THE CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
I'M GLAD OF IT CONFESSION 183
(Copyright, 1914, by the Newspaper
While I and the man across the
aisle of the car were talking, the
woman who sat in front of me lis
tened to every word.
We got into a very interesting dis
cussion of feminism, and, after I had
made a very radical speech, I said
(in a spirit of mischief) to the woman
who sat in front of me, and who
showed plainly she was enjoying the
talk as much as she disapproved of
the "talkees": "Don't you think I'm
If looks could kill,! would have died
then and there, as she said: "I am
sure I don't know what you are talk
"Oh, I am so sorry you don't un
derstand English," I answered; "Oth
erwise Mr. Sanders and I might have
carried on our conversation in the
language you -do understand. You
were listening, you know I"
I have often said I am a cat, and
sometimes I know it.
I could not help bringing this wom
an, who was sitting "like Virtue on a
monument," to earth and letting her
see that she was only human, after
"I am afraid you are a mischief,"
said Mr. Sanders. "How long have
you been out of school?"
"Long enough to teach school a
few years," I answered.
"Are you trying to guy me also?"
was his question.
"No; that is really true. I have
been called an old maid school
teacher." After that, we settled down to talk
ing of books, art and the theater, and
traitorojisly I caught myself wishing
that Dick loved these things. He will
never read a book, and he hates any
thing at the theater, except a "girl
play," and, as for painting or sculp
ture, he is perfectly content that" his
interest in them should be hke his in
terest in church purely vicarious.
And here is the queer part of it i
He WANTS me to go to church;
WANTS me to know and TI
about art; but he doesn't WANT
to insist on HIS going to church
me or to make HIM listen while I '
about the real meaning of the culj
school of pairiting or any other"hi
In Dick's mind, these are pui
feminine accomplishments, and
the man I was talking withxwas
the least effeminate. He was just
illustration that the average busir
man is not as pleasant as an evl
day companion because his busij
life is so engrossing and fatigij
Most of them think that if they
tear themselves away from
work before it is time for dinner
they need a cocktail and a bit of d
More than ever, as I talked with
Sanders. I realized that men are
ways more or less on dress pai
with women, even their own wi
and it is because women are re
franker and more sincere that
thinks her so complex.
All the time I was thinking
Mr. Sanders was doing his besl
find out where J was going to 1
wedding of my friend, and, to
horror,, when I got up to put on
wraps he did the same.
"You did not think vou were g
to my home city," he said, and 1 1
had strength to murmur, foolis
"No, I did not." For then I un
stood I had been "flirting" wit
strange man doing the very thi
had scolded Molhe for, and wh
would have considered very naua
After all, it is human to like ad
ation. Isn't it, little book? And
not sorry to find out that I still
human enough to enjoy the inte
I evoke in a man of Mr. Sanders
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