The Holbrook news., 1922-06-16

But what did we Know of each other?-the real other? True, We had danced together. been swimming to- gether. dined together. played tennis together. But what did we really know of each others whims and prejudices. opinions and personal habits and tastes? knew. 10 a word. what Jerry would say about a sunset; and he knew, I fancy. what 1 would say about a dreamy waltz song. But we didn't either of us know what the other would say to a dinnerless home with the cook gone. We were leaving good deal to be learned later on but we didn't think of that. Love that is to last must be built upon the reali- zation that troubles and trials and sor- rows are sure to come, and that they must be borne together-if one back is not to break under the load. We were entering into a contract, not for a week, but, presumably, for lifetime and a good deal may come to one . in lifetime-not all of it pleasant.
 
 tinctly different social environments, but we didn't stop to think of that. We liked the same sunsets, and the same make of car, and the same kind of ice cream; and We looked into each Oth- CTS eyes and thought We knew each seeing the mirrored reflection of our selves.
 And so we were married. | It was everything that was blissful and delightful. of course, at first. We were still eating tine ice-cream and ad- miring the sunsets. l had forgotten that there were things other than sun sets and ice-cream. l suspect. l was not twenty-one, remember, and my feet fairly ached to dance. The whole world was a show. Music, lights laughter-how l loved them all Then came the baby, Eunlce, my little girl; and with one touch of her tiny. clinging fingers, the whole world of sham-the lights and music and glare and glitter just faded all away into nOthingnesS, where it belonged. As if anything counted. with her on the other side of the scales! found out then-oh, I found out lots of things. You see, it wasn't that way at all with Jerry. The lights and music and the glitter and the sham didn't fade away mite, to him, when Eunice came. In fact, sometimes it seemed to me they just grew stronger, If anything.
 He didn't like 1t because 1 couldn't go with him any more-to dances and things, l mean. He said the nurse could take care of Eunice. As if I'd leave my baby with any nurse that ever lived, for any old dance! The idea! But Jerry went. At first he stayed with me; but the baby cried. and Jerry didn't like that. It made him irritable and nervous, until l was glad to have him go.
 l think it was about this time that Jerry took up his painting again. l guess l have forgotten to mention that all through the first two years of our marriage, before the baby came, he just tended to me. He never painted single picture. But after Eunice came
 But, after all, what Is the use Of going over these last miserable years like this? Eunice is five now. Her father Is the most popular portrait painter in the country. l am almost tempted to say that he is the most popular man, as well. All the old charm and magnetism are there. Some times watch him (fOr, of course, l do go out with him once in whilel. and always I think of that first day l saw him at college. Brilliant, polished, witty-he still dominates every group of which he Is a member. Men and women alike bow to his charm.
 After all, suspect that it's just that Jerry still loves the ice-cream and sun sets, and 1 don't. That's all. 10 me there's something more to life than that-something higher, deeper, more worth while. We haven't taste in common, thought in unison, an aspiration in harmony. suspect-in fact I know-that I get on his nerves just as raspingly as he does on mine. For that reason I'm sure he'll be glad when he gets my letter.
 But. some way, l dread to tell Mother.
 
 Well, it's finished. I've been about four days bringing this autobiography of Mary Marie's to an end. I've en- joyed doing it, in way, though I'll have to admit I cant see as it's made things any clearer. But, then, it was clear before. There isn't any other way I've got to write that letter. As I said before, regret that it must be so sorry an ending.
 I suppose tomorrow I'll have to tell Mother. l want to tell her, of course, before write the letter to Jerry.
 It'll grieve Mother. I know 1t will. And I'm sorry. Poor Motherl Already she's had so much unhappiness in her life. But she's happy now. She and Father are wonderful together-won- derful. Father is still president of the college. He got out wonderful book on the "Eclipses of the Moon" two years ago, and he's publishing another one about the "Eclipses of the Sun" this year. Mothers correcting proof for him. Bless her heart. She loves it. She told me so.
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