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Newspaper Page Text
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?" 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
"They were going to supper after
ward at the restaurant."
"Good old Jim!" interrupted Dick,
"Pat Sullivan was going to join
"That will hold the gossip's 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
"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
"Let's not talk about it, Dick. I am
too tired to give my poor nerves an
"All right, dear, just anything to
please you. Go to sleep now. I'll sit
up and wait for Mollie and Aunt
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 a bad man. He pays
his debts; is strictly honest in busi
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
in the world, little book. It is the self
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 heen away on a trip for a
week and had not written to Dick he
would at least expect the minutest ac
count on 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 asilly 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 frqm 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 where
I am concerned, which is making me
I do not know whether it is my sus
picions or not, but someway he acts
differently since he returned; rather
However, I don't believe that re
morse ever did any good to any one.
It always seemed to me to be the
fear of being found out and the
knowledge that you were too much of
a coward to face consequences.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)