Page:Confessions of a wife (IA confessionsofwif00adamiala).pdf/62

 drown myself in seaweed and shells, because I am afraid to wade in and dare the ocean.

Plunge, Marna Trent! Admit it once for all. You love this man so much—so much—there is nothing you will not think, or feel, or do, or be, for his dear sake. You will even be his wife, because he wishes it. And what is there more than that a girl could do for a man's sake?

WHY do you have to write your soul, I wonder? Other people don't. They talk it, or they keep it to themselves and don't express it at all. Sometimes I suspect that is the best thing to do with souls—lock them up. But I have n't got that kind. Mine is a jack-in-the-box, and is always pushing the lid and jumping up. Well, if you've got to write, stop writing to yourself, and write to him, then. Sit down here, in your pretty lace gown, alone in your own room, at two o'clock in the morning, and tell this man whose wife you have promised to be how you feel about him now, at the very beginning of everything. I don't believe you could do a better thing. Come to think of it, he might rather like it, on the whole.


 * It occurs to me that a note from me, under the circumstances,