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- - CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
THIS IS WHAT WOMEN ARE TALKING ABOUT
(Copyright, 1915, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
i aon t wonaer tnat jviome is au ai
sea about her beaux. I don't think I
hsyp. ever known three men from
whom it would be so hard to choose.
Yesterday she stopped here with
Chadwick Hatton, who, as soon as
his wife died, hurried back to Mollie.
"Isn't it strange, Margie," she said
to me as we slipped out into the din- I
ing room to make some tea, "that ll
have to begin all over again with
Chadwick, when only a year ago I
was so crazy about him?"
"No, dear that is the wonderful
thing about you. It is quite as easy
to fall out of love as to fall in. The
very hardest thing to do is to stay in
"There is one thing, Margie, you
have taught me, and that is the fool
ishness qf thinking that 'the light
that was never on land on sea would
be with lovers forever.'
"Oh, my dear, I wish I could feel
for Chadwick again what I felt for
him that day it was the most glo
rious and the most tragic I have ever
known. And here is the queer thing
about it. Chadwick seems to be just
as much hi love with me as ever, and
after what I told him he must thing
it very strange that I do not respond
to his love-making with much enthu
siasm. Margie, sometimes I think
men are much more sentimental than
"I think they are, my dear. You
see, marriage is woman's business
and we go about entering into it in
a more or less unconscious business
like way. Love is woman's vocation,
it's man's avocation, which is another
way of sEfying, 'Love is Of man's life
a thing apart it's woman's whole ex
istence." Mollie smiled. She is al
ways quick to understand.
"But I am afraid," she said, "that
you and Byron are quite as far apart
In the meaning of your epigrams as
you in the times in which you live."
"Yes, Byron lived in that wonder
ful man-made-world-time when wom
an was 'but the minister of love.' "
"My goodness," interrupted Mollie,
didn't they put it beautifully in those
times, 'the minister of love.' You and
I know that meanB in the last analy
sis only the minister of man's pleas
ure." "And don't you see, Mollie," I said
eagerly, "tht bears out my conten
tion, man is more sentimental than
woman. He has wrapped his 'minis
ters qf love' about with all sorts of.
sentimental attributes that are some
times those of the angels and some
times those that are only fit for the
othe place, but these attributes are
only these that minister to his pleas
ure. We, my dear Mollie, are living
in an uncomfortable age. ,We are
neither the unthinking plaything that
we used to be and we haven't attained
thp ctntllH in thn mtnilc rtf man fhnt
to which we aspire and for which we
"The women of the next few gener
ations will also be in the same state
of unrest that we are in. We know
we can't stay, as men would-have us,
'a minister of love.' We must pro
gress just as they are progressing.
Some day we will get where there
will be no more misunderstanding.
Mollie looked at me rather quizzi
ically. "Don't you think, my dear Margie,
that in the future men and women
win love as they do now?"
"As long as time shall last, my
dear, will desire be the great moving
power of the universe. But we will,
know it for just what it is, a power"
as relentless and unstemmable as the
ocean tides and as changeable."
"All of which is splendid for these
women of the future, but it doesn't
help -me to decide which of those
three men any one of whom is al--