“Well, education would solve it then,” concluded Mrs. Brown.

“I don’t know.”  Mrs. Burgoyne answered, reflectively, “Book education won’t certainly.  But example might, I believe example would.”

“You mean for people of a better class to go and live among them?” suggested the doctor.

“No, but I mean for people of a better class to show them that what they are striving for isn’t vital, after all.  I mean for us to so order our lives that they will begin to value cleanliness, and simplicity, and the comforts they can afford.  You know, Mary Brown,” said Mrs. Burgoyne, turning suddenly to the doctor’s wife, with her gay, characteristic vehemence, “it’s all our fault, all the misery and suffering and sin of it, everywhere!”

“Our fault!  You and me!” cried Mrs. Brown, aghast.

“No, all the fault of women, I mean!” Mrs. Burgoyne laughed too as Mrs. Brown settled back in her chair with a relieved sigh.  “We women,” she went on vigorously, “have mismanaged every separate work that was ever put into our hands!  We ought to be ashamed to live.  We cumber—­”

“Here!” said the doctor, smiling in lazy comfort over his pipe, “that’s heresy!  I refuse to listen to it.  My wife is a woman, my mother, unless I am misinformed, was another—­”

“Don’t mind him!” said Mrs. Brown, “but go on!  What have we all done?  We manage our houses, and dress our children, and feed our husbands, it seems to me.”

“Well, there’s the big business of motherhood,” began Mrs. Burgoyne, “the holiest and highest thing God ever let a mortal do.  We evade it and ignore it to such an extent that the nation—­and other nations—­ grows actually alarmed, and men begin to frame laws to coax us back to the bearing of children.  Then, if we have them, we turn the entire responsibility over to other people.  A raw little foreigner of some sort answers the first questions our boys and girls ask, until they are old enough to be put under some nice, inexperienced young girl just out of normal school, who has fifty or sixty of them to manage, and of whose ideas upon the big questions of life we know absolutely nothing.  We say lightheartedly that ’girls always go through a trying age,’ and that we suppose boys ’have to come in contact with things,’ and we let it go at that!  We ’suppose there has always been vice, and always will be,’ but we never stop to think that we ourselves are setting the poor girls of the other world such an example in the clothes we wear, and the pleasures we take, that they will sell even themselves for pretty gowns and theatre suppers.  We regret sweat-shops, even while we patronize the stores that support them, and we bemoan child-labor, although I suppose the simplest thing in the world would be to find out where the cotton goes that is worked by babies, and refuse to buy those brands of cotton, and make our merchants tell us where they do get their supply!  We have managed our household problem so badly that we simply can’t get help—­”