Revelations of a Wife | Page 6

my oldtime theories crumbling around
me.
For I had read of Lillian Gale and her married troubles. I knew that
Harry Underwood was her second husband and that she had been
divorced from her first spouse after a scandal which has been aired
quite fully in the newspapers. She had not been proved guilty, but her
skirts certainly had been smirched by rumor. According to the ideas
which had been mine, Dicky should have shrunk from having me ever

meet such a woman, let alone planning to have me on terms of intimacy
with her.
What should I do?
When the curtain went down on the first act I turned to Dicky happily,
eager to hear his comments and filled with a throng of thoughts to wipe
away any remembrance from his mind of the unhappiness that had
promised to mar my evening, and which I feared he had read in my
eyes. But just as I opened my lips to speak, he interrupted me with a
startled exclamation:
"Sit down, Lil. Hello, Harry."
Dicky was on his feet in an instant and Lillian Gale was seated next to
me with Dicky and her husband leaning over us before I had fully
realized that the woman, the thought of whom had so disturbed my
evening, was so close to me.
"I want you to know Mrs. Graham, Harry," Dicky said.
I glowed inwardly at the note of pride in his voice and looked up to
meet a pair of brilliant black eyes looking at me with an appraising
approval that grated. He was a tall, good looking chap, with an air of
ennui that sat oddly on his powerful frame. I felt sure that I would like
Lillian Gale's husband as little as I did the woman herself.
I was glad when the lights dimmed slowly, that the second act was
about to begin. Mrs. Underwood rose with a noisy rustling of draperies.
She evidently was one of those women who can do nothing quietly, and
turning to me said, cordially:
"Be sure to wait for us in the lobby when this is over. We have a plan,"
and before I had time to reply she had rustled away to her own seat, her
tall husband following at some little distance behind her, but apparently
oblivious of her presence as if she were a stranger.
I didn't much enjoy the second act, even though I realized that it was

one of the best comedy scenes I had ever seen, both in its lines and its
acting; but I had a problem to settle, and I longed for the quiet hour in
my own room which my mother had trained me to take every day since
childhood.
Of course, I realized that Lillian Gale meant to have us join them for a
supper party after the theatre. The invitation would be given to us in the
lobby after the last act. Upon the way that I received that invitation
must depend my future conduct toward this woman. I could not make
one of the proposed party and afterward decline to know her. My
instincts all cried out to me to avoid Lillian Gale. She outraged all my
canons of good taste, although even through my prejudices I had to
admit there was something oddly attractive about her in spite of her
atrocious make-up.
But, on the other hand, she and her husband appeared to be on most
intimate terms with Dicky. Would I seriously offend him if I refused to
treat his friends with friendliness equal to that which they seemed ready
to shower upon me?
"Would you like to walk a bit, Madge?" Dicky's voice started me into a
recollection of my surroundings. I had been so absorbed in the problem
of whether I should or should not accept Lillian Gale as an intimate
friend that I did not know that the curtain had fallen on the second act,
nor did I know how the act had ended. My problem was still unsolved.
I welcomed the diversion of a turn in the fresher aid of the lobby.
As we passed up the aisle I felt a sudden tug, then an ominous ripping.
The floating chiffon overdrapery of my gown had caught in a seat. As
Dicky bent to release me his face showed consternation. Almost a
length of the dainty fabric trailed on the floor.
I have schooled my self-repression for many a weary year. I feared my
gown, in which I had taken such pride, was ruined, but I would not let
any one know I cared about it. I gathered it up and smiled at Dicky.
"It really doesn't matter," I said. "If you'll leave me at the woman's
dressing room I think I can fix it up all right."

Dicky