I am so sorry I have not written for such a long time, but I have been
feeling anything but fit. This household is _most_ trying to live with,
and I really feel that in my present nervous condition I am hardly fit
to cope with my work here. I have been to Dr. Trevor and put the whole
situation very fully and carefully before him, and he agrees that I
certainly ought not to be subjected to so much emotional strain. On the
other hand, I know poor Mrs. Harrison does cling to me so much for
sympathy and support that it seems almost wicked not to hang on if I can
possibly manage it. She has no one else to confide in at all, and I do
at least feel that here I am being of real use to somebody. Dr. Trevor
says that if only I can lose sight of my own difficulties in helping her
with hers, it will be good for me to make the effort, provided I do not
let the atmosphere of the house get on my nerves. I have started a
little exercise on Coué lines. Every morning I say to myself: “I am
cool, strong, confident,” twenty times, and at night I say: “I am
satisfied and at peace,” also twenty times. Dr. Trevor thinks these are
quite good phrases to say.
I _did_ hope, a few days ago, that the difficulty was going to solve
itself. Mrs. Harrison announced that she was going to take up office
work again. The idea of it seemed to brighten her up tremendously, and I
think it would be the best thing she could do. But, of course, the Bear
played his old trick again. When she first announced her decision, he
pretended to agree, and said she could do as she liked, so she was
awfully pleased, and rang up one of the people at her old office to see
if they had a vacancy there. As it happened, they had, and she
practically arranged to start work next week. Then Mr. Bear started off.
“All right? Well, I suppose it is all right if you think so. But don’t
you think it’s a trifle hard on me, my dear, having a wife out all day,
fagging herself to death in an office and coming home fit for nothing? I
give you a good home, and I rather expected, or hoped, you would like to
make it a home for me to come back to. That is the usual idea, isn’t it?
But I suppose the modern woman thinks differently about these things. If
hotel life is your notion of happiness you ought to go and live in
America.”
It is too bad to work upon the poor girl’s feelings in that selfish way.
She tried to reason with him, but, of course, the end was that she made
herself perfectly sick with crying, and wrote and told the people that
she couldn’t manage to take the job after all. And now he goes about
saying it’s a pity she can’t find something better to do with herself
than reading trashy novels all day. I spoke up. I said, “Mr. Harrison,
excuse me, but you ought not to speak to your wife like that. She gave
up the work she wanted to do, _entirely_ to please you, and I think you
ought to consider her a little more and yourself a good deal less.” I
daresay he wasn’t best pleased, but I thought it my duty to say it. I
felt most terribly exhausted after this trying scene. It is such a drain
upon one’s personality, coping with outbreaks of this kind. One is
giving, giving, all the time. I am asking Dr. Trevor to prescribe me a
tonic. A curious feature of my malady at the moment is a craving for
shrimps. Our fishmonger keeps very good ones, but sometimes I have to go
quite a long way to get them, because I am afraid he will think it funny
if I buy shrimps every day.
I am sure I don’t know what we should do if it were not for Mr. Lathom.
He often drops in of an evening now and cheers us up immensely. The Bear
is always dragging the poor man off into his studio, as he calls it, to
twaddle about art, but Mr. Lathom has most delightful manners and puts
up with it heroically. He thinks my scarf-patterns and stocking-tops
show great talent, “a very good sense of design.” He is a real artist,
so I am sure he wouldn’t say so if he didn’t think it.
We do not see much of the objectionable Mr. Munting, I am glad to say.
He often doesn’t come home till very late. You never know what these men
are after. It is a good thing that he shares the maisonnette with Mr.
Lathom, who I am sure would not allow any undesirable goings-on under
our roof.
I hope darling Joan is quite strong again now. Give her my love, and say
I have started on the scarf. I am doing a pattern of purple and white
clematis, which will be very chic, I think.
Your loving sister,
AGGIE