"I can conceive of no greater dignity than to take care of a real
man and his children," replied Craig. "However, the dignity of the
service depends upon the dignity of the person to whom it is
rendered--and upon the dignity of the person who renders it."

Arkwright examined Craig's face for signs that this was the biting
sarcasm it would have seemed, coming from another. But Craig was
apparently merely making one of his familiar bumptious speeches.
The idea of a man of his humble origin proclaiming himself
superior to an Arkwright of the Massachusetts Arkwrights!

"No, I'd not marry your Miss Severence," Craig continued. "I want
a wife, not a social ornament. I want a woman, not a toilette. I
want a home, not a fashionable hotel. I want love and sympathy and
children. I want substance, not shadow; sanity, not silliness."

"And your socks darned and your shirts mended."

"That, of course." Josh accepted these amendments with serene
seriousness. "And Miss Severence isn't fit for the job. She has
some brains--the woman kind of brains. She has a great deal of
rudimentary character. If I had the time, and it were worth while,
I could develop her into a real woman. But I haven't, and it
wouldn't be worth while when there are so many real women, ready
made, out where I come from. This girl would be exactly the wife
for you, though. Just as she is, she'd help you mince about from
parlor to parlor, and smirk and jabber and waste time. She's been
educating for the job ever since she was born." He laid his hand
in gracious, kindly fashion on his friend's shoulder. "Think it