indulgently. "Children are the center of life--its purpose, its
fulfillment. All normal men and women want children above
everything else. Our only title to be here is as ancestors--to
replace ourselves with wiser and better than we. That makes woman
the superior of man; she alone has the power to give birth. Man
instinctively knows this, and it is his fear of subjection to
woman that makes him sneer at and fight against every effort to
develop her intelligence and her independence. If you are a true
woman, worthy of your race and of your breeding, you will never
forget your superiority--or the duties it imposes on you--what
you owe to your husband and to your children. You are a married
woman now. Therefore you are free. Show that you deserve freedom
and know how to use it."

Margaret listened to the old woman with a new respect for her--and
for herself. "I'll try, Grandmother," she said soberly. "But--it
won't be easy." A reflective silence, and she repeated, "No, not
easy."

"Easier than to resist and repine and rage and hunt another man
who, on close acquaintance, would prove even less satisfactory,"
replied her grandmother. "Easy--if you honestly try." She looked
down at the girl with the sympathy that goes out to inexperience
from those who have lived long and thoughtfully and have seen many
a vast and fearful bogy loom and, on nearer view, fade into a mist
of fancy. "Above all, child, don't waste your strength on
imaginary griefs and woes--you'll have none left for the real
trials."

Margaret had listened attentively; she would remember what the old