The women I see, the wives of my poor drunkards are so wonderful, so patient.

They are mothers and wage-earners and sick nurses, too; they're not the sort of women you describe.

Perhaps," she added, with one of her fatal impulses toward concession, "perhaps your friends are untrustworthy and spiteful, as you say--" Mrs.Baxter drew herself up.

"My friends, Mrs.Wayne," she said--"my friends, I think, will compare favorably even with the wives of your drunkards." Mr.Lanley rose to his feet.
"Shall we go up-stairs ?" he said.

Mr.Wilsey offered Mrs.Baxter his arm.