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Show Kathleen Norris Says: The Unluckiest Wife Isn't Always The Unluckiest Woman (Bell Syndicate WNU Service.) Her husband told her that his assistant professor, a handsome girl of 23, loved him as deeply as he did her. By KATHLEEN NORRIS THE unluckiest wife in the world isn't, of course, the unluckiest un-luckiest woman. There are thousands of women in this country, coun-try, and hundreds of thousands in other countries, whose lot is harder than that of Marjorie Mason. There are women in your town and mine who have been fighting poverty all their lives long, living along the boundary line of want, able to give their children only the barest necessities of life, and worrying worry-ing constantly for fear that those necessities might not be always available. Women who have never known even a few days a few hours of luxury and beauty, of plenty and security. Women who have to refuse their small babies the freshness fresh-ness and comfort and safety small babies need; who have to refuse their growing children the toys, the clothes that more fortunate children take for granted; who suffer a thousand thou-sand deaths as the young men and women of the family demand cars and pocket money and college education edu-cation as their right. This in America. In Europe and in the Orient the situation is infinitely in-finitely worse. Civilized Christian countries still see barefoot children begging in winter streets; China knows that every winter a million of her people will starve slowly to death, and a million more fall victims vic-tims to the diseases that weakness, malnutrition, cold and hunger bring. Comparative Misery. So when I speak of the bitter trial that Marjorie Mason has been called upon to bear I am treating only of the comparative misery and humiliation that can come to a woman who has a comfortable home, fine children, a car, a club, friends, a good cook in her kitchen, books, leisure, enough money, good health, and she says "a real trust that God will help me through this difficulty if I am wise enough to heed His guidance." Not much material from which to construct an appeal to your pity, is it? And yet there is no wife alive that won't feel pity for Marjorie Mar-jorie when she hears her story. Marjorie is 32; she has been married mar-ried for nine years to a man she deeply loves. He is a professor, handsome, popular, successful, with a comfortable little income of his own to supplement his salary. The Masons live in a roomy house on a beautiful campus; there are three children in the family; a girl of seven, and boys of five years and one year. Marjorie has as assistant the fine colored mother of one of the undergraduate girls; she is free to do her part in campus work; mothers' and alumni groups, hospital, hos-pital, convalescent home, Shakespeare Shakes-peare study club, dramatics. She not only teaches her daughter, but she belongs to a little circle of college col-lege mothers who take turns in amusing and watching the younger children on different afternoons. Marjorie's life was all sunshine until some four weeks ago, w-hen her husband, in one of those luxuries lux-uries of confession that weak men so enjoy, told her that his assistant professor, a handsome girl of about 23, loved him as deeply as he did her. He was exultant over his conquest, con-quest, and fatuously related to his wife the details of the affair in Rhich the girl's great love had overcome over-come her scruples. Bitter Injustice. "This sounds as nauseating to me as it does to you," writes Marjorie, "but Arthur was like a crowing boy over it I did what I could. Told him that he must be out of his senses to jeopardize his position, his whole life's work in this way, to say nothing of the bitter injustice to me and to the children. I tried to put my own heartbreak aside; it was too late then for any outbreak of mine to do any good. For days I Unlucky Women The unluckiest wife isn't always the unluckiest woman in the world, according to this article by Kathleen Norris. For while some of the trials that married women are forced to go through are difficult indeed, many times things could be much worse. But at the same time problems do creep into the homes of families who seem to have apparent security. And so the story of Marjorie Mason Ma-son is here discussed. It is the story of a young professor's wife and the problem she had to meet. Faced with an unfaithful husband she is confronted with the problem of disgracing dis-gracing him for life by exposing him or leaving him and taking her children with her. She is advised to choose the second sec-ond plan. The emptiness of his home should bring this man to his senses. seemed to be in a bad dream, for the thing had come upon me like a thunderbolt, and the past was all spoiled as well as the future. "Arthur, as completely oblivious of any feeling of mine as he had been of ordinary decency and duty, asked me if I would have the girl at the house now and then, 'so there would be no talk.' This, I told him, was a physical as well as moral impossibility. I simply couldn't do it. On this point we had our first serious quarrel. "Since then I have not spoken to Arthur directly. But for the children's chil-dren's sake a certain amount of civility must go on. Arthur continues con-tinues to show nothing but complacency com-placency and high spirits. He tells me that if he and the girl had resisted re-sisted temptation or love, as he calls it then all three of us would be unhappy. As it is, I am the only miserable one, and 'they don't expect ex-pect me to understand.' The girl came to see me, and was tearful and explanatory and heroic. I don't think I spoke at all in the 10 minutes min-utes I endured her company. "Arthur would be dropped from the faculty if this were known. His fine old father, president emeritus of another university, would die of grief. And how would my children be bettered by the shame of their father? But I can't go on as things are. These few weeks have shown me that. Tell me what to do." Advice to Marjorie. Marjorie, the first thing to do is get out, and take the children with you. But not with any bitterness or threats. Say to your few close friends that you are taking the baby to the mountains. Or that the small daughter had two chest colds last year and you think it wise to try the shore. Not far from you there are lakeside summer cabins which rent in winter for as little as $10 a month. Find one and move. This will have a triple advantage. It will get you away from the immediate im-mediate contemplation of an insufferable insuf-ferable state of affairs. It will scare the complacent philandering Arthur out of his wits; he will be lonely, disorganized and possibly brought to a realization of what wealth he had, and has done all he could to destroy. And lastly, it will terrify the girl. She may suddenly awaken to the truth that she has given everything for nothing, and is in a fair way to lose position and reputation. When Arthur comes to his senses, or rather, having obviously very little sense, when he appreciates that he has made an expensive and foolish mistake, then come back, forgive him, and resume the outer shell of the old happy, loving life. You may never want to share his room or his affection again; he could hardly expect that. But for the rest, take the blow that fortune has dealt you, as every woman must in one way or another, pick up the pieces, and face the future stronger in your own soul, if sadder sad-der in your heart. |