Revelations of a Wife | Page 3

come to
your dinner. It is getting cold."
Dicky looked a trifle hurt as he followed me to the dining room. I knew
what he expected--enthusiastic curiosity and a demand for the
immediate opening of the parcel, I can imagine the pretty enthusiasm,
the caresses with which almost any other woman would have greeted a
bridegroom of two weeks with his first present.
But it's simply impossible for me to gush. I cannot express emotion of
any kind with the facility of most women. I worshipped my mother, but
I rarely kissed her or expressed my love for her in words. My love for
Dicky terrifies me sometimes, it is so strong, but I cannot go up to him
and offer him an unsolicited kiss or caress. Respond to his caresses, yes!
but offer them of my own volition, never! There is something inside me
that makes it an absolute impossibility.
"What's the menu, Madge? The beef again?"
Dicky's tone was mildly quizzical, his smile mischievous, but I flushed
hotly. He had touched a sore spot. The butcher had brought me a huge
slab of meat for my first dinner when I had timidly ordered "rib roast,"
and with the aid of my mother's cook book and my own smattering of
cooking, my sole housewifely accomplishment, I had been trying to
disguise it for subsequent meals.
"This is positively its last appearance on any stage," I assured him,

trying to be gay. "Besides, it's a casserole, with rice, and I defy you to
detect whether the chief ingredient be fish, flesh or fowl."
"Casserole is usually my pet aversion," Dicky said solemnly. Look not
on the casserole when it is table d'hote, is one of the pet little proverbs
in my immediate set. Too much like Spanish steak and the other good
chances for ptomaines. But if you made it I'll tackle it--if you have to
call the ambulance in the next half-hour."
"Dicky, you surely do not think I would use meat that was doubtful, do
you?" I asked, horror-stricken. "Don't eat it. Wait and I'll fix up some
eggs for you."
Dicky rose stiffly, walked slowly around to my side of the table, and
gravely tapped my head in imitation of a phrenologist.
"Absolute depression where the bump called 'sense of humor' ought to
be. Too bad! Pretty creature, too. Cause her lots of trouble, in the days
to come," he chanted solemnly.
Then he bent and kissed me. "Don't be a goose, Madge," he
admonished, "and never, never take me seriously. I don't know the
meaning of the word. Come on, let's eat the thing-um bob. I'll bet it's
delicious."
He uncovered the casserole and regarded the steaming contents
critically. "Smells scrumptious," he announced. "What's in the other?
Potatoes au gratin?" as he took off the cover of the other serving dish.
"Good! One of my favorites."
He piled a liberal portion on any plate and helped himself as generously.
He ate heartily of both dishes, ignoring or not noticing that I scarcely
touched either dish.
For I was fast lapsing into one of the moods which my little mother
used to call my "morbid streaks" and which she had vainly tried to cure
ever since I was a tiny girl.

Dicky didn't like my cooking! He was only pretending! Dicky was
disappointed in the way I received the announcement of his present!
Probably he soon would find me wanting in other things.
As I took our plates to the kitchen and brought on a lettuce and tomato
salad with a mayonnaise dressing over which I had toiled for an hour, I
was trying hard to choke back the tears.
When I brought on the baked apples which I had prepared with especial
care for dessert, Dick gave them one glance which to my oversensitive
mind looked disparaging. Then he pushed back his chair.
"Don't believe I want any dessert today. The rest of the dinner was so
good I ate too much of it. Eat yours and I'll undo your surprise."
"Whatever in the world?" I began as Dicky lifted the lid and revealed a
big Angora cat. Then my voice changed. "Why, Dicky, you don't
mean--" But Dicky was absorbed in lifting the cat out.
"Isn't she a beauty?" he said admiringly. But I was almost into the
dining room.
"I suppose she is," I replied faintly, "but surely you do not intend her
for me?"
"Why not?" Dicky's tone was sharper than I had ever heard it. He set
the cat down on the floor and she walked over to me. I pushed her away
gently with my foot as I replied:
"Because I dislike cats--intensely. Besides, you know cats are so
unsanitary, always carrying disease--"
"Oh, get out of it, Madge," Dicky interrupted. "Forget that