" And when the master of the house knew that his money was
being wasted, it troubled him.
"It wasn't until after I married him that I realized how idle his
life is," she remarked. "At home all the men have something to do,
running their plantations, or getting elected to some office. But
Douglas never does anything that I can possibly think is useful."
His fortune was invested in New York City real-estate, she went on
to explain. There was an office, with a small army of clerks and
agents to attend to it--a machine which had been built up and handed
on to him by his ancestors. It sufficed if he dropped in for an hour
or two once a week when he was in the city, and signed a batch of
documents now and then when he was away. His life was spent in the
company of people whom the social system had similarly deprived of
duties; and they had, by generations of experiment, built up for
themselves a new set of duties, a life which was wholly without
relationship to reality. Into this unreal existence Sylvia had
married, and it was like a current sweeping her in its course. So
long as she went with it, all was well; but let her try to catch
hold of something and stop, and it would tear her loose and almost
strangle her.
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