“I declare, Lucy, I never heard of a woman as unreasonable as you are,” said Harry Howard to his wife one evening just after dinner, “you expect me to be at your beck and call every minute of the time.”
“No, Harry, I don’t, but I would like you to stay at home once in a while in the evening; I get so lonesome,” was the response.
“Lonesome? Why don’t you go out then?”
“Why Harry! How can I go out by myself? You know very well I can’t do that.”
“Can’t you? There are plenty of women who do. I don’t see what there is to prevent you from going if you like. All you have to do is to order the carriage and go.”
“Oh Harry, I don’t want to go any place without you. Why can’t you go with me occasionally, instead of going to the club every evening?”
“Thunder, I don’t care for your stupid balls and parties. You know that very well, and I am not going to be dragged about to so-called entertainments by anybody.”
“But, I don’t care very much for balls and parties myself, and really don’t care to go; but dear, I would like to have you stay quietly at home with baby and I once in a while.”
“Quietly at home,” sneered the handsome Mr. Howard, “oh, that is a pleasant prospect. And then talk about quiet; I don’t suppose that fine daughter of ours would air her lungs more than a dozen times during this same quiet evening.”
“Harry, how can you speak so of baby Mae? You know our darling has never been well and we can not expect her to be as good as other babies on that account, but if you will only stay home this evening, I will send her up stairs with the nurse, and then you will not hear her at all.”
“No, I might not hear her, but every five minutes you would be running up stairs to see if she had turned over in bed.”
“No, Harry, I promise you I will not go even once,” answered Lucy, trying to smile, “and if you will only stay we will have some music. I will play for you and you shall sing, as you used to before we were married.”
“Nonsense; that did well enough then but it is rather stale now. Come, don’t be foolish, I hate scenes, and if you knew how dreadful you look when you put on that doleful face, and cry like a baby, you wouldn’t do it.” This remark was called forth by the fact that Lucy was trying hard to repress the tears which would betray themselves. “And besides that, I can’t stay at home this evening if I wanted to, for I promised several of the boys at the club that I would come down; in fact, they would hardly let me come home to dinner.” He did not add that his only reason for coming home was to put on a dress-suit, in which he was already arrayed.
“I don’t believe there is another man who neglects his wife as you do me,” sobbed Lucy.
“Bah! I don’t neglect you; you have all the cash you need, don’t you, and you’ve got as swell a house and as many servants as ought to satisfy any woman. Then there isn’t a woman in the city who can beat your turnout when you go for a drive. Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I was a brute of a husband, instead of one who provides you with everything your heart could wish and let you have your way in everything. I declare I am sick and tired of women; you can never do enough for them. I have seen enough of women and I must say I am disgusted with the whole lot.”
Lucy was too indignant to make any answer, but hastily left the room. Mr. Howard surveyed himself critically in the long pier glass, turning himself this way and that. His appearance seemed to please him as he turned with a satisfied air to the door, through which he disappeared. Jumping into a waiting coupe, he gave an order to the driver, and was soon on his way, not to the club, but to the florists, where he found a magnificent bouquet awaiting him. He looked it over carefully; it proved satisfactory, and, handing the man a crisp ten dollar bill he drove rapidly away again, but still not to the club. The driver did not seem to need any instructions as to where to go, but soon drew up in front of a large, brilliantly-lighted house.
As Mr. Howard mounted the steps the door opened and two women appeared. Both were young and exceedingly good looking. They each gave him a hand and a warm welcome. To the taller of the two he handed the flowers, in which she immediately buried her face, and after giving them a little sniff, said: “You are a perfect jewel, Mr. Howard, to bring me these lovely flowers. I never saw anyone as delightfully thoughtful as you are.”
“If you are pleased with them I am happy, for to please you, what would I not do.”
“You are just too sweet for anything, to say such pretty things to me. But why are you so late? I have been looking for you ever so long.”
“Oh, its my wife again. She has been treating me to another lecture.”
“You poor fellow! So she is jealous? Well, I can’t blame her. I should be horribly jealous if I were your wife, you are so good looking, you know.”
Some way, this last remark of the gay Miss Rosie Hastings did not please Mr. Howard, for, although he cared really nothing for his wife, he did not like the idea that Rosie Hastings should for a moment imagine herself as his wife. For much as he frequented that lively young person’s home he did not like her to assume too much.
“But come,” she continued, “before the crowd gets here, lets you and I have a little music. I will play your accompaniments and you shall sing to me. I do so love to hear you sing.”
Could it be possible Harry Howard had forgotten the conversation of not an hour previous, as he replied, “that’s a capital idea. I am just in the mood for a few songs.”
One gay song followed another until the spacious rooms had begun to fill up with young men and women. There was an air of freedom about the young women which at once proclaimed them as not of the social set who feel the need of a chaperone. Dancing was soon begun and lasted well into the morning hours. Mr. Howard was one of those who seemed to enjoy the dancing immensely, notwithstanding the fact that he had told his wife that he cared nothing for that sort of thing.
After her husband had left the house, poor Lucy went sadly into the room where her year old baby was sleeping. Throwing herself on her knees, she buried her face in the downy covering of the little sleeper, sobbing, “oh baby, you do not know how wretched I am. I wish I could die. Two short years ago I was so happy, but now what have I left in life besides you, my frail little pet.”