The Ladies' Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2221, 26 October 1907, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Ladies' Magazine.

A PYRRHIC VICTORY

By Dorotbv Canfield. Yomi" Mrs. Alncarren looked alter her husband's figure ret resting stormily down the hall, with so acute a perplexity in her mind that the desolate ache in her heart was lor a moment deadened. Sin' asiccd hetsolf as tragically as brides have asked sines the beginning of the world, what was the trouble between her and her husband; but the fact that there was no trouble at all was so patently and hewilderingly plain to her that her mind whirled helplessly. Her husband was devotedly attached to her. In her most unhappy moments she could not doubt his love, nor think his passionate aTfeet ion a whit less than.on the day, now six months ago, when he married her. There was nothing in their life to annoy nor trouble him. He delighted in the free-out-of-door existence that the superintendence ol their large estate gave him, and they had plenty of money to humor his whim for fast horses ami fine dogs, indeed, as she stood miserably turning in her mind their jangling conversation at breakfast, she heard the clatter of hoofs, and her husband went dashing past the window, his ruddy handsome face gleaming with the exertion of holding in Ids spiriter favorite. Spitfire. There was no trace of the irritation in which lie had pushed away from the breakfasttable, delivered himself of a fiery outburst of temper, and gone stamping down the hail. Constance reflected bitterly that his horses and dogs knew the trick of pleasing him better than his wife, and turned again to the wearisome search after her fault.

Jf she only knew what it was in her that so rubbed him the wrong way. why it was on certain days, in spite of clumsy and well-meant efforts, he could not contain his quick irritation at everything she said and did or did not say or do! She went over ail'd over the various phases of their life together with the piteously scrutinizing eye of an unhappy woman, in the attempt to see herself from his standpoint. AVas it that she was dull? But sometimes lie seemed to resent her high spirits. "as it that she was too gay? But on some days she had been horrified to find that her most subdued and heartfelt tenderness seemed unwelcome to him. No, not unwelcome, only eomeliow not what lio wanted then. AA as it that sho was quite irresponsive to his moods But during these miserable periods of friction and disagreement, which were the more intolerable to her because they were slight in surfaco indications, his mood seemto bo only anything that was not hers.

The clock struck eleven heavily behind her and she realized with a start that she had not moved from the chair into which she had sunk listlessly after breakfast. There was indeed no reason why she should movo. In the expensive, well-ap-pointed household she was like a guest at an infinitely comfortable

hotel, whose material wants were suji plied by tho pushing oT' a button

Accustomed to a vague, wandering life of summer resorts and visits and European travel with an adoring aunt, the absence of household cares seemed to her tlie natural condition of things; but of late, going far afield in her search for explanations, she had wondered if both she and her husband would not be happier if they

had moro to do. "With a native energy and good souse wholly undirected, she had reflected that it was not a healthy state of things when she could sit from nine to eleven brooding over the fact that everything at the table had gone wrong, and that every attempt of hers at pacification had but acted as a greater irritant. But such their hTe was; she had the vaguest conception of any other form of existence, and returned again to the feeling that somehow she should be able to conquer the situation. She must conquer it or 'sink overwhelmed by her misery. But since she could not see what was the force against her, how could she even set to work to prepare herself for the conflict? She never knew what it was that started Michael off on one of these day-long periods of sardonic dissatisfaction, and she knew as little what it was that brought him out of them, his mobile face aligl with an affection and gaiety that made her on his “good days” the most supremely happy of women. She could thank Heaven blindly that the bad times were rare, pray that they might he short,-and enjoy to the highest pitch of intoxication her husband’s unrivalled charm when his mood was buoyant. Never once in all the expedients she tried had she hit upon anything that seemed to strike the right note. She told herself humbly that tho fault must be hers, that she must fail in some way; but she despaired of learning how to improve. Nothing she could do was of any avail. Her maid camo into tiro room, a discreet smile on her face. “Please, Mrs. Macarren,” she said, “Mr. Macarren’s old nurse is down-stairs and would liko to see you. She’s just passing through on- her way back to Ireland and wanted to see Mr. Macarren, but he’s left word lie won t be home till evening, and she must go right on after luncheon, and she said she thought maybe you’d see her.”

Constance welcomed the break in her vacant, listless day. “Ves, I’ll see her; Mr. Hacarrcn will bo sorry to mirs her. She really brought him up until no went away to school. He’s very fond of her.” The last words were lost in a rush Upon her from the door. "Ah ! sure I wasn’t after waitin’ dowu-stairs all this time while tho swato craytur my darlin’ Michael married was up-stairs. You dear! You dear! You’re purtier than ho said—and he said all that wan language will hold. Here, now, kiss me onco an’ I’ll unloose me bou-not-strings and stay wid ye a while, for a cozy talk from wan married woman to another. Clo away, now, you gur-rl! We’re gpin’ to talk menfol'ks, an’ it’s talk no gur-rl sliud hear, for thin she’d niver marry, an’ by that slic’d 'ose the greatest blessin’ Heaven iris, which the same is a good husband. All men are good husbands if you do hut heat it out of thim.” At this tho maid retreated, echoing aloud, in a rare departure from discipline, the shout of laughter that

the old woman gave at her own philosophy as she lowered her bulky form carefully into a chair. “Now, then, you darliif—-what’s vein* name? Constance.'' Sure, all an Pm m,t goin’ to call little Master Michael's wile any still Airs. Maeat-l-cn. That’s the name of his sainted mother that died before iver I knew the spalpeen. An so yo re married—a hit of a child like you? An' how do ye make out? 1 suppose about now you're flunkin' that Mielijs a cross between a divil and an an archangel—aren’t yo?—ail’ that vo’re explorin’ in a country no wan else iver discovered before, an’ that there ain’t no nmp„to it. Come, now. let mo hear all about it. Ac ain’t got no mother, so I hear, an I’m safe to tell, for I’m goiu’ back to Ireland tho marnin’, an’ for all I talk loose there’s nobody can got a word out o’ me whin it’s not his business.” Constance had scarcely caught her breath alter the first onslaught, and at this dashing attack on her reserve she suddenly began to laugh loudly and then found liorsolt crying, the old woman heaved herself up from her chair like a leviathan, and going over to the other, she put her arms about her in a close grasp which seemed unexpectedly welcome to the shaking, hysterical young creature. '■•C'ry it out, cry it out,” she said heartily. “’Twill do yo good—all vc fine ladles don’t know v.hat a trate a rale good cry it—sometimes T think shtnmpin’ a little liilps, too.” At this Constance began to laugh again weakly, wiping her eyes and explaining that her tears were purely nervous. “‘Yis, yis,” returned the other comfortably, seeking her chair again; “sure I know that talk. An’ there’s more in it- than any of ye that says it belave. Nerves is the very divil an’ no mistake. I know all about it, bein’ afflicted with tho waist set av thim that iver mortal man had to put up with—.though ye’d not think it to iook at me. They was different from vours—mine was tin kind that got tied in bow-knots. I spake of ’em as though I had tliim no more, now smeo I’m a widder so long, for what difference do nerves make if they don’t have a man-body to run into?”

She settled herself in her chair, patted the snowy bands of hair about her round, rosy face, and -launched comfortably into a reminiscent, garrulous monologue.

“The funny tiling is that, though iverybody lias nerves, no tw'o folks as lias the same kind of nerves iver git married. A’ou’d think just once, as the exciption to the rule ’twolllci happen—but niver ! Now Michael's father an’ mother—l niver see her, but I ‘know from the talk what she was like—they was a fair example. Mr. Macarren’s nerves tuk it out on him in lnakin’ him that milancholy that, whin ho a had a black fit on, iverybody in the house had to hold iverybody else from goin’ an’ jumpin’ in the river. ’Twas as ketcliin’ as smallpox, an’ about as bad to have. An’ his wife, her nerves was the kind that makes folks what they call spirited, and what is spiteful. I know, for mo own set is on that order. Could she iver have a rale comfortable quarrel will her husband and have it out? Not she, poor craytur! It’d run on for days, inakin’ her miserable and smolderin’ an’ smokin’ tlio house all up j whin, if he’d just a-set a match to it, in two minutes of blaze ’twouid ha’ been all out, an’ she happy ag in. Could lie iver raloly enjoy wan of tliim milancholy spills as long as shewas alive? Not lie! She was always pokin’ at him to cheer him up, and remind him that there a wasn’t a mortal tiling in the wtirrld that lie couldn’t have if lie wanted it—an’ to sav that to a person that’s havin’ a lovely fit of nerves is the most hard-lieavtcd, cruel torturing invintion av Ol’ Nick.” “Now, me an’ mo ol’ man —he was a A’an'kec, an’ the best man God iver made—God -rist liis sowl where ho now is—it took mo exactly siven years to find.out wliat kind of nerves lie had, whin ’twas as plain as the noso on me face is now, what they was like. I dunno’ what it is that makes a person so blind to tilings that concern ’em the most. I’d have done anything in the wurrld for Ezra, hut, as I say, ’twas sivin years before I found out that my harmless little explosions that I let off steam wid, was loike deatli an’ tlio ind av the wurrld to him.”

“I was that way. Some marnin’s IVI wake up backwards, as ye might say, an’ tho only way I could git turned around was to sot off all the fireworks in me till I’d just whirl like i top for a minute or two—an’ thin there I was in tho straight path. But Ezra—once I remimber I felt like as though a banshee had started up before me, whin I found, weeks after wan of thim little whirls av mine, that Ezra was still broodin’ over it and wonderin’ what was wrong. I’d forgotten all about it, as clano as though the Judgment Day bad happened since. Now I’m tillin’ ye tli’ truth, I ain’t niver yit ralely understood what was the matter that day —and most like ’twas just nothin’ at all—but it turned the marrow stiff in me bones to find Ezra layin’ it up ag’in me; for thinkin’ about it an’ romimberin’ it and lavin’ it up, anny way yo fix it. That was the beginin’ av me lamin’ me' trade—sivin years it tu'k me before I could lay mo hand to tli’ simplest tool av it without danger av cuttin’ myself an’ mo man—an’ I’m no fool aytlier.” “But now your man—your Michael :—mv Michael —ho was the comfort av me life. I niver did get rale clearthrough sure I knew about Ezra, because his nerves was so different from mine—but little Master Michael! 1 know him as though ho was me own son. I niver had no doubt about what tools to use in that trade, an’ t.|ip fit of thim to me hand used tr xi--d.ro it;) for always usin’ th’ other k'nd t home with Ezra. Did Master Midi.cl ri eup in the marnin’ wid everything black to him an’ start in snakin’ iverybidy miserable, his rid hair just glistening with divilry an’ his blue eyes impish and milancholy at once, ns though his father and his mother was both strugglin’ to come to th’ top, I’d lit him run on about so long, and thin I’d slap his face good, and shako him just as hard a me arms would do it, an’ sot him down —bang!—in a chair—an’ he’d he as happy as a king for two weeks aftlier. Ah, we got on foine togither! ’Twas Mr. Mucarreu’s wonder how

1 managed Mi’ Imy. An’ how we did love ouch other, my little Michael an’ me! He loved his father, hut the mail niver cud git tile hang o uis son. He’d try givin’ him what ho wanted, to calm he down, an’ that was the warst tiling possible. An' ho was always torinintin’ himself to find out Hi’ ruyson, which tli’ sain:' is trvin’ to count bin s tectn, since Micro’s no ruyson there at all.”

“I know, for I was made so mesilf. If only Ezra could have larned to swear at mo once or twice, or maybe heave a plate or two, whin me nerves was gittin’ tli’ hist o’ me! But, thin, it’s like waitin’ for tlio brook to run by to expect that kind of einso from a man-body. An’ thin think av the hours out av Purgatory I’ve earned by boldin’ an to mesilf — an’ ■ there was always little Michael — Cord save us! ’Twas like scoin’ mesilt* in wan av tliim little liril.v iupu glasses to see him start in on a tantrum. an’ it done mens- much good to shake him as if it was Ezra growed .wise doin’ it to mo.” She turned a startled head towards the door, suddenly opened, and exclaimed, “By the Powers above; if there ain’t, me niece Rosy Donohue como to till me I must go, and this I must till mesilf—l’m the worst tonguory old woman in tlio Lord’s wurrld nio that, have run on so the few minutes I have to stay, and niver heard a word of news about Master Michael, only I’d heard it all bolowstairs aiinyhow: that lio’s well and handsomer than iver. And whin J see you, the second sight I have that conies of me father’ bein’ the sivinth son and mo bein’ born in October, let- me know that you was fitter to listen to anny kind o’ talk than to open your mouth, bein’ in a fit av nerves yoursilf, what iver kind yours are, which Heaven guard yo from havin’ the kind called sensaytive 1” AVitliout a. pause in tho How of words, she tied lior bonnet- on tightly, rose heavily from her chair, kissed the young wife firmly and loudly ou both cheeks, and disappeared down tho stairs, her cheerful voice rising from the depths in incoherent saint ations and wishes for good luck.

Constance stood alone in the empty room, her ears still ringing witn mi: fusion. The clock behind her struck twelve. It was just an hour since sho had roused herself from her npatliv to notice that time still marched, although there was nothing in tlio hoiii'.s fol' her. Sho felt a sudden need for action, rang for lior luncheon to ho served at once, and summoned her maid to dress her for a long tramp. All through .her was a new tingling restleness, as though into a close room had suddenly rushed a blast from an October hillside. Her maid, in dressing her, remarked on her improved looks.

“Old Airs. Mahoney quite cheered you up, ma’am, didn’t she?” she ventured, with tlie friendly interest that Constance’s servants always took in her. “Slie’s such a funny old thing. She kept everybody down-stairs laughing while wo were sending around to see if Air. Alacarrcn could be found. So Irish, isn’t she?” (The maid’s own name was Alary Alalonc.) Her mistress nodded an absent assent and swung out of the house, her eyes wide and vague. AATien AL'cliae! Alacarren dismounted wearily from Spitfire, stiff from an all day’s rids, and damp with autumn dew, he was told that his wife was ill her little writing-room. He fumbled along tlie hall to the door, and opened it, expecting to see tlie usual jileasant- scene of a blazing fire and a wife in a pretty house-gown reading under the lamp. Tlie hearth was black, and in tlie twilight lie could just see liis wife sitting upright in a clmir. The aspect of tilings struck him as singularly cheerless, and he began —“No fire? On an evening like tills ?” From tlie dusk came a bullet-like monosyllable, weighted with significance. “No,” said his wife. “AA r liy in Heaven’s name a damp night like this should be selected to go without—” A bombshell exploded in tlie little room. His wife’s voice rose in an accent lie had never heard before —“There’s no fire because I don’t wish to have one—and if I don’t- wish to have one that's reason enough, and tlie less you say about it tlio better.”

Ho stopped short, amazement striking his faco blank of all expression. There was a moment’s silcnco. In the dark he could not see that his wifo was trembling uncontrollably. Ho caught his breath and began again: “AVell, of all the greetings for a man wjien lie comes home tired and wet, and—” This time tho bombshell exploded in his very face, so that he recoiled against tho wall. His little Constance had sprung towards him till sho was close upon him, and she spoko in a whirlwind of unrestrained, raging temper that beat about his ears like something palpable. “You tired! —yon come home and want comfort! What do you think of me left hero all day long with nothing to look back on but your beastly bad temper at brcakl' i-;t, ar.d nothing to look forward to but more of it at dinner? Tho idea of your thinking that I’ll always bo here ready to endue your cross-grainedness and bearishness until you are ready to get over it!” Sho was close to him and lie could new see that that sho was trembling, but she held horself so fiercely erect, and tho tears in her eyes might very well have been tears of rage.

“By Jovo!” he exclaimed in an amazed voice, “I never knew you’d look so handsome in a fury!” She cast a strange look «t him and flashed out of the door, down the hall, incoherent passionate exclamations streaming behind her stormy passage. Arrived in her own ro. in she stopped short, waiting. Her bieatii came hard, both hands were pressu'. on her temples, and her very soul seemed directed in her straining eyes down the darkened corridor. When Michael's Macarren’s largo form and alarmed perplexed face loomed through the dusk, and she felt about her the clasp of his strong tender arms, she gave a hysterical gasp of laughter and shook in a’ frenzy of nervous tears. The man melted into solf-reproaeli, expressed ardently in the most incoherent words and fondest caresses. He was beside himself with remorse.

“You poor dear! You poor daring!” he exclaimed. “I am a brute :y leave you so. I don’t know what

was tlio matter with mo this morning—the very devil seems to got inti mu—but it’s all gouo now. 1 feel like another person. All. Connie dear, 1 love you so—l can’t tel) you how much 1 love you 1 And how beautiful you are—l never saw you look handsomer than-—See, sweetheart, what do you say to a low days in the city?—we’ve been dull bore—the theatres aro just opening—lot’s go and liavo nnotlierJioncymoon.” With the blessed "soaring ease oi woman who loves, Constance’s mood changed between breaths. She was transfigured ; sho shivered lor joy under liis caressing hand, lior whole being warmed and opened out into happiness in the miracle that only her husband could effect. Hiding deep in lior heart an ache sho did not recognise, slio responded with tlio exhilaration of relief to all liis projects. Ho roso to make tlie arrangements for their journey, and bending over her fondly, lie kissed her with a new ardor. “All, Constance dear, there’s just, nothing you couldn’t make me do! It’s true that a man’s wife winds him around her little finger—and it’s all right, too!” Tho words still rang in the silent room after lie had left her. Yes, she had conquered him, slie told herself, and ruefully summoned all her determination to put out of sight tlio cost of her victory. Slio was quivering still from liis caresses, but her knees shook under her with another agitation as sho stood before tho tall pier-glass trying, with shaking fingers, to arrango her liair. Sho looked resolutely at her own faco and past it into the years to come, accepted once ajjd for all a new sadness ill her eyes, and turned joyously to meet her husband.