Facing Up to Life and Love

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXVIII, Issue 3481, 9 August 1937, Page 2

Facing Up to Life and Love

HER SISTER'S SWEETHEART

Here is a poignant problem of a love that is torn by loyalty. How far should sisterly affection couut against the love of a maid for a man when he's her sister's young man? A friend who acted as mediator tells of the following interesting experience:—

Mary is a "stay-at-home" girl. Happy and contented to sit by the fire with her knitting or her needlework, happier still in the kitchen, "knocking up" a savory little supper for the family, and not in the least anxious to try her wings in the big world outside. I used to think what a grand little home-maker Mary would make for some lucky man—if ever he got the chance to meet her!

But Mary was in distress when she dropped in to see me a few weeks ago. "It's about Sheila," she began. "You know what devoted sisters wo have always been."

Sheila and Mary, with only a couple of years between them, have indeed been devoted sisters, and it was certainly a bit of a blow to Mary when Sheila took up with Andrew Fox. But she was far too unselfish to let Sheila see that, though she had confided to me that she felt she had "sort of lost Sheila," and that she couldn't feel she had gained a brother —at any rate, till she knew Andrew a little better.

"Well," Mary went on, "Sheila has been bringing Andrew home now for the last three months, and though they're not engaged yet, I believe they talked of becoming so. It was about a month ago that I noticed Andrew taking rather more notice of me than he did at first, and—oh dear, I don't know how to tell you—but I've fallen in love with him! "It's only these last two weeks I've realised it, and I've been so miserable. I've kept out of the way as much as possible, because I'm so afraid to be anywhere near him. Once or twice he has said things that seem to show he rather likes me, too. But he's Sheila's boy, so I keep telling myself, and I would hate myself for ever after if I hurt Sheila, or if Andrew hurt Sheila because of me. I just don't know what to do."

Mary was silent, gazing into the flickering fire. I was silent, too—trying to put myself first in Mary's place, and secondly in Sheila's. "After all," I said at length, "Andrew is still free. He's' not engaged to Sheila yet." "No. I only wish he were. I mean — oh dear, I don't know whether I do wish it, unless Sheila's really and truly the right one for him." "Mary," I said gently, "I think you'll have to go away. For six months, at any rate. I know you'll hate leaving home, but it may be good for you in the end, my dear, and I think the situation as it stands is an impossible one. You in love with Andrew, and Andrew, possibly, more than a little interested in you, and Shiela trusting you both so utterly and looking forward to her happiness. Yes, you'll certainly have to get a job away from 1 , home."

"They'll all think it's very queer of me," Mary said. "Do you think I should confide in Mum?" "Never mind if they think it's queer. You can say you feel you are growing too dependent on home and the home folk, and that you feel you need a change. No, I shouldn't tell a single soul, and certainly no one at home, the real reason for your decision. Your going away will do several good things. It will leave Sheila a clear field; it will help Andrew to decide what his feelings about her really are, and it will be easier for you away from them all, to throw yourself heart and soul into a new job and see whether you can forget. "Stay away six months at least. By the time you come back things will probably have adjusted themselves. Either Sheila and Andrew will be engaged, in which case all you have to do is to go on forgetting, as you will already have begun to do, or Andrew will have realised he has made a mistake and broken with Sheila. Whichever happens, your having gone away will make things easier and you will have nothing with which to reproach yourself." "Yes, I think you are right," said Mary slowly. "And perhaps it will be a blessing in disguise, because nothing short of something like this would have made me leave home. And I daresay it will do me good, much as I hate the thought." "I know, dear. But sometimes a girl stays at home for want of a little initiative and misses all her chances. She comes to be taken for granted, and instead of learning to live an independent life, settles down into a sort of housekeeper-nurse for the old folk. Presently she wakes up to find she has missed much that is her birthright as a woman and a home-maker and a potential wife. Don't fret too much about this, but take the plunge boldly for everybody's sake —your own included."

I heard from Mary the other day. She had been homesick at first, she wrote, but was now interested in her new job and making friends. "And," she added, "although I'm not exactly happy yet, I'm satisfied that I've done the wise thing in coming away and making new friends and new interests. Sheila writes that Andrew and she hope to be engaged shortly and married in the summer. I think I'll stay away until I come home to be her bridesmaid." Like a true woman, the important bit came at the end!

"P.S. —There's a boy in our office who is a real pal. Maybe there'll be more to tell you about him later."— Yours ever, MARY.