Y

XLIII. "TAKE ME HOME"

INTRODUCTION

Probably it is true that no two persons entertain precisely the same
view of marriage. If any two did, and one happened to be a man and the
other a woman, there would be many advantages in their exemplifying
the harmony by marrying each other--unless they had already married
some one else.

Sour-minded critics of life have said that the only persons who are
likely to understand what marriage ought to be are those who
have found it to be something else. Of course most of the foolish
criticisms of marriage are made by those who would find the same fault
with life itself. One man who was asked whether life was worth living,
answered that it depended on the liver. Thus, it has been pointed out
that marriage can be only as good as the persons who marry. This is
simply to say that a partnership is only as good as the partners.

"Revelations of a Wife" is a woman's confession. Marriage is so vital
a matter to a woman that when she writes about it she is always likely
to be in earnest. In this instance, the likelihood is borne out. Adele
Garrison has listened to the whisperings of her own heart. She has
done more. She has caught the wireless from a man's heart. And she has
poured the record into this story.

The woman of this story is only one kind of a woman, and the man
is only one kind of a man. But their experiences will touch the
consciousness--I was going to say the conscience--of every man or
woman who has either married or measured marriage, and we've all done
one or the other.

PIERRE RAVILLE.

Revelations of a Wife

I

"I WILL BE HAPPY! I WILL! I WILL!"

Today we were married.

I have said these words over and over to myself, and now I have
written them, and the written characters seem as strange to me as the
uttered words did. I cannot believe that I, Margaret Spencer, 27 years
old, I who laughed and sneered at marriage, justifying myself by the
tragedies and unhappiness of scores of my friends, I who have made for
myself a place in the world's work with an assured comfortable income,
have suddenly thrown all my theories to the winds and given myself
in marriage in as impetuous, unreasoning fashion as any foolish
schoolgirl.

I shall have to change a word in that last paragraph. I forgot that
I am no longer Margaret Spencer, but Margaret Graham, Mrs. Richard
Graham, or, more probably, Mrs. "Dicky" Graham. I don't believe
anybody i