Revelations of a Wife | Page 8

for my husband's love! A fierce anger took possession of me.
One moment I regretted my marriage to Dicky, the next I was fiercely
primitive as any savage woman in my desire to crush my rival. I could
have strangled Lillian Gale in that moment. Then common sense came
back to me. What was it that woman had said? I had all the best cards
in my hand? Well! I would play them. I felt sure that Dicky loved me. I
would not jeopardize that love for a temporary pride. I would eliminate
Lillian Gale from Dicky's life, but I would bide my time to do it.

IV
DIVIDED OPINIONS
If anybody wishes an infallible recipe for taking the romance out of life,
I can recommend washing a pile of dishes which have been left over
from the day before, especially if there be among them a number of
greasy pots and pans. Restoring order to a badly cluttered room is
another glamour destroyer, but the first prize, I stoutly affirm, goes to
the dishes.
An especially aggravating collection of romance shatterers awaited me
the morning after our visit to the theatre, and my first encounter with

Lillian Gale.
Dicky took a hurried breakfast and rushed off to the studio, while I
spent a dreary forenoon washing the dishes and putting the apartment
to rights. I dreaded the discussion with Dicky at luncheon. I had
insisted before my marriage that I must either do most of the
housework, or keep up some of my old work to add to our income. To
have a maid, while I did nothing to justify my existence save keep
myself pretty and entertain Dicky, savored too much to me of the
harem favorite.
A mother of small children, a woman with a large house, one who had
old people to care for, or whose health was not good, was justified in
having help. But for me, well, strong, with a tiny apartment, and just
Dicky, to employ a maid without myself earning at least enough to pay
for the extra expense of having her--it was simply impossible. I had
been independent too long. The situation was galling.
The postman's ring interrupted my thoughts. I went to the door,
receiving a number of advertisements, a letter or two for Dicky, and
one, addressed in an unfamiliar handwriting, to myself. I opened it and
read it wonderingly.
"My dear Mrs. Graham:
"Our club is planning a course in history for the coming year. We need
an experienced conductor for the class, which will meet once a week.
Your name has been suggested to us as that of one who might be
willing to take up the work. The compensation will not be as large as
that given by the larger clubs for lectures, as we are a small
organization, but I do not think you will have to devote much of your
time to the work outside of the weekly meeting.
"Will you kindly let me know when I can meet you and talk this over
with you, if you decide to consider it?
"Yours very truly,

"HELEN BRAINERD SMITH,
"Secretary Lotus Study Club,
"215 West Washington Avenue."
Had the solution to my problem come? Armed with this I could talk to
Dicky at luncheon without any fears.
The receipt of the letter put me in a royal good humor. I did not care
how little the compensation was, although I knew it would be far more
than enough to pay the extra expense of having a maid, an expense
which I was determined to defray.
Teaching or lecturing upon historical subjects was child's play to me. I
had specialized in it, and had been counted one of the most successful
instructors in that branch in the city. Woman's club work was new to
me, but the husband of one of my friends had once conducted such a
course, and I knew I could get all the information I needed from him.
I thought of Dicky's possible objections, but brushed the thought aside.
He had objected to my going on with my regular school work and I
realized that the hours which I would have been compelled to give to
that work would have conflicted seriously with our home life. But here
was something that would take me away from home so little.
* * * * *
"About that servant question," I began, after Dicky was comfortably
settled and smiling over his cigar. "I will employ one, a first-class,
really competent housekeeper, if you will make no objection to this."
I opened the letter and handed it to him. He read it through, his face
growing angrier at every line. When he had finished he threw it on the
floor.
"Well, I guess not," he exclaimed.