Elsie Lindtner A sequel to "The Dangerous Age"

Part 8

Chapter 83,799 wordsPublic domain

She was so beside herself finally, that I was obliged to cave in, and say that I had made a mistake, she was not at the dangerous age, and her scouring mania was a perfectly natural instinct, and it was a pity that all housewives did not follow her example.

And then we were good friends again, and she told me that she was very glad I was really quite old.

Any woman so old and harmless, of course didn’t count.

No, I shall not burn my fingers again. It is most curious how forgetful one becomes with the flight of years.

But forgetful is not exactly the right word. It is much more a sort of half-unconscious perversion of actual facts. The same kind of thing as parents making out to their children and almost believing it themselves, that when they were children they were absolute angels.

Magna, for instance, is capable of self-delusion and lying with regard to the miseries of her dangerous age. Magna, usually the soul of truthfulness, who never tries to make herself out better than she is, apparently believes that she got over those difficult years easily and calmly. Good God!

For once we nearly grew angry with one another. I maintained that it was nothing to be ashamed of, but rather an honour, that she had afterwards matured into the magnificent, vigorous creature she now is.

But she wouldn’t hear of it. The only thing she would admit was Oluf, and she only did that because he is flesh and blood.

We both became vehement, and in the end Magna went the length of asserting in her excitement that I had been far more affected by the critical years than she and Lili Rothe put together!

It was useless to protest against such a ludicrous mis-statement of facts. But we very soon made it up again, and played our game of Friday bridge. Unfortunately Kelly had not come in with Magna.

He and Oluf had to sit up all night with a sick cow. It would have sufficed if one of them had done it, but where Kelly is there Oluf will be also.

God bless Magna for her way of chatting about the two boys. I devour the words as they fall from her lips. It is so splendid to hear her. Magna thinks it will be a good thing for Kelly if he marries in a year or two ... it seems almost as if she had fixed on some one already. What if it should be to the new dairy-maid? Well, I should not mind, so long as it was for my boy’s happiness. In that event we must think of taking a farm for Kelly, for Kelly and Oluf.

* * * * *

It would interest me to prove to Magna who was right. If I could bring myself to reading through once more what I wrote down in those days ... yes, I will to-morrow.

* * * * *

I am ashamed, oh, how ashamed I am! It is not fancy or forgery. I wrote every word of it in circumstances which bear witness to the honesty of the writer. I can never look either Magna or Jeanne in the face again ... or in my boy’s.

Not I who have a thousand times dreamed and wished with all my heart that I had brought him into the world! I can only hang my head now and be thankful that he never had such a person for his mother.

I, I, who strutted about like a peacock, proud of my own perfections; I, who pointed the finger of scorn at others; I, who presumed with the rights of a judge to condemn or pardon others, inwardly jubilating triumphantly, “Thank God I am not as other men are.”

_That_ can never be erased, never made good.

Now that I have reached the evening of my days, and my one occupation is to sit and look out of the window at the people who pass, and dream happy dreams for my boy, I commit no thought or deed that needs the veil of oblivion.

But then, when I was in my prime ... when I might have applied my gifts for usefulness and pleasure—I was such a....

The memory of it can never be wiped out. It can never be made good.

And I had thought that Kelly was to read it all after my death, so that he might learn to know what I really was; learn to despise me as I lay in my grave.... I have had the fire lit though it is summer. I intend to destroy every line. Every line!

But will that prevent Kelly beholding me in all my pitiableness? Am I such a coward? Such a coward?... No, Kelly _shall_ read it, every scrap when I am dead.

Then he shall see what a deplorable, wretched creature I was till love entered my life, when he did. Then he shall know the great miracle which love wrought.

Kelly has a claim to me in bad as well as good....

I feel to-day so ineffably tired. It seems as if this day were to be my last. The day of judgment, when I am to stand face to face with myself.

But the day of judgment is to be followed by regeneration. Kelly is to be my regeneration. Not for myself do I pray to be granted a year, an hour; I pray for Kelly’s sake alone, that our meeting that night may not have been in vain. This prayer throbs from my lips into Eternity.

Will it be heard?

* * * * *

There are bells chiming for vespers. Now Kelly is coming home from work, so tall, strong, and healthy. They are busy with the spring ploughing, and to-morrow will be Sunday. Then I shall see him, have him to myself....

Kelly, Kelly ... why aren’t you here at this hour? Kelly, I want to see you, and to thank you.

Be good ... be happy....

THE DANGEROUS AGE

BY

Karin Michaëlis

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AN UNOFFICIAL HONEYMAN

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Dolf Wyllarde

Author of “The Rat Trap,” “The Riding Master,” etc.

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THE UNKNOWN WOMAN

BY

Anne Warwick

Author of “Compensation”

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“From start to finish an interesting story. It is entertaining because the incidents keep the reader in some suspense, and—even more—because of the author’s undoubted mastery in reproducing a certain modern atmosphere.”—_New York Times_

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WINGS OF DESIRE

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M. P. Willcocks

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HECTOR GRAEME

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Evelyn Brentwood

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SEKHET

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Irene Miller

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EARTH

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Muriel Hine

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HALF IN EARNEST

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Muriel Hine

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THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY

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James Bryce

With an Introduction by Edwin Markham

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AWAKENING

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Maud Diver

Author of “Candles in the Wind,” “Captain Desmond, V.C.” and “The Great Amulet”

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THE BEACON

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Eden Phillpotts

Author of “The Thief of Virtue,” “Demeter’s Daughter,” etc.

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MANALIVE

BY

Gilbert K. Chesterton

Author of “The Innocence of Father Brown,” “Heretics,” “Orthodoxy,” etc.

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“One of the oddest books Mr. Chesterton has yet given us.”—_New York Evening Globe_

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THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN

BY

Gilbert K. Chesterton

Author of “Manalive,” “Orthodoxy,” “Heretics,” etc.

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“The stories are entertaining; the mysteries and their solutions are ingenius and interesting.”—_New York Sun_

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“Never were philosophy, ethics and religion preached in a more unusual manner.”—_Chicago Tribune_

“In their own Chestertonic realm, the stories are personal and convincing; full, too, of the charm of landscape. The author arranges his scenes and marshals his characters with an artistic eye worthy of a Poe.”—_Chicago Evening Post_

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THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA

BY

William J. Locke

Author of “The Belovèd Vagabond,” “Simon the Jester,” etc.

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“Among the novels of the past five years no books have more consistently produced an effect at once certain, satisfactory and delightful than those of William J. Locke. This latest addition to his shelf is full of life and laughter and the love not only of man for woman but of man for man and for humanity. Mr. Locke is a born story-teller and a master of the art of expression.”—_The Outlook_

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