THE TRAGEDY OF AN AUTHOR'S WIFE.

"I won't stand it any longer," said Janet intensely, meeting me in the

hall. "Take off your umbrella and listen to me."

"It's off," I replied faintly, perceiving that something was all my fault.

"Can't you hear it singing 'Niagara' in the porch?"

I dropped the shopping on the floor and sat down to watch Janet walking up

and down the room.

"I want," she continued in the tone of one who has had nobody to be

indignant with all day, "a divorce."

"Who for?" I inquired. "Really, darling, we can't afford any more presents

this--"

"Me," she interrupted, frowning.

"Couldn't you have it for your birthday?" I suggested. "I may have some

more money by then. Besides, I gave you--"

"No, I could not," replied Janet in a voice like the end of the world; "I

want it now. I will not wear myself out trying to live up to an impossible

ideal, and lose all my friends because they can't help comparing me with

it. And it isn't even as if it were my own ideal. I never know what I've

got to be like from one week to another. And what do I get for my

struggles? Not even recognition, much less gratitude."

"Janet," I said kindly, "I don't know _what_ you're talking about. Who are

these people who keep idealising you? I will not have you annoyed in this

way. Send them to me and I'll put a little solid realism into their heads.

I'll tell them what you really are, and that'll settle their unfortunate

illusions. Dear old girl, don't worry so.... I'll soon put it right."

Janet looked at me piercingly.

"It's this," she said; "I keep having people to call on me."

"I know," I answered, shuddering; "but I can't help it, can I? You

shouldn't be so attractive."

"Dear Willyum," she replied, "that's just the point; you _can_ help it."

"Stop calling me names and I'll see what can be done."

"But it's part of my 'whimsical wit' to call you Willyum," she said grimly.

"I understand that I am like that. People realise this when they read your

articles, and immediately call to see if I'm true. I've read through nearly

all your stories to-day, in between the visitors, and--and--"

Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 158, 1920-01-28 · 第 12 / 41 题