Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/702

that I think will open your eyes a little to what I have to endure occasionally. And I never knew any one to thrust me at Henry as a model wife!

Now, just one evidence of Henry's thoughtlessness—but I'm not complaining, you understand—when I've been lying here all day long, until I am so exhausted in every bone I am ready to faint, Henry will come in looking all tired out and gloomy just when I am so in need of some one to entertain me and cheer me up. And two nights ago, after I had managed to think of the very last thing I wanted to have on my table beside me, Henry put on the most forlorn expression and said in the weakest tone: "Are you sure you have everything now? I've had such a hard day and I'm worn out and want to go to bed." Did you ever hear of anything so inconsiderate? You know every doctor says you must be bright and smiling about an ill person.—Men are so selfish.

So that decided me to get some one else to help wait on me besides Marie and Henry and Jane, the children's nurse. You remember Susie Rogers up at the lake last summer? . . . Why, yes, you do—her brother kept the combination fish and flower store, the third turn from the left after you'd passed the second on the right after leaving the church. Well, she took care

She kept getting worse

of the children the week Jane was away burying her sister-in-law. Her services were really invaluable, and just at that time when I had to have some one. I told her I never could repay her in money and I would do something handsome for her later. Of course I sent her a nice present at Christmas—I mean nice for her, way out there—I gave her two of my old evening gowns that Marie didn't want and a perfectly beautiful calendar. It was a last year's one, to be sure, but in those little country towns, I suppose, dates aren't very important, and a day or two out of the way doesn't matter particularly.

Well, I promised Susie if Jane had to bury any more of her family or anything happened, I would have her come down this winter and let her see a little of the gayety of city life. And then it occurred to me it would be a good time to ask her down now on a little visit while I'm sick and give her a pleasant time. When I don't want her to do anything for me Marie can take her out to the Park and the Museum of Natural History and the Aquarium and places like that, that she can understand and enjoy. I really do want the girl to have a happy visit and—Oh, what an awful racket those children are making up in the nursery!—Marie! Marie! Tell the children they must not play any more to-day—they disturb me dreadfully.—And tell Jane to give them early tea and put them right to bed.—My dear, it just seems as though no one in your own house considers you or your comfort when you-are sick. . . . Why, of course I do, now you have your coat off. . . . Twenty- five pounds? If you knew how much you are improved—You know, my dear, I'd be the last to speak about such a thing, but, really, you were a sight, and the unkind things I've heard said about your figure—but it's all right now. How did you do it? . . . Oh no, I never could stand diet and exercise—besides, of course, I don't need it. Madame Hannigan said only the other day as she was fitting me that I had the most perfect figure she ever saw.

. . . My dear, you are not tiring me at all—really, you are not. I promise truly I will tell you when you are. . . . Yes, I will.

. . . No, I can't remember the exact date I began to feel so badly, but I know it was shortly after Henry decided we could not afford to go to Palm Beach this winter—something about Wall Street and stocks and things that went wrong. As I said to him, it's just when you are losing money that you have got to pretend you have plenty. But Henry is so awfully set when he gets an idea into his head—you can't budge him. He said we couldn't afford it and that was the end of it. I've been wretched ever since.

Then Henry insisted on calling in Dr. Trowbridge—I can't bear him; he is about a million years old and lives 'way downtown in a most unfashionable quarter, and I never heard of a single person of social prominence having him. But that is another example of Henry's obstinacy—just because his sister swears by Dr. Trowbridge because he brought them through all sorts of illnesses, I had to have him—as though that recommended him to me in the least as long as I didn't want him!