I love the exercises I do in my room every morning. They bring back the play spirit of my childhood. When I get out of bed I slip into a loose garment, then I lie on the floor and stretch my spine along the carpet—it's wonderful how this exhilarates one. After that I take deep breaths at the open window, raising and lowering my arms—up as I draw my breath in, down as I throw it out. Then I lie down again and lift my legs straight up, the right, the left, then both together. I do this twenty times, resting between changes and taking deep breaths.
I sit cross-legged on the floor with my feet on a red and gold cushion and rotate my waist like an oriental dancer. I stand on my head and hands and curve my body to right and left in graceful flexings. I do this no matter how cold it is. I do not feel the cold, for I am all aglow with health and strength. Then, before my bath, I do dumb-bell exercises in front of the mirror.
I remember dining with my husband one night in a pink lace peignoir—we had been married about three years—and during the dessert, I excused myself and went into my bedroom and, posing before a cheval glass, I let the peignoir slip off my shoulders, and stood there like a piece of polished marble, rejoicing in my youth and loveliness!
How I hated my husband that night! He had taught me to drink. He had made me sensual. He had not yet assumed the coarse, red-faced brutish aspect that he wore later, but he had a coarse, red-faced brutish soul. Alas! his body was still fine enough to tempt me. And his mind was devilishly clever enough to captivate my fancy. He took away my faith, even my faith in motherhood. That was why I chiefly hated him.
For three years my husband disgusted me with his unfaithfulness. No woman was too high or too low, too refined or too ignorant, for his passing fancy, if only she had physical attractiveness—just a little physical attractiveness. Anything for variety, shop girl or duchess, kitchen maid or society leader, they were all the same to Julian. He confessed to me that he once made love to a little auburn-haired divorcée while they were in a mourning carriage going to her sister's funeral. Et elle s'est laissée faire!
He was like a hunter following his prey, like an angler fishing, he cared only for the chase, for the capture. That was the man I had married!
What a liar he was! He poisoned my mind with his lies, assuring me that all men were like himself, hypocrites, incapable of being true to one woman. And I believed him. The ghastly part of it is I still believe him. I can't help it. I have suffered too much. I can never have faith in another man, not even in Captain Herrick. That is why I shall never marry again—that is one reason.
∵
Sunday.
A wonderful day! I strolled along the board walk in my new furs, and met a young mother pushing a baby carriage with two splendid baby boys—one of them sucking at his bottle. Such babies! She let me hold the little fellow and I cuddled him close in my arms and felt his soft cheeks and his warm little chubby hands on my face. How I long for a baby of my own! I have thought—hoped—dreamed—