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CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
(Copyright, 1915, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
I was in a raging fever, but Dick
seemed to have forgotten about me
or about making any explanations.
"Is Mollie here?1' he asked.
"No, she is at the theater with Jim
Edie and Aunt Mary, or at least she
was at the theater," I added, look
ing at the clock, which, pointed at 12
o'clock.
"They were going to supper after
ward at the restaurant."
"Good old Jim!" interrupted Dick,
approvingly.
"Pat Sullivan was going to join
them there."
"That will hold the gossips for a
while, I guess, at least until I can get
on to the street and lunch with Sulli
van at the club tomorrow."
I turned over wearily and Dick
came over to me. "Do you need a
doctor, Margie," he asked, as he
pushed the hair back from my fore
head. "I am afraid you are very ill."
"No, I am not ill, Dick," I said
chokingly. "I'm just weary and sick
of it all- I wish both I and baby could
step out into the dark and never wake
up again."
"Here, here, what's the matter?"
asked Dick, seemingly much alarmed.
"You don't mean to tell me that just
because I have been gone for a week
and you have not had a long letter
from me every day that you thought
I was killed or had run away from
you?"
"Let's not talk about it, Dick. I am
too tired to give my poor nerves an
other rasping."
"All right, dear, just anything to
please you. Go to sleep now. I'll sit
up and wait for Mollie and Aunt
Mary."
I think, little book, that I just hated
Dick when he bent down to kiss me.
I know I hated his kiss and could
hardly repress a shudder of repulsion.
That he could have so little consid
eration for me and seemingly not re
alize that he had done anything to
make me miserable turned all my love
for him to hatred.
And yet, little book, Dick is not
what men call s, bad man. He paysj
nis debts; is strictly honest in dusi-
ness; keeps me well as far as food
and clothes are concerned, and there
he thinks all his responsibility ends.
The so-called bad men are not the
ones who have done the most harm fi
in tne wona, utue dook. it is tne seu
ish and the thoughtless men that
have torn women's hearts asunder,
shattered all their illusions and
turned their joyous youth into sad
dened and pessimistic old age.
If I had been away on a trip for a
week ana naa not written to JJick he
would at least expect the minutest ac
count in detail of my trip when I re
turned. I shall never ask him where
he was nor question him any more
about it, for it is now 24 hours since
he returned and he has said nothing.
I am feeling better today, physically,
but, little book, I have lost all fear
of dying. When my baby comes I
wish I could die.
If I should tell this to Dick he would
say it was only a silly fancy. He
would say "you are making moun
tains out of mole hills." I could not
make him understand that this
week's stay away from me without
explanation of his whereabouts part,
of the time is not the whole cause of !
my unhappiness but only the culmin
ation of all his thoughtlessness wheret
I am concerned, which is making me7
heartsick.
I do not know whether it is my sus
picions oi; not, but someway he acts '
differently since he returned; rather '.
remorseful.
However, I don't believe that re-J
morse ever did any good to any one3
It always seemed to me to be thej
fear of being found out and the!
knowledge that you were too much off
I a coward to face consequences.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.),
