I could have saved myself, but refused to do so, solely because life
had lost its savor, a great wave of disgust with living possessed and
still possesses me. I am writing these words now that Gladys may know
the truth. She has tried to see me, ever since I was brought here, and
I have refused to be seen. That is one right a condemned man has--to
refuse to see visitors.
* * * * *
From the day we were married, Gladys demanded to know my every thought,
my every act every hour of the day.
If every one of them was not concerned with her she criticised,
condemned or cried. She resented, in bitterly-spoken words and equally
bitter acts, the small recesses of my soul that I, for the sake of my
own self-respect, kept to myself.
Finally she determined to show me that there were other men who
appreciated her, if I did not. For a while, after that, all hours of
the day and evening my home was infested with lounge lizards. I endured
it without a word, which infuriated her.
Lester Caine, a young fellow, honest and simple, was her first victim.
The first time I found him seated close beside her on the dimly lit
porch I welcomed him warmly. We smoked and talked of our days in the
army together. I felt that Gladys could safely enough flirt with such
as Lester, if that was what she wanted: but Lester called only a few
times after that.
For two months there was a succession of young fellows about the place.
Our house was not far from the Westmoor Country Club, and the golf
links came almost up to our side-yard. Our porch was a convenient place
to “drop in.”
Suddenly all that sort of thing ceased. Gladys was away a great deal,
but as her mother lived in a town just a few miles away I thought
nothing of that. She became very quiet, was thoughtful, absent-minded,
flushed easily, seemed not herself.
At first I was a good deal puzzled, then, suddenly an explanation for
the change in her dawned on me. Joy filled my soul. I was inordinately
gentle with her, bought her a small automobile for her birthday, did
everything I could think of for her comfort and pleasure.
After all, I told myself, the emotional phase she had passed through
was natural. Marriage is a more difficult readjustment with some than
others. It had evidently been so with Gladys. If a child came to us it
would make everything right.
A child--_our child_! It was wonderful to think of. She had always
refused to consider the subject saying she wished to enjoy life while
she was young. But she knew I wanted a son to bear my name, a daughter
to inherit her beauty, and she had accepted the inevitable. A wave of
exaltation made me feel as if I were treading on clouds. I longed to
mention the subject to her, but I felt that the first word about it
should come from her.
I spent hours thinking of tender, loving things to do for her. She
accepted everything quietly, sometimes with averted face and flushed
cheeks. I would draw her inert figure into my arms and hold her close,
but she made no response to my demonstrative affection.
At this stage of affairs my firm sent me on a ten-day trip to close a
Western deal. It was hard to leave Gladys, but now, more than ever, I
felt that we would need money, and lots of it.
We arranged for Gladys to go to her mother’s, and I was to join her
there on my return.
It is the same old story. I came home before I was expected, and went
straight to our cottage, with the intention of having Glady’s room
redecorated before bringing her home.
At the gate stood Gladys’ car. I rushed into the house, but there was
no one on the lower floor, nor in Gladys’ room, nor mine. I was about
to descend the stairs when I heard a low laugh--a man’s laugh--from the
third floor. I dashed up there and stood gazing at the closed door of
the spare room.
“What’s the idea, running away from me?” asked the man. “You can’t blow
hot and cold with me.”
“I told you not to come here again. It’s not safe.”
“I’m not afraid of that husband of yours. You’re mine, and you’re going
to stay mine.”