§ 203
To illustrate with a concrete example the utter helplessness of some of the finest women, the following excerpt is made, with his permission, from a letter received by Dr. Robie:
“The man whom I finally married came into my life as an intellectual wonder. I marvelled at his knowledge and his worldly poise.... Whenever I pleaded for consideration, kindness, he would say: ‘Haven’t you a home, clothes, money, a baby? What more do you want?’ or ‘Haven’t I told you once that I love you? Can’t you take that for granted?’
“No gentleness, no petting, just hardness and the greatest conceit over his own personality and ability.
“I found at dances that other men could thrill me, and one man in particular.... He never knew it.
“I got the reputation of being a perfect mother, and a beauty, and my spirit never has been broken; but my faith is broken. My love is as dead as last year’s leaves; and I scorn men who stop being lovers on their wedding night.
“Health, enthusiasm, good nature, big sense of humour, beauty, ideal birth inheritance, magnetism, yes, and passion—for I am not cold, but very impulsive and affectionate—all this lost to the right man, and the wrong one quite content, apparently, in his worldly successes, and with a cultured wife who does not bother him, and keeps his noisy brood of children at a distance.
“This comes from a bursting heart. It is true I am a success as a mother; and the world thinks I am in all ways. Yet that greatest of all things, LOVE, is denied me.”