The daily morning journal and courier., 1901-06-22
A WIDOW SPEAKS HER MIND.
POPULAR IDEAS WHICH SHE SA YS
 SHOULD BE CORHECTED.

World Accuses Her Uni Ote
 Piazza Gossip About Her-she's No
 Sly, She Declares.
 The girl who disiked her chaperor
 had just remarked grimly that she
 wished she had been born a widow
 The pretty young widow sat up in the
 hammock and looked tragic.
 My dear, don't ever say such 2
 ridiculous thing again.
 The girl lapsed into apology.
 Well, of course, I know it's dreadful
 to lose one's husband and I'm sorry
 for real widows, if they did care.
 didn't mean to offend you. But you
 see I didn't say I'd like to become a
 widow by the natural process. l want
 ed to be born so, to have the freedom
 and none of the hurt"
 But I wasn't offended. l was only
 deporing your judgment Freedom
 "A nice widow has less freedom than
 any mortal on earth She can't avoid
 criticism She can't get simple justice. Every move she makes Is misconstrued.
 She is always credited with discredit- able motives. Sometimes I think that the best thing to do is to have the game as we'll as the name, or else to marry again, in self-defense. I don't want to be giddy. I don't want to mar ry I don't even want to be admired, but might as well be a sly designing cat, as far as reputation Is concerned It's abominable. It's cruel. It's wick ed"
 She stamped her small foot viciously and the girl looked impressed.
 If were a writer" went on the vic- tim of social prejudices, "Id write reams in defnse of the widow. She is like the mother-in-law. She's a tradi- tion. It's beautiful piece of logic. There are designing and dangerous widows; therefore all young widows are designing and dangerous-unless they are too ugly to count. Take an- other cushion, take two cushions. I'm going to tell you the story of my Iife and it will probably make you very tired"
 The girl settled herself comfortably and tried not to look guilty, but re- membered, with painful distinctness, the converse tion about the widow that she had heard on the hotel veranda earlier in the day.
 was all OIp plldI, D6SdH Jlle w luOW.
 Tt starts we'll" suggested the girl.
 Doesn't 1t? It gets better as I go on, for I was pretty and poor. I think I may say I was pretty without exag- gerating. That was years ago. I'm twenty-five now"
 There's some salvage from the wreck" remarked the girl, looking ju- 1 ideally at the charming vision in the hammock
 T married early, at IS. He was twice | my age, and the best man I have ever | known. I wasn't violently in love, but | I believed in him and he made me won derfully happy. He had a great deal 1 of money, and there was nothing In the world that money and consideration could do for my happiness that vast done. After awhile I found that he was all the world to me. Then he died was left quite alone again. There wasn't soul to whom I could turn. I was 21, and pretty and very rich. and lonely. Oh, my dear. how lonely!
 DO you suppose people were sorry for me? Not at all. Nobody took my mourning seriously. From the very start they smiled and shrugged their shoulders and propresied For a while, l shut myself away from evrything, but I know that was unna tural and wrong, and, after the first shock was past, I felt the natural longing of a girl for some brightness and compan- ionship and joy of life. I was sad, but my heart wasn't broken, and there were things worth while left, even if the best thing was gone.
 "So I frightened my mourning, and tried to be a little happy. That settled it. was a giddy widow. It didn't make any difference that I was abso- lutely indifferent to men. That was only my sly way. I turned a cold shoulder even to the man who had been my friends and whom I liked I might as we'll have thrown myself at their heads so far as avoiding gossip was concerned. q was pointed out as beautiful and dangerous young person. If a man l stopped to speak to me on hotel ve- { randa there was buzz among the ta- bles; and, when he joined the men, they laughed and clapped him on the ( shoulder, and I knew some one was quoting 'Samivel beware of widders' I wish Dickens had never written 'Pickwick Papers, When a married man was nice to c me, his wife was catty. When young boys liked me, their mothers ruffied their feathers like anxious hens and z transparently to get their | chicks out of my clutches-clutches! J When there wasn't man of them all e who was worthy to fasten my hus- bands shoe laces, and I knew it so !. well that they bored me to extinction! Il "l didn't care for men anyway, but ! :. wanted women friends. A good many i' women were nice to me, because I could do things for them, but they all :. saw through my little game. So clever - of me to pretend to be a women's wo- nan, and not to care for men. Such a good way of disarming criticism. Of ' 'ourse, when I was so intimate with a Mrs. So-and so, MT, So-and-so's admi - 'ation for me wasn't so noticeable, and ' lnder cover of such chaperonage l " 'ould do so much more execution. Oh +, { took a widow to be politic." - But how did you know they said a hese things?" asked the girl. if Tt was in the air. There were thou tc