"I wonder what's keeping Bruce," she said. Bruce was still in his office
downtown. As a rule on Friday evenings he came with his wife to supper
here, but this week he had some new business on hand. Edith was vague about
it. As she tried to explain she knitted her brows and said that Bruce was
working too hard. And her father grunted assent.

"Bruce ought to knock off every summer," he said, "for a good solid month,
or better two. Can't you bring him up to the mountains this year?" He
referred to the old New Hampshire home which he had kept as a summer place.
But Edith smiled at the idea.

"Yes, I could bring him," she replied, "and in a week he'd be perfectly
crazy to get back to his office again." She compressed her lips. "I know
what he needs--and we'll do it some day, in spite of him."

"A suburb, eh," her father said, and his face took on a look of dislike.
They had often talked of suburbs.

"Yes," his daughter answered, "I've picked out the very house." He threw at
her a glance of impatience. He knew what had started her on this line.
Edith's friend, Madge Deering, was living out in Morristown. All very well,
he reflected, but her case was not at all the same. He had known Madge
pretty well. Although the death of her husband had left her a widow at
twenty-nine, with four small daughters to bring up, she had gone on
determinedly. Naturally smart and able, Madge was always running to town,
keeping up with all her friends and with every new fad and movement there,
although she made fun of most of them. Twice she had taken her girls
abroad. But Edith was quite different. In a suburb she would draw into her
house and never grow another inch. And Bruce, poor devil, would commute and