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Revelations of a Wife

<h2 id="id00637" style="margin-top: 4em">XI</h2> <h5 id="id00638">"I OWE YOU TOO MUCH"</h5> "Bad news, Dicky?" We were seated at the breakfast table, Dicky and I, the morning after our trip to Marvin, from which I had returned weary of body and sick of mind. Tacitly we had avoided all discussion of Grace Draper, the beautiful girl Dicky had discovered there and engaged as a model for his drawings, promising to help her with her art studies. But because of my feeling toward Dicky's plans breakfast had been a formal affair. Then had come a special delivery letter for Dicky. He had read it twice, and was turning back for a third perusal when my query made him raise his eyes. "In a way, yes," he said slowly. Then after a pause. "Read it." He held out the letter. It was postmarked Detroit. The writing reminded me of my mother; it was the hand of a woman of the older generation. I, too, read the letter twice before making any comment upon it. I wondered if Dicky's second reading had been for the same purpose as mine—to gain time to think. I was stunned by the letter. I had never contemplated the possibility of Dicky's mother living with us, and here she was calmly inviting herself to make her home with us. For years she had made her home with her childless daughter and namesake, Harriet, whose husband was one of the most brilliant surgeons of the middle West. I knew that Dicky's mother and sister had spoiled him terribly when they all had a home together before Dicky's father died. The first thought that came to me was that Dicky's whims alone were hard enough to humor, but when I had both him and his mother to consider our home life would hardly be worth the living. I knew and resented also the fact that Dicky's mother and sisters disapproved of his marriage to me. In one of Dicky's careless confidences I had gleaned that his mother's choice for him had been made long ago, and that he had disappointed her by not marrying a friend of his sister. I felt as if I were in a trap. To have to live and treat with daughterly deference a woman who I knew so disliked me that she refused to attend her son's wedding was unthinkable. "Well!" In Dicky's voice was a note of doubt as he held out his hand for his mother's letter. I knew that he was anxiously awaiting my decision as to the proposition it contained, and I hastened to reassure him. "Of course there is but one thing to be done," I said, trying hard to make my tone cordial. "And that is?" Dicky looked at me curiously. Was it possible that he did not understand my meaning? "Why, you must wire her at once to come to us. Be sure you tell her that she will be most welcome." I felt a trifle ashamed that the welcoming words were such a sham from my lips. Dicky's mother was distinctly not welcome as far as I was concerned. But my thoughts flew swiftly back to my own little mother, gone forever from me. Suppose she were the one who needed a home? How would I like to have Dicky's secret thoughts about her welcome the same as mine were now? "That's awfully good of you, Madge." Dicky's voice brought me back from my reverie. "Of course I know you are not particularly keen about her coming. That wouldn't be natural, but it's bully of you to pretend just the same." I opened my mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. There was no use trying to deceive Dicky. If he was satisfied with my attitude toward his mother, that was all that was necessary. I poured myself another cup of coffee, when Dicky had gone to the studio, drank it mechanically, and touched the bell for Katie to clear away the breakfast things. I did not try to disguise to myself the fact that I was extremely miserable. The day at Marvin, on which I had so counted, had been a disappointment to me on account of the attention Dicky had paid to Miss Draper. I reflected bitterly that I might just as well have spent the afternoon with Mrs. Smith of the Lotus Club, discussing the history course which she wished me to undertake for the club. The thought of Mrs. Smith reminded me of the promise I had made her when leaving for Marvin that I would call her up on my return and tell her when I could meet her. I resolved to telephone her at once. I felt a thrill of purely feminine triumph as I turned away from the telephone. I knew that Mrs. Smith would have declined to see me if she had consulted only her inclinations. That she still wished me to take up the leadership of the study course gratified me exceedingly, and made me thank my stars for the long years of study and teaching which had given me something of a reputation in the work which the Lotus Club wished me to undertake. But when we met at a little luncheon room, Mrs. Smith and I managed to get through the preliminaries pleasantly. "Now as to compensation," she said briskly. "I am authorized to offer you $20 per lecture. I know that it is not what you might get from an older or richer club, but it is all we can offer." I was silent for a moment. I did not wish her to know how delighted I was with the amount of money offered. "I think that will be satisfactory for this season, at least," I said at last. "Very well, then. The first meeting, of course, will be merely an introduction and an outlining of your plan of study, so I will not need to trouble you again. If you will be at the clubrooms at half after one the first day, I will meet you, and see that you get started all right. Here comes our luncheon. Now I can eat in peace." Her whole manner said: "Now I am through with you." But I felt that I cared as little for her opinion of me as she evidently did of mine for her. Twenty dollars a week was worth a little sacrifice. Lillian Underwood's raucous voice came to my ears as I rang the bell of my little apartment. It stopped suddenly at the sound of the bell. Dicky opened the door and Mrs. Underwood greeted me boisterously. "I came over to ask you to eat dinner with us Sunday," she said. "Then we'll think up something to do in the afternoon and evening. We always dine Sunday at 2 o'clock, a concession to that cook of mine. I'll never get another like her, and if she only knew it I would have Sunday dinner at 10 o'clock in the morning rather than lose her. I do hope you can come." "There's nothing in the world to hinder as far as I know," said Dicky. "I am so sorry," I turned to Lillian as I spoke. My dismay was genuine, for I knew how Dicky would view my answer. "But I could not possibly come on Sunday. I have a dinner engagement for that day which I cannot break." "A dinner engagement!" Dicky ejaculated at last. "Why, Madge, you must be mistaken. We haven't any dinner engagement for that day." "You haven't any," I tried to speak as calmly as I could. "There is no reason why you cannot accept Mrs. Underwood's invitation if you wish. But do you remember the letter I received a week ago saying an old friend of mine whom I had not seen for a year would reach the city next Sunday and wished an engagement for dinner? There is no way in which I can postpone or get out of the engagement, for there is no way I can reach my friend before Sunday." I had purposely avoided using the words "he" or "him," hoping that Dicky would not say anything to betray the identity of the "friend" who was returning from the wilds. But I reckoned without Dicky. Either he was so angry that he recklessly disregarded Mrs. Underwood's presence or else his friendship with her was so close that it did not matter to him whether or not she knew of our differences. "Oh, the gorilla with the mumps!" Dicky gave the short, scornful, little laugh which I had learned to dread as one of the preliminaries of a scene. "I had forgotten all about him. And so he really arrives on Sunday, and you expect to welcome him. How very touching!" Dicky was fast working himself into a rage. Lillian Gale evidently knew the signs as well as I did, for she hurriedly began to fasten her cloak, which she had opened on account of the heat of the room. "I really must be going," she murmured, starting for the door, but Dicky adroitly slipped between it and her. "Talk about your romance, Lil," he sneered, "what do you think about this one for a best seller?" "Oh, Dicky!" I gasped, my cheeks scarlet with humiliation at this scene before Mrs. Underwood, of all people. But Dicky paid no more attention to me than if I had been the chair in which I was sitting. "Beautiful highbrow heroine," he went on, "has tearful parting with gallant hero more noted for his size than his beauty. He's gone a whole year. Heroine forgets him, marries another man. Now he comes back, heroine has to meet him and break the news that she is another's. Isn't it romantic?" Lillian looked at him steadily for a moment, as if she were debating some course of action. Then she suddenly squared her shoulders, and, advancing toward him, took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly. "Look here, my Dicky-bird," she said, and her tones were like icicles. "I didn't want to listen to this, and I beg your wife's pardon for being here, but now that you've compelled me to listen to you, you're going to hear me for a little while." Dicky looked at her open-mouthed, exactly like a small boy being reproved by his mother. "You're getting to be about the limit with this temper of yours," she began. "Of course I know you were as spoiled a lad as anybody could be, but that's no reason now that you are a man why you should kick up a rumpus any time something doesn't go just to suit your royal highness." "See here, Lil!" Dicky began to speak wrathfully. "Shut up till I'm through talking," she admonished him roughly. If I had not been so angry and humiliated I could have laughed aloud at the promptness with which Dicky closed his mouth. "You never gave me or the boys a taste of your rages simply because you knew we wouldn't stand for them. I'll wager you anything you like that Mrs. Graham never knew of your temper until after you had married her. But now that you're safely married you think you can say anything you like. Men are all like that." She spoke wearily, contemptuously, as if a sudden disagreeable memory had come to her. She dropped her hands from his shoulders. "Of course, I've no right to butt in like this," she said, as if recalled to herself. "I beg pardon of both of you. Good-by," and she dashed for the door. But Dicky, with one of his quick changes from wrath to remorse, was before her. "No you don't, my dear," he said, grasping her arm. "You know I couldn't get angry with you no matter what you said. I owe you too much. I know I have a beast of a temper, but you know, too, I'm over it just as quickly. Look here." He flopped down on his knees in an exaggerated pose of humility, and put up his hands first to me and then to Lillian. "See. I beg Madge's pardon. I beg Lillian's pardon, everybody's pardon. Please don't kick me when I'm down." Lillian's face relaxed. She laughed indulgently. "Oh, I'll forgive you, but I imagine it will take more than that to make your peace with your wife! It would if you were my husband. 'Phone me about Sunday. Perhaps Mrs. Graham can come over after dinner and meet you there. Good-by." She hurried out to the door, this time without Dicky's stopping her. Dicky came toward me. "If I say I am very, very sorry, Madge?" he said, smiling apologetically at me. "Of course it's all right, Dicky," I forced myself to say. Curiously enough, after all, my resentment was more against Lillian than against Dicky. Probably she meant well, but how dared she talk to my husband as if he were her personal property, and what was it he "owed her" that made him take such a raking over at her hands? <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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