The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-11-22
ANONYMOUS


 For long time Jane had sat at her desk with the letter before her, but she was not reading; she was staring across Riverside drive to the strip of woodiand beyond, and then to the river.
 Whitecapped nursemaids were wheeling infants in perambulators or sitting upon the benches watch ing small children at play. Their cries came to Jane through the open window. She liked to hear them. for she loved children.
 After while Caroline, the brown maid from Harlem, stole to her mistress side and inquired: {: Anything can do for you, Miss Vinson?"
 Jane turned to rier with an awakening smile that made her serious plain face momentarily beautiful.
 "You are worrying about me Caroline. Don't do it! I am all right. Only today can see no one, absolutefy no one"
 ''No. even MT Alfred? ?" asked Caroline dubiously.
 Not even MT Alfred" was the response with f1nality, and as an afterthought, Least of all--Mr AL fred"
 Caroline moved away noiseless- ly on the deeply carpeted floor and Jane picked up the letter and began to read it.
 "We had meant so much to each other until then-we were boy and girl together-we married so young that we almost grew up together in our marriage. He was smarter than I-brilliant-perhaps I did not measiire up to hin--he loved me because I was pretty--you are in- tellectual--it all began when he won the Arden prize for his play Sylvia Then he met you-your art-they say you are not beautiful and so much older
 'It is not you-it is Sylvia-what can actresses know of real love? Today you love one hero; tomor- row your play calls for another type-wives are different-they love so deeply it becomes part of them-their husbands are truly their other halves. You could make him come back to me if you would-but if you won't I will al- ways have the satisfaction of knowing that he never loved you at all he only loved Sylvia. And as Sylvia is only a. dream woman some time she will vanish and then you will feel as feel now"
 On the last page there was one sentence that Jane closed her heart against. She would not reread it.
 Jane's years had gone swiftly, hri n po;p lvzo A4 her name in great lighted signs on love had come into her life.. The winner of the Arden prize for the years best play, Alfred Vaughn, from Tennessee had brought his play, Sylvia" to her notice. She had loved him from that moment when she had been introduced to him in the office of Teckle & Meyer.
 It vas several nights after the premiere of the play that Alfred had told her quite simply.
 Sylvia, you know that I am married, but love you; I have to teli you this. Think of me as you may" And she had answered.: "I love you too. Alfred"
 Now Jane's eyes ran to the post mark of the letter, and she saw Alfred's wife, Lucy. in the little Tennessee town. She thought of her as Alfred had pictured her, be- ing more interested in golf and bridge than she was in her hus- bands literary ambiticns-just a trifie impatient when Alfred de- sired to read a part of play or story to her.
 Alfred desired a divorce. He wished Jane to marry him. She had almost consented when only today this dread letter had come.
 "He loves Sylvia" Over and over these words ran through Jane's mind. They stabbed her heart. She had shut herself into her apart ment. refusing even to see Alfred.
 Jane crossed to a mahogany table. picked up the book Sylvia" and opened 1t at the page. Dra- matis Personae. She read: "Syl- via, girl of I9. beautiful and im- petuous, with golden hair and-" she closed the book hastily, not reading further.
 Jane looked at her own refiec-: tion in long mirror hanging be- tween two windows. She had no makeup; in Sylvia" she wore a golden wig--her own hair had be- gun to show streaks of gray.
 How old was Alfred? He had told her-yes. he was twenty-seven. But Sylvia was nineteen, just in the