_I_ loved lights and
music and dancing and gay crowds just exactly as well as he did. And
it wasn't his fault that I suddenly turned into Mary when the baby
came, and wanted him to stay at home before the fire every evening
with his dressing-gown and slippers. No wonder he was surprised. He
hadn't married Mary--he never knew Mary at all. But, do you know? I'd
never thought of that before--until Mother said what she did. Why,
probably Jerry was just as much disappointed to find his Marie turned
into a Mary as I--
But Mother was talking again.
She said that she thought Jerry was a wonderful man, in some ways;
that she never saw a man with such charm and magnetism, or one who
could so readily adapt himself to different persons and circumstances.
And she said she was very sure if Mary could only show a little more
interest in pictures (especially portraits), and learn to discuss
lights and shadows and perspectives, that nothing would be lost, and
that something might be gained; that there was nothing, anyway, like a
community of interest or of hobbies to bring two people together; and
that it was safer, to say the least, when it was the wife that shared
the community of interest than when it was some other woman, though,
of course, she knew as well as I knew that Jerry never would--She
didn't finish her sentence, and because she didn't finish it, it made
me think all the more.
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