The Washington herald., 1911-03-08
ESTRANGEMENT
By DOROTHY BAIRD
Author
n MonotO &c.

drawbacks, she had written a book, and
she knew il to be d masterpiece. She had
done good work before but this was
something apart from the rest. far and
away better than anything else she had
done. Now, covering before her fire.
she lived again in memory the day when
sne had finished the book
She and Harold had quarreled at break
faSt-briefly but bitterly-over an idiotic
mistake OF the cooks. Ethel had gone to
her study at last. and Harold. looking
in later. had told her he was going out
and should not be in till late. adding
that, although his comfort seemed of no
consequence to her. yet she might see
that some supper was left for him in
the library. She had not replied She
was too hurt, too angry. And so he had
gone away
For a time she had fought with her
misery. going over the old threadbare
story of their love and their happiness.
And then, suddenly, n comprehension of
the magnitude of her work flashed into
her understanding. What were these frets
and jars. what was her happiness itself,
that they should stand in the way OF
what she was striving to do? II she sue
Ceeded, and she had succeeded so far.
she would have done something which
made her life worth while no matter
how II was jadded and haraSSed by
misery. A divine scorn for herself and
her worries filled her. 1t seemed as il
she We're given the power to fling every
thing aside for a time-even her own per.
sonality-and to become, as it were in
tellect perSonified.
And so she finished her book What
she wrote that day was little short of an
inspiration. She paused for nothing. The
hours of meals passed by unheeded and
at , O'Clock the last word was written
her end gioriously achieved
For the next hour she sat in a kind
of dream With the exultation of vic
torious achievement a softer mood crept
over her. At that time she felt she could
live with Harold happily again. as they
lived at the first as If his fusSineSs, his
irritating ways, would never have the
power to annoy her again She could al
most believe that if they wrangled again
as they had wrongled so often, that the
hurts and stabs of mental discomfort
would be merely surface wounds, and that
the even current of their love would flow
on smoothly, undisturbed beneath. She
knew that to Harold she owed much of
this book which should bring her fame.
The innate nobility Of his character had
impressed her. raising her work to
higher level She had not been conscious
of this in the effort of creation: but now
she saw and realized il, and her soul ex-
A yearning to express that gratitude
came over her-to give him an outward
and visible share in the work he had
helped to call into being. She would
write a dedication. She longed for the
gift of poetry, that she might write such
dedication as Browning wrote to his
Men and Women" but, failing that she
must use prose. Inspiration stirred within
her again. Hurriedly, and in pencil, she
YOIIf hnr fhnIforhtc ir1fn air,cv
words, words which showed her love in
all its force and purity, words which
must surely atone for all her negligen-
cies, all her sharpness. Any man reading
them must surely understand her, surely
feel moved that she had such reverence,
such love for him. And Harold loved
her To him they ought to como as a
wen Of joy, blotting out the past, sweet
ening all the future.
She took her Ms. downstairs and laid
it on his writing table, putting the dedica-
ton on the top, so that it must catch his
eye Then she crept upstairs, suddenly
feeling very tired, now that the glow OF
composition had left her. She would rest
on her sofa till Harold came home.
1t was after o'clock when she woke.
She sat up shivering, wondering what
had happened. Then she remembered,
and thought it strange that Harold should
be so late. She rose and crept down.
stairs 1t was just possible that he was
in, that, attracted by her MS, he had
stopped to dip into It But no, the library
was chill and deserted, and the gray
ashes of the fire gave desolate air to
the room. She was just turning away
when she noticed some pieces of torn
paper inside the fender. They had not
been there when she came down earlier.
Was it possible that Harold had been in
and gone out again? She bent down to
look at the fragments; there were some
scribbled pencil jottings upon it Almost
mechanically she read them, to find her
self face to face with some of the i'm
passioned words she had written in the
dedication.
For a time she stood looking straight
before her, while the iron entered into
her very soul. Harold had read her dedi-
cation, and had torn ii to fragments, and
then gone to his club. That was how he
received her love, and the best expression
of II she could compass. Henceforward
there could be no peace between them
She made up her mind then and there
as she stared at the ashes OF the FIRE.
Before Harold came home she would go
! away. and she would never come back.
Nothing should ever induce her to come
back She could earn her living by her
work, and she would cut herself free from
al trammels, and live her life a. she