Newspaper Page Text
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!"
T 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
tfaitorqusly I caught myself wishing
that Dick Idved 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 like Jus in
terest in church purely vicarious.
And here is the queer part of it all:
He WANTS me to go to church; he
WANTS me to know and TALK
about art; but he doesn't WANT me
to insist on HIS going to church with
me or to make HIM listen while I talk
about the real meaning of the cubist
school of pairiting or any other"high
In Dick's mind, these are purely
feminine accomplishments, and yet
the man I was talking withxwas not
the least effeminate. He was just an
illustration that the average business
man is not as pleasant as an every
day companion because his business
life is so engrossing and fatiguing.
Most of them think that if they can
tear themselves away from their
work before it is time for dinner that
they need a cocktail and a bit of chaff
from one of their ownkind.
More than ever, as I talked with Mr.
Sanders, I realized that men are al
ways more or less on dress parade
with women, even their own wives,
and it is because women are really
franker a"nd more sincere that man
thinks her so complex.
All the time I was thinking this,
Mr. Sanders was doing his best to
find out where J was going to that
wedding of my friend, and, to my
horror,, when I got up to put on my
wraps he did the same.
"You did not think you were going
to my home city," he said, and I only
had strength to murmur, foolishly:
"No, I did not." For then I under
stood I had been "flirting" with a
strange man doing the very thing I
had scolded Mollie for, and what I
would have considered very naughty
After all, it is human to like admir
ation. Isn't it, little book? And I am
not sorry to find out that I still am
human enough to enjoy the interest
I evoke in a man of Mr. Sanders' in