A New Sensation

by Albert Ross

I wanted you to make the proposal to leave and at last succeeded. I let you kiss the ends of my fingers; and sometimes I pretended to reciprocate your affection, though I could hardly keep from laughing in my sleeve. Do you remember the time you bathed my forehead with cologne? I could hardly control my risibles at the pathetic figure you made. Oh! It was really too amusing. I took the sea bath every morning, not because I cared for it, but in order to awake your fancies and bind you tighter to my triumphal car. The lovely, silly things you said to me!

Now, about that book: I saw it long before you did and tried to think of some plan to keep it out of your way. You might notice the similarity in features Between Miss —— and myself, if you were allowed to pore over its pages. I had another fear, too, even stronger, for I believe I could have convinced you that the resemblance was merely accidental: I dreaded Wesson's sharp eyes if once they got hold of that volume. So it was I—not he, of course—that put the book out of the way, and it was only by my carelessness that he afterwards got his hands on it.

I had ceased to have the slightest fear of you; of course, I never had any for myself—I mean, there was nothing about you to endanger the wifely duty I owed to my dear, unhappy husband. You could be handled as easily as a kitten, by touching your sentimental side. Do you recall looking in at my screen door and seeing me in the attitude of prayer? Why, I had posed in that position, night after night, waiting for you to come! When I asked you to enter, a little later, I knew as well as that I breathed what your answer would be. There never was another man so easy to control.

Then there was the letter I received from my dear friend Helen. All arranged for, copied from one I had left with her—before I sailed—just on purpose for you. I forced that card on you as nicely as any conjurer could have done it, didn't I? And my answer—which you entered my room and read—(excuse me while I go behind the door and smile) that was cooked up for your eyes in the same way. I didn't know that you would go into the room, although I hoped so, but if you hadn't you would have been given the letter to mail, with the unsealed envelope turned so as to attract your attention, and you never would have been able to resist a peep, never. How did you like my description of your beauty? The blonde mustache, the "hazel eyes," the "engaging countenance?" If I had been as silly as that letter indicated, it would not have taken a very gay Lothario to accomplish his designs on me.

Your reiterated offers of marriage convinced me that I could pull that string whenever I was ready. That I have not pulled it is due to the "weak yielding" of which I spoke at the beginning of this letter. Professionally, I repeat, it was an error. I could have got a nice little pot out of you if I had kept along that line.

But I am not the only member of my "firm" who has weak moments. My husband could not keep himself quiet in that hotel at St. Croix, when everything depended on his remaining out of sight. He had to stand in the sitting room and listen to your protestations of affection, until I was frightened out of my wits, for I know what an excitable fellow he is.

It is one thing to have your wife let another man make love to her—for a legitimate purpose—and quite another to overhear the burning declarations. I had to play the fainting gag again, in order to send you after water, and—do the best I could—my husband would not run when he heard your returning step. I was in mortal fear that he would kill you and only by the best diplomacy of which I was mistress did I send him away.

Even then he had not finished. I went into your room at midnight, do you recollect? to keep him from entering there. Not altogether to save you from injury—though I would have done that, too—but for fear of the legal entanglements into which his rashness might bring him.

And in the morning you sent me that sweet letter of apology! Whenever I get the blues I shall only have to take that out and read it. It was so funny!

I am afraid you are getting tired of this story, but you might as well have it all. It will cure your complaint called "love," that you have had so severely, if anything will, and that ought to be one comfort.