"I loved my wife from the first moment I saw her, being in the first place attracted by the beauty of her person, and in the second by the difference in her nature to that of other women. I do not put myself forward either as a deep thinker or as a student of humanity, but must confess I grew weary of the ordinary Society woman, married or unmarried. They talked in a frivolous fashion of the most trivial things, but Alizon Mostyn attracted me by the charm of her conversation, not that she was very learned, or particularly brilliant, but she talked of ordinary matters in an original way, which was wonderfully fascinating. I loved her dearly, and saw in this pale, quiet girl, one who would be a companion to me, who would make me a better man, and aid me to lead my life on a higher plane to that which I had hitherto done.
"It was for this reason I married her, and though she was cold in her manner towards me, this very coldness had a certain charm about it which I could not resist. I knew that she had been badly treated by her father, so strove in every way by tenderness and love to make amends for the misery of her early life.
"After marriage I was perfectly satisfied with my wife, and although at times her persistent coldness wounded me, yet I thought by unfailing love and attention to make her open her heart to me. No doubt I would have achieved this object if it had not been for the birth of the child, which has, in a great measure, been the cause of all the trouble of our later married life.
"I was glad to welcome the child, as I thought it would form a new link between us, and by thawing her frigid disposition draw us closer together. But, instead of doing this, the boy was the cause of our estrangement, as she lavished upon him all the love of which her nature was capable, and I was persistently neglected.
"No doubt the world would think I had little to complain of--my wife was perfect, both in her conjugal and maternal capacity--the only trouble being the cherishing of the child to the neglect of the father.
"But, look at the matter from my point of view. I had married my wife for companionship, for the sake of satisfying the craving of human nature to be loved, and instead of my ideas being realized, I found myself shut out of Paradise, while my wife, with her child, rested happily within. She was never away from the boy, and day after day I was forced to live a lonely life, neglected and uncared for by a woman I adored. All her ideas, conversation, and desires, were bound up in the child, so that she had neither the time nor inclination to take an interest in my pursuits, or in my life. We dwelt together as man and wife, to all appearances we were a happy and attached couple, yet the child stood between us, like an evil shadow, which isolated us the one from the other. Often I tried to break down this barrier, by praising the child, but the mother seemed jealous even of the father; she wanted the child all to herself, and, secure in such possession, was contented to treat her husband as an ordinary friend.
"I resented this state of things, I revolted at being condemned to occupy such an isolated position, but I could do nothing. My wife was perfect in every other way, and to have complained would have been ridiculous, so I was forced to suffer in silence. God alone knows how I did suffer in the solitude to which I was condemned, at seeing the love and caresses bestowed on the child, love and caresses in which I had no share. All her life was in the child, and she possessed him. My life was in her--and I was a stranger to her in every way.
"Under the circumstances I thought it best to go away for a few weeks, thinking that she would miss me in some little measure, and would be more affectionate and tender when I returned. Whether such an idea was right or wrong I do not know, I never shall know, for between our parting and our meeting occurred the episode of Mrs. Veilsturm.
"On my honour, I went innocently enough into the presence of this woman. I had forgotten all about my wife's refusal to receive her, for had I remembered I certainly would not have gone. But, as I said before, I had forgotten. I had never seen the woman; I did not even know her name. How then was I to recollect the episode of eighteen months before?--an episode the memory of which had not lasted longer than a few days.
"I went to Mrs. Veilsturm's 'At home.' I found her a charming woman, and, at her express invitation, I went often to her house. She was different from the ordinary run of women, and I took pleasure in her society, but there was no warmer feeling between us, at least, not on my part. With the scandal of the world I have nothing to do, sin and purity are treated the same way, and the mere fact of my being once or twice seen with Mrs. Veilsturm was sufficient to set afloat the lying story which came to my wife's ears through the medium of Aunt Jelly.