superior to them all. Yet they barely tolerated mother--no more.

I longed to go home to my own warm, hearty, open West. I stood on the
ferry after they had gone, thinking that, if my family were not so
deeply indebted to my husband, I would leave him. I suppose I did not
really mean that thought, but it made me unhappy. I felt disloyal and
dishonest. Finally I told Tom. There was a scene; but from that day he
began to understand me, and things were better. A few days later we
came home from a dinner party, and, after going to the baby's room for a
minute, Tom asked me to stay and talk. But he did not talk. For a long
time he sat smoking and thinking. I knew he had something on his mind,
and I waited. Finally I realized that he was embarrassed.

"Can I help? Is it something I have done that has embarrassed you?" I
asked.


That was many years ago, but I can never forget the look Tom gave me.
It held all the love of our courtship and something besides that I had
never seen in his face before.

"For God's sake, never say that to me again!" he cried. "Embarrassed
me! I am proud of you--you never can know how proud. I was sitting here
trying to think how to tell you something my mother said about you, and
just what it means."

His mother! My heart dropped. His mother had never said anything about
me, excepting criticism. I had been a bitter disappointment to her.
Whatever she said would be politely cruel--at best, a damning with faint
praise.