of course Florence Yeats makes candy, and the Gerrish girls have opened a tea room in the old garage.  But it seems funny, just the same!  It seems funny to me that so many women find it worth while to hire servants, so that they can rush off to make the money to pay the servants!  It would seem so much more normal to stay at home and do the housework themselves, and it would look better.”

“Well, certain women always will, I suppose.  And others will find their outlets in other ways, and begin to look about for Justines, who will lift the household load.  I believe we’ll see the time, Sally,” said Kane Salisbury thoughtfully, “when a young couple, launching into matrimony, will discuss expenses with a mutual interest; you pay this and I’ll pay that, as it were.  A trained woman will step into their kitchen, and Madame will walk off to business with her husband, as a matter of course.”

“Heaven forbid!” Mrs. Salisbury said piously.  “If there is anything romantic or tender or beautiful about married life under those circumstances, I fail to see it, that’s all!”

It happened, a week or two later, on a sharp, sunshiny morning in early winter, that Mrs. Salisbury and Alexandra found themselves sauntering through the nicest shopping district of River Falls.  There were various small things to be bought for the wardrobes of mother and daughter, prizes for a card party, birthday presents for one of the boys, and a number of other little things.

They happened to pass the windows of Lewis & Sons’ big grocery, one of the finest shops in town, on their way from one store to another, and, attracted by a window full of English preserves, Mrs. Salisbury decided to go in and leave an order.

“I hope that you are going to bring your account back to us, Mrs. Salisbury,” said the alert salesman who waited upon them.  “We are always sorry to let an old customer go.”

“But I have an account here,” said Mrs. Salisbury, startled.

The salesman, smiling, shook his head, and one of the members of the firm, coming up, confirmed the denial.