Told in a French Garden / August, 1914

AN'S PH

of a Mo

hat the next night was one o

"man is born to die, and woman, too," but that the great works of men, his bequest to the coming generations, should be wantonly destroyed, seemed even more horrible, especially to those who love beauty, an

, which told of sleepless nights. And why? We were mere spectators. We had been interested to disp

hear the voices and the heavy feet of the peasant women as they went home from their work. The garden had never been more beautiful

he r?le, and carried a big lace bag on her arm, and, as she leaned back in her chair, she pulled

of you more experienced people can do," and she took the manuscript out of her lace bag, and, settling herself gracefully, unrolled it. The Youngster put a stool under her pretty feet, a

not make her any the less nervous, or he

of those rare occasions whe

s especial corner of the drawing-room, an

ns, in her very latest gown, with a most becoming li

his chair, in a position m

r, finer, in fact, in all her life-quite the satisfactory, a

attractive to all women than he was now at fort

elbow, he leaned forward, and picked up a book which lay

e page. "I never can get used to a woman reading that stuff-and in French, at

moment later, she did speak it was t

in good season this mornin

fferent reply, "at ten

table, and that you expla

our beastly head-ach

nk y

changed the subject, which d

ill turning the leaves of the book

exa

Instructs you, if y

he speaks the truth, and there are some-even amo

his cigar, "that most women are more emotiona

have a trick of doing, and then polished them on her lace handkerchief, before she said, "Yes, it is a pit

take life impersonally, that Schopenhauer does her no good.

for us as for you. Pass me the book. I wager that I can open it at ra

ed her

looked at the page. She paused a bit after she glanced at it, then picked up the book and read: "'L'homme est par Nature porté à l'inconstance dans l'amour, la femme à la fidelit

down, but she di

," was h

easy to say 'rubbish' to all natural t

openhauer, you must go the whole length with him. The fault is in Na

less of Nature, which deliberately shuts its eyes to all natural truths in regard to the relati

o wink on that account. Right there, in your Schopenhauer, you have a primal reason, that is, if you chose to follow your philosopher to the extent of actually believing that Nature

lieve it

be right. A theoretic arguer like Schopenhauer makes good enough reading for calm minds, but he is

I ever heard of him. I read him because did I not find a clear logical mind going the same w

from your own lives which men like Schopenhauer have scanned the centuries for. The natural course of your life could hardly have provided you with the pessimism with which-I hope you wi

who is not his wife, it is because there is no frankness in marriage. Dick, did it ever occur to you that a man

for

ily you

ink they are not understood, but

ed one another much with o

ected her to anticipate them with something, and there was a half interrogative note in his voice. She made no respons

omforts on my account. I think, as women

d selected a fresh one. He appeared to be reflecting as he lighted it, and if his mind could have been read, it would have probably been discovered that he was wondering how it had happened that the conversation had taken this turn

nflattering ideas of life, why, you have such a brilliant way of putting it, that I am more than half proud that you've the brains to hold such ideas, though they are a bit disconcerting to me as a husband. I suppose the development is logical enough.

ly believe marriage is foolish. I do believe that no man ever approached it without regretting that civilization had made it necessary, and that many men would escape, at the very last

ssion of men walking,-according to their disposi

nfessions of a majority of men of our cla

that it was tru

rha

gh. "Do you mean to say tha

am not speaking of what men talk about in such cases, or of what they do, but of what they feel,-of the fact that, in too many instances, Nature not having meant men for bondage, after they have passed the

quite seriously: "As far as we are concerned, Naomi, I

ied, I knew that it would not have broken your

asily in this age. We are schooled to meet

ost you then, woul

hurriedly: "You loved me, of course. I was of your world. I was a woman that other men liked, and therefore a desirable woman. I was

." He was wondering, if, after all, she were going to develop into an emotional woman, and his heart gave a quick l

r, so much more complex f

tection of t

expense of her capacity to enjoy being a woman, and who is forced at the same time to encounter the laws of Nature, and pay at th

e husband, "in feeling flattered that i

regret, like art, is long. Not even you can deny," she exclaimed, sitting up in some exciteme

ally it is a little rough on yo

s to stir a man's faculties healthily. They seem the stronger and more fit for it

f you deucedly handsome. And I have

ems to have adjusted matters between me

nly one we know we must adjust

? Women would have nothing to expect then, and there'd be no such thing as broken hearts. In spite of all the polish of civilization, man is simply bent on conquest. Woman

ice light, as he said: "Not a

way, and argue that probably the Sabine wom

the law of life that one must give, and one must take. That the

d down the long room, not

ked up her cushions, and re-arranged them about her, with an idle care

ive look in her eyes, almost as if he were some new and

It seems to me that man comes out of a great passion just as good as new, w

ns, dear child, but how about the long list of men who are annually ruined by it

of the criminal classes, but of th

, "but that is not th

the case of women capable of deep love-on the men whether the relation into which marriage betrays them be decent or indecent. What I should like to be able to discover is-what pro

e as he paused in his walk, and, for the first time spe

t out for herself: "Take my case. I don't claim that it is uncommon. I do claim that I was not the woman for the situation. I w

modern scoffers.

e thought, because they were not all on the outside, that I had none. My poor father had hoped, with his teachings,

s heirs-live for them-luckily. Why, you might as well forbid a rose to blos

an as I was brought up only prepares h

ear it-more ardently desired. No woman ever led a man the chase you led me. If ever in those days you were a

nd be heard, too. Even when I believed in you-because I wanted to-and half hoped that all my teaching was wrong, I made a bargain with myself. I told myself, quite calmly, that I knew perfectly well all the possibilities of the future. That if I went forward with you, I went forward deliberately with open eyes, knowing what, logically, I might expect to find in the future. Ignorance-that blissful comfort of so many women,-was denied me. Still, the spell

ed we were so near together-you showed m

gs deeper than words that I was dealing-the things one does-not says. Even in the early days of our engagement I knew that I was not as essential to you as you were to me. Life held other interests for you. Even the f

n his hands. He no longer responded. Words were dangerous. His lips were

rely the tribute to posterity which Life had demanded of me as the penalty of your love-nothing more. I must be singularly unfitted for marriage, because, when the hour came in which I felt that I was no longer your wife, your children seemed no longer mine. They merely represented the next generation-born of me. I know that this is very shocking. I have

s without emphasis. She carefully examined her handkerchief corner by

ring myself to that, much as I desired it. It would have left you such a wretched memory of me. You could never

his arms.-The idea of denial o

of all you-what I knew. So, like a coward, I lived on, becoming gradually accustomed to the idea that my day was past, but knowing that the moment I was forced to speak, I would be forced to move on out of your life. Singularly enough, as I grew calm, I grew to respect this other woman. I could not blame her for loving you. I ended by admiring her. I had known her so well-she was such a proud woman! I looked back at my marriage and saw the affair as it really was. I ha

m his covered mouth, "w

ure laughs. Yet this other woman, proud, high-minded, unselfish, hitherto above reproach, had given herself for love alone-with everything to lose and nothing to gain. I have come to doubt myself. I have had my day. For years it was an enviable one. No woman can hope for more. Wh

sprang to

!" he gasped.

s. She went on carefully inspecting

until I had to. I am a coward, but not enough of one to bear the thought of her alone in a foreign country with mind and emoti

udge would have said so. But he knew better than to think that for one moment they would be excuses in the mind of this wom

not yet fully realizing what had happened to him-all emotion seemed to have beco

d the room. Her eyes seem

s to give you your

tually leave

remain tog

our ch

en that I have any. I have had my l

she could have read the truth in his face, it would have told her that she had never been loved as she was at that moment. All that she had been in her loyalty, her nobility, was so much a part of this man

n with this between them. It would be equally useless to tell her that this other woman ha

hat he could never understand it himself? There were the

er slid into the channel! Was that only this

d stretched her ha

d not

r than it is. Let me take with me the consolation of a

ppeal-he opened hi

t-that he should leave her the power to seek peace-and her voice had such a tone of

epped

she quickly opened th

vously rolled up

ming. No one dared. Men can't r

that story. It is not the sort of thing that lends itself to narrati

ay it," said the Journali

hat?" she exclaimed. "I thought I had made her so reasonabl

s lief live in a world created and run by George

he reading: "Don't let us get on that subject to-night. A story is a story. You have asked, and you have received. None of

tic, "I think we are doing pret

laughed the Journalist, "a

"Mine had real literary qualit

erhaps. You are the only one up t

is dead," said the Journalist. "This w

Divorcée, who was still nervously r

tell you. It isn't a true story, of course." And she r

"that she made that up in the imagination she carries around under that pretty

After a moment's hesitation he took her lace scarf from the back of her chair, and strolled after her. The

ed her-she told me about it afterwa

wish it had happened. Oh, no. I was brought up to believe in the proprietary rights in marriage, and

d, as she stamped

only going to say 'Thank God.'

tishly. "It serves me quite right. Now I suppose th

you know, run the risk of getting mixed up

d into the house, leaving the Doctor gazing quizzically after her. Before she wa

ut she did