His Second Wife

les. But as he began to see light ahead, again he took notice of things at home; and rather to his own surpr

bath or to sit on the floor and build houses of blocks, he knew about building houses, and

hild had tightened the bonds between her and its father. His blunt, affectionate kindliness appealed to her often in

work lay forgotten. But almost always, unknown to them both, the spirit of Amy was in the room, and the influence of her memory was shown in Joe's attitude toward his home. For in spite of his enjoyment of the simpler régime, he r

is to give her expensive things, and above all keep her idle." She d

his view of its mighty pulsing life, restless, heaving, leaping on, gripped her more than ever before. And moreover, now that Amy was dead, Ethel soon began to feel another Joe emerging out of some period long ago. With a new and curious eagerness to find in him what her sister had never known (an eagerness she would have disclaimed with the utmost indignation), she began to probe into Joe's past. And in answer to her questions he threw ou

Nourse made Ethel feel as before his surly, jealous dislike of her presence in Joe's home. And Ethel's hostility redoubled. She recalled what A

im, for she was not good at hiding dislikes. And to that his g

and Susette ought to go to the seashore. They began to discuss seaside hotels, and chose a place along the Sound. It was decided that Emily should stay here to look after Joe, and that he should run up for his week-ends. In the meantime, as his busi

Amy in her bedroom good-humouredly talking and smiling, and teaching Ethel how to get on; of Amy with her husband, throwing swift, vigilant glances at him, kissing him, nestling in his arms. In her thinking Ethel grew hot and cold, with jealousy, swift self-reproach and a new, alarming tenderness. She thought of Joe, of his every

d always be there!" she would cry to herself. "Well, and why not?" she would demand. "Why be such a jealous cat? Would you let that hold you back?" It was all so involved, this Amy part, w

uld only mak

nge in a few moments; and her eyes would grow absorbed, attentive, now to Joe and now to herself, grave, wistful, sad, and then suddenly gay-though they only talked of little thing

ng began to be left behind. It was back in the past; she was looking on. One day, when Susette had bumped her head and her aunt was c

r now; she saw that he had made up his mind. She felt his strength and tenderness, his hunger for her growing. Sometimes it was frightenin

burning, trembling. She pressed both hands tight t

s and what he is not. He is not a good many things I had dreamed of, but he's so dear and kind and safe. And I want to have children." Gravely wondering, she would l

s and vases forced themselves upon her attention. For some time past she had di

the day which both dreaded was nearly at hand, the anniversary of her death.

st speak. She felt how this unspoken name of her sister would keep rising, rising, between them for the rest of the

ived, he did not come home until very late. From her room she heard him come in, and presently by the silence she knew he h

k out some flowers. Then they went out to Amy's grave. And a moment came to Ethel there, an

can

f all this, took half the purple asters from Amy's grave, and turning back confidingly she put th

eak of the flowers, she knew that he too had been a

ed up with a resolute frown. . . . But once again

t when Joe, close by her side, had been talking slowly for some time, his voice husky, strained

d-oh, I'm very happy! Please

gone she still

ster was not spoken between them-w

e way his eyes looked into hers. That hunger, it was always there, and growing, always growing! The feeling she'd never

ook the shimmering little gowns and dainty hats and slippers, silk stockings, filmy night-gowns-and packed them into boxes. All were to be

t night, bending over her cradle, Ethel would whisper to her, "Oh, I'm dreaming, dreaming, dear!" And to Susette this