Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby
by Kathleen Norris
I
歌颂母爱的诗句"You and I have been married nearly ven years," Margaret Kirby reflected bitterly, "and I suppo we are as near hating each other as two civilized people ever were!"
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She did not say it aloud. The Kirbys had long ago given up any discussion of their attitude to each other. But as the thought came into her mind she eyed her husband--lounging moodily in her motor-car, as they swept home through the winter twilight--with hopeless, mutinous irritation.
What was the matter, she wondered, with John and Margaret Kirby--young, handsome, rich, and popular? What had been wrong with their marriage, that brilliantly heralded and widely advertid event? Who fault was it that they two could not em to understand ea
ch other, could not em to live out their lives together in honorable and dignified companionship, as generations of their forebears had done?
"Perhaps everyone's marriage is more or less like ours," Margaret mud mirably. "Perhaps there's no such thing as a happy marriage."
Almost all the women that she knew admitted unhappiness of one sort or another, and discusd their domestic troubles freely. Margaret had never sunk to that; it would not even have been a relief to a nature as lf-sufficient and as cold as hers. But for years she had felt that her marriage tie was an irksome and distasteful bond, and only that afternoon she had been stung by the bitter fact that the state of affairs between her husband and herlf was no cret from their world. A certain audacious newspaper had boldly hinted that there would soon be a nsational paration in the Kirby houhold, who beautiful mistress would undoubtedly follow her first unhappy marital experience with another--and, it was to be hoped, a more fortunate--marriage.
Margaret had laughed when the article was shown her, with the easy flippancy that is the
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stock in trade of her type of society woman; but the arrow had reached her very soul, nevertheless.
So it had come to that, had it? She and John had failed! They were to be dragged through the publicity, the humiliations, that precede the sundering of what God has joined together. They had drifted, as so many hundreds and thousands of men and women drift, from the warm, glorious companionship of the honeymoon, to quarrels, to truces, to discussion, to a recognition of their utter difference in point of view, and to this final independent, cool adjustment, that left their lives as utterly parated as if they had never met.
Yet she had done only what all the women she knew had done, Margaret reminded herlf in lf-justification. She had done it a little more brilliantly, perhaps; she had spent more money, worn handsomer jewels and gowns; she had succeeded in idling away her life in that utter leisure that was the ideal of them all, whether they were quite able to achieve it or not. Some women had to order their dinners, had occasionally to go about in
hired vehicles, had to consider the cost of hats and gowns; but Margaret, the envied, had her own carriage and motor-car, her capable houkeeper, her yearly trip to Paris for uncounted frocks and hats.
两人三足作文
All the women she knew were uless, boasting rather of what they did not have to do than of what they did, and Margaret was more successfully uless than the others. But wasn't that the lot of a woman who is rich, and marries a richer man? Wasn't it what married life should be?
"I don't know what makes me nervous to-night," Margaret said to herlf finally, ttling back comfortably in her furs. "Perhaps I only imagine John is going to make one of his favorite scenes when we get home. Probably he hasn't en the article at all. I don't care, anyway! If it should come to a divorce, why, we know plenty of people who are happier that way. Thank Heaven, there isn't a child to complicate things!"
Five feet away from her, as the motor-car waited before crossing the park entrance, a tall man and a laughing girl were standing, waiting to cross the street.
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法朗"But aren't we too late for gallery ats?" Margaret heard the girl say, evidently deep in an important choice.
"Oh, no!" the man assured her eagerly.
"Then I choo the fifty-cent dinner and 'Hoffman' by all means," she decided joyously.
Margaret looked after them, a sudden pain at her heart. She did not know what the pain was. She thought she was pitying that young husband and wife; but her thoughts went back to them as she entered her own warm, luxurious rooms a few moments later.
"Fifty-cent dinner!" she murmured. "It must be awful!"
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To her surpri, her husband followed her into her room, without knocking, and paid no attention to the very cold stare with which she greeted him.
"Sit down a minute, Margaret, will you?" he said, "and let your woman go. I want to speak to you."
Angry to feel herlf a little at loss, Margaret nodded to the maid, and said in a carefully controlled tone:
