The New Penelope and Other Stories and Poems | Page 8

and curious things, but have no really
refined taste to arrange them. Our little ten-o'clock lunch was perfect in
its appointments--a "thing of beauty," as it was of palatableness and
refreshment. So strongly was I impressed at the moment with this talent
of Mrs. Greyfield's, that I could not refrain from speaking of it, as we
sat sipping hot and spicy lemonade from those exquisite cut-glass
goblets of her choosing, and tasting dainties served on the loveliest
china: "Yes, I suppose it is a gift of God, the same as a taste for the
high arts is an endowment from the same source. Did it never strike
you as being absurd, that men should expect, and as far as they can,
require all women to be good housekeepers? They might as well expect
every mechanic to carve in wood or chisel marble into forms of life.
But it is my one available talent, and has stood me in good stead,
though I have no doubt it was one chief cause of my trouble, by
attracting Mr. Seabrook."
"You must know," I said, "that I am tortured with curiosity to hear

about that person. Will you not now begin?"
"Let me see--where did I leave off? I was telling you that although I
had so many suitors, of so many classes, and none of them desirable, to
my way of thinking, I was really gradually being influenced to marry.
You must know that a woman so young and so alone in the world, and
who had to labor for her bread, and her child's bread, could not escape
the solicitations of men who did not care to marry; and it was this class
who gave me more uneasiness than all the presuming ignorant ones,
who would honor me by making me a wife. I know it is constantly
asserted, by men themselves, that no woman is approached in that way
who does not give some encouragement. But no statement could be
more utterly false--unless they determine to construe ordinary
politeness and friendliness into a covert advance. The cunning of the
"father of lies" is brought to bear to entrap artless and inexperienced
women into situations whence they are assured there is no escape
without disgrace.
"During my first year of widowhood my feelings were several times
outraged in this way; and at first I was so humiliated, and had such a
sense of guilt, that it made me sick and unfit for my work. The guilty
feeling came, I now know, from the consciousness I had of the popular
opinion I have referred to, that there must be something wrong in my
deportment. But by calling to mind all the circumstances connected
with these incidents, and studying my own behavior and the feelings
that impelled me, I taught myself at last not to care so very much about
it, after the first emotions of anger had passed away. Still I thought I
could perceive that I was not quite the same person: you
understand?--the 'bloom' was being brushed away."
"What an outrage! What a shame, that a woman in your situation could
not be left to be herself, with her own pure thoughts and tender sorrows!
Was there no one to whom you could go for advice and
sympathy?--none among all those who came to the country with you
who could have helped you?"
"The people who came out with me were mostly scattered through the
farming country; and would have been of very little use to me if they

had not been. In fact, they would, probably, have been first to condemn
me, being chiefly of an uneducated class, and governed more by
traditions than by the wisdom of experience. There were two or three
families whose acquaintance I had made after arriving in Portland, who
were kindly disposed towards me, and treated me with great
neighborliness; especially the family that was in the same tenement
with me. To them I sometimes mentioned my troubles; but while they
were willing to do anything for me in the way of a common friendly
service, like the loaning of an article of household convenience, or
sitting with me when Benton was sick--as he very often was--they
could not understand other needs, or minister to the sickness of the
mind. If I received any counsel, it was to the effect that a woman was in
every way better off to be married. I used to wonder why God had not
made us married--why he had given us our individual natures, since
there was forever this necessity of being paired!"
"Yet you had loved your husband?"
"I had never ceased to love him!--and that was just what these people
could not understand. Death cut them loose from everything, and they
were left with only strong desires,