"What a frightful thing it must be for a man in this work," she exclaimed, "to have a wife like that! A woman so hard and narrow, so wrapped up in her own little life, with not a spark of sympathy for any of his big ideals!"
"I suppose it's the life that has done it," said Eleanore quietly, looking at Sue.
"I'd like to see some women," Sue retorted angrily, "who have been in that life for years and years, and have sympathy, have everything, don't care for anything else in the world!" She turned suddenly to Joe. "You said there were hundreds, didn't you?"
Joe looked back at her a moment. There was a startled, groping, searching expression in his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "There are hundreds."
"Are many of them married?" Eleanore inquired.
"Some of them are," he answered.
"When a woman who, as Sue has just said, throws herself into this heart and soul, marries a man who is in it, too, how much of their time can they spend together?"
"That depends on the kind of work," he said. Eleanore held his eyes with hers.
"In some cases, I suppose," she went on, "like yours, for example, where the man's work keeps him moving—if the woman's work wouldn't let her go with him they would have to be half their time apart."