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Revelations of a Wife

<h2 id="id01593" style="margin-top: 4em">XXIII</h2> <h5 id="id01594">"BLUEBEARD'S CLOSET"</h5> My recovery from the attack of tonsilitis, thanks to Dr. Pettit's remedies, was almost as rapid as the seizure had been sudden. My mother-in-law, forgetting her own invalidism, carried out the physician's directions faithfully. The choking sensation in my throat gradually lessened, until by midnight I was able to go to sleep. I have no idea when Dicky came home from his "impromptu studio party." His mother, whose deftness, efficiency and unexpected tenderness surprised me, arranged a bed for him on the couch in the living room, and I did not hear him come in at all. "My poor little sweetheart!" This was his greeting the next morning. "If I had only known you were ill the old blow-out could have gone plump. It was a stupid affair, anyway. Had a rotten time." "It doesn't matter, Dicky," I said wearily, and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. I knew Dicky was puzzled by my manner, for I could feel him silently watching me for several minutes. Then evidently satisfied that I was really sleeping he tiptoed out of the room, and a little later I heard him depart for his studio, first cautioning his mother to call him if I needed him. I spent a most miserable day after Dicky had left, in spite of my mother-in-law's tender care and Katie's assiduous attentions. The studio party, of which I was sure Grace Draper was a member, rankled as did anything connected with this student model of Dicky's. The memory of the village gossip concerning her friendship for my husband which I had heard in Marvin troubled me, while even Dicky's solicitude for my illness seemed to my overwrought imagination to be forced, artificial. His exclamation, "My poor little sweetheart!" did not ring true to me. I felt bitterly that there was more sincerity in Dr. Pettit's low words of the day before: "Poor little girl, I wish I could bear this pain for you!" than in Dicky's protestations. How genuinely troubled the tall young physician had been! How resentful of Dicky's absence from my bedside! How tender and strong in my paroxysms of choking! I felt a sudden added bitterness toward my husband that the memory of my suffering should have blended with it no recollection of his care, only the tender sympathy of a stranger. But in two days I was my usual self again, ready for the arduous tasks of moving and settling. Mother Graham and I spent a hectic day in the furniture and drapery shops, buying things to supplement her furniture and mine, which we had arranged to have sent to the Brennan house in Marvin. I found that her judgment as to values and fabrics was unerring. But her taste as to colors and designs frequently clashed with mine. Save for the fact that she became fatigued before we had finished our shopping, there would have been no individual touch of mine in our home. As it was, I was not sorry that she found herself too indisposed to go with me the second day, so that I had a chance to put something of my own individuality into the new furnishings. Another two days in Marvin with the aid of a workman unpacking and arranging the crated furniture and our purchases, and the new home was ready to step into. We were a gay little party as we went together through the house inspecting all the rooms. When we came to Dicky's, he barred us out. "Now, remember, no stealing of keys and peering into Bluebeard's closet," said Dicky gayly, as he closed and locked the door of his room. "You flatter yourself, sir." I swept him a low bow. "I really haven't the slightest curiosity about your old room." "Sour grapes," he mocked, and then impressively, "And no matter what packages or furniture come here for me they are not to be unwrapped. Just leave them on the porch, or in the library until I come home." "I wouldn't touch one of them with a pair of tongs," I assured him. "See that you don't," he returned, hanging the key up, and hastily kissing me. "Now I've got to run for it." He hurried down the stairs and out of the front door. I stood looking after him with a smile of tender amusement. The day after Dicky's purchases arrived he rose early. "No studio for me today," he announced. "Can you get hold of that man who helped you clean up here? I want an able-bodied man for several hours today." "I think so," I returned quietly, and going to the telephone, soon returned with the assurance that William-of-the-wide-grin would shortly be at the house. "That's fine," commented Dicky. "And now I want you and mother to get out of the way after breakfast. Go for a walk or a drive or anything go you are not around. I want to surprise you this afternoon. I'll bet that room will make your eyes stick out when you see it." I had a wonderful tramp through the woods, enjoying it so much that it was after four o'clock when I finally returned home. Dicky greeted me exuberantly. "Come along now," he commanded, rushing me upstairs. "Come, mother!" The elder Mrs. Graham appeared at the door of her room, curiosity and disapproval struggling with each other in her face. But curiosity triumphed. With a protesting snort she followed us to the door of the locked room. Dicky unlocked the door with a flourish and stood aside for us to enter. I gasped as I caught my first sight of the transformed room. Dicky had not exaggerated—it was wonderful. The paper had been taken from the walls, and they and the ceiling had been painted a soft gray with just a touch of blue in its tint. The woodwork was ivory-tinted throughout, while the floor was painted a deeper shade of the gray that covered the walls. Almost covering the floor was a gorgeous Chinese rug with wonderful splashes of blue through it. I knew it must be an imitation of one costing a fortune, but I realized that Dicky must have paid a pretty penny even for the counterfeit, for the coloring and design were cleverly done. The blue of the rug was reproduced in every detail of the room. The, window, draperies, of thin, Oriental fabric, had bands of Chinese embroidered silk cunningly sewed on them. These bands carried out in the azure groundwork and the golden threads the motif of the rug. The cushions, which were everywhere in evidence, were made of the same embroidered silk which banded the window draperies, while blue strips of the same material were thrown carelessly over a teakwood table and, a chest of drawers. A chaise lounge of bamboo piled with cushions stood underneath the windows, which commanded a view of the rolling woodland and meadows I had found so beautiful. Three chairs of the same material completed the furnishings of the room, save for a wonderful Chinese screen reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor, which hid a single iron bed, painted white, of the type used in hospitals, a small bureau, also painted white, and a shaving mirror. "Don't want any junk about my sleeping quarters," Dicky explained, as I looked behind the screen. "Well, what do you think of it?" he demanded at last, in a hurt tone, as I finished my inspection of the walls, which were almost covered with the originals of Dicky's best magazine illustrations, framed in narrow, black strips of wood. "It is truly wonderful, Dicky," I returned, trying to make my voice enthusiastic. I could have raved over the room, for I did think it exquisitely beautiful, had not my woman's intuition detected that another hand than Dicky's had helped in its preparation. Only a woman's cunning fingers could have fashioned the curtains and the cushions I saw in profusion about the room. I knew her identity before Dicky, after pointing out in detail every article of which he was so proud, said hesitatingly: "I wish, Madge, you would telephone Miss Draper and ask her to run over tomorrow and see the room. You see, I was so anxious to surprise you that I did not want to have you do any of the work, and she kindly did all of this needlework for me. I know she is very curious to see how her work looks." "Of course, I will telephone Miss Draper if you wish it, Dicky, but don't you think you ought to do it yourself? She is your employee, not mine, and I never have seen her but twice in my life." I flatter myself that my voice was as calm as if I had not the slightest emotional interest in the topic I was discussing. But in reality I was furiously angry. And I felt that I had reason to be. "Now, that's a nice, catty thing to say!" Dicky exploded wrathfully. "Hope you feel better, now you've got it off your chest. And you can just trot right along and telephone her yourself. Gee! you haven't been a martyr for months, have you?" When Dicky takes that cutting, ironical tone, it fairly maddens me. I could not trust myself to speak, so I turned quickly and went out of the room which had become suddenly hateful to me, and found refuge in my own. My exit was not so swift, however, but that I overheard words of my mother-in-law's, which were to remain in my mind. "Richard," she exclaimed angrily, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You act like a silly fool over this model of yours. What business did you have asking her to do this needlework for you in the first place? You ought to have known Margaret would not like it." I did not hear Dicky's reply, for I had reached my own room, and, closing and locking the door, I sat down by the window until I should be able to control my words and actions. For one thing I had determined. I would not have a repetition of the scenes which Dicky's temper and my own sensitiveness had made of almost daily occurrence in the earlier months of our marriage. I could not bring myself to treat Grace Draper with the friendliness which Dicky appeared to wish from me, but at least I could keep from unseemly squabbling about her. But my heart was heavy with misgiving concerning this friendship of Dicky's for his beautiful model, as I opened my door and went down the hall to Dicky's room. My mother-in-law's voice interrupted me. "Come in here a minute," she said abruptly, as she trailed her flowing negligee past me into the living room. As I followed her in, wondering, she closed the door behind her. I saw with amazement that her face was pale, her lips quivering with emotion. "Child," she said, laying her hand with unwonted gentleness on my shoulder. "I want you to know that I entirely disapprove of this invitation which Richard has asked you to extend. Of course, you must use your own judgment in the matter, and it may be wise for you to do as he asks. But I want to be sure that you are not influenced by anything I may have said in the past about not opposing Richard in his whims. "He is going too far in this thing," she went on. "I cannot counsel you. Each woman has to solve these problems for herself. But it may help you to know that I went through all this before you were born." She turned swiftly and went up to her room again. Dicky's father! She must mean her life with him! In a sudden, swift, pitying gleam of comprehension, I saw why my mother-in-law was so crabbed and disagreeable. Life had embittered her. I wondered miserably if my life with her son would leave similar marks upon my own soul. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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