R. SAMUEL PEPYS set down the happenings of his days with unique candor and spirit, and, by so doing, became immortal. Edward Cane also kept a diary. Like that of Mr. Pepys, it was written in cipher, and it had a good deal about the author's wife in it; but in other ways it was very different.
Edward was passionately concerned with the future. He made prophecies, and it displeased him that these prophecies were not fulfilled. His was a just and reasonable mind. He knew—none better—how things ought to be, and he was displeased that they were not so.
He had, indeed, given up looking through the earlier pages of his diary, because it hurt too much; but he remembered some of the things. He remembered, if not the actual words, at least the spirit in which he had prophesied about this marriage of his. It was going to be different from all other marriages. Why not, since he and his Mildred were different from all other persons? It was going to be a splendid adventure.
“We shall never become stodgy,” he had written.
Well, as far as that went, they hadn't. Quite the contrary!
This evening he began his daily record:
“In my own room,” he was going to write, but that was not exact. It was Mildred's room, too. She could come in if she liked. He couldn't really shut himself up anywhere on earth. He crossed out the last two words, and leaned his head on his hands, struggling valiantly to be just, fair, and exact, and to crush down the extraordinary emotions that outrageous woman aroused in him.
Never, before his marriage, had he felt such fury, such unreasonable, ungovernable exasperation. He had had a well deserved reputation for being a strong, self-controlled, moderate young man. That was one reason why he had risen high in the credit department of a mammoth store—because he could handle angry, cajoling, or desperate customers so firmly and calmly; and here in his own home he was utterly defeated.
He raised his head and looked about him. He saw Mildred's things everywhere, crowding and jostling his things—even her silly white comb standing up in one of his military brushes.
“Well, what of it?” he asked himself. “I'm orderly and she's not. I always knew that.”
No use—he could not be philosophic about it. He got up and removed the comb with a jerk. As he did so, he caught sight of his own face in the mirror. It startled him. It was a strained and haggard face.
“I can't stand this!” he said to himself. “This can't go on!”
And just at this moment the door burst open and she—the cause of all his exasperation—appeared in the doorway.
“Edward!” she said in a furious, trembling voice. “Will you get that ladder, or won't you?”
“I will not,” he replied.
His own voice was not altogether steady, but he was much calmer than she. She had been crying—he could see that; and, as he faced her, she began to cry again.
“You beast!” she cried. “You selfish, heartless—”
“Look here!” said Edward. “I can't—I won't stand any more of this! I'm sick and tired—”
“And what about me?” she retorted. “After your promising to make me happy!”
That was too much. Edward could have reminded her of, things she had promised, but he scorned to do so. Contempt overwhelmed him. She had no scruples. The only thing on earth she cared about was to get her own way; and she wasn't going to get it—not this time! Her monstrous unfairness, her ruthless egotism, appalled him. He felt anger mounting to his brain, destroying his fine moderation.
“Look here!” he began.
“I won't!” said she. “If I'd had any idea what you were really like, I'd never have married you, Edward Cane!”
“No doubt!” said Edward frigidly. “However, another woman—”
All he had been going to say was that another woman—any other woman in the world, indeed—would have considered him a fairly good husband; but Mildred chose to take his words in a different spirit.
“Another woman!” said she, and laughed.
“If things happened as they should,” Edward went on, with heightened color, “I'd go away—now. I'd go off—”
“With another woman!” said she, and laughed again.
He was glad to hear the doorbell ring. If he hadn't gone out of the room just then, he felt that he would certainly have put himself in the wrong. His patience was exhausted.
“Oh, are you leaving me now, Edward?” Mildred called after him mockingly. “Hadn't you better take a clean collar—or a toothbrush, at least?”
Evidently she hadn't heard the bell, and he did not condescend to enlighten her. He made up his mind not to speak to her again, no matter what the provocation. He went on down the stairs to the front door, and opened it.
“Edward!” she cried.