Day after day before John went to England, he told me of some relative of his who had married a second time in a very short interval. I only knew what he chose to tell me of this friend. I thought this friend was the cause of my husband staying away so long. I had a letter from him to say that he would like to bring this relative with him to Australia when he came back, and I was to send a telegram to say "Yes" or "No." I made enquiries about the cost of the telegram, and was told that, with the name and address, it would cost me over £6. The sending of telegrams was very new then. I would have said "No," I am quite sure. Although I would not wish to do an unkind action, behind this was my suffering. John knew my opinions on that subject, and calm reason could have told him I could not have acted differently.
Again and again would arise in my mind instances I knew of both at 38, Rundle-street, and elsewhere, of marriages like mine, which had been apparently happy, and where promises had been loyally kept, and both were blessed. The objectless course my life was taking did not make matters any better. Who was I that I could not do as others had done without sin? Then I had to accept the unpalatable advice all round that I should not have married. With one thing and another fresh difficulties for ever seemed cropping up with regard to my husband. Has this sort of thing ever been sufficient to satisfy a woman's heart I wonder? All the forces of evil were arrayed against me at that time.
Then he wrote and said that he was coming back, and I thought after what I had written to him that I had gained my point, and that he was returning to me. I had formed my own opinion of the man I had married, and I was impressed with the tone of his life when I first knew him. There was nothing foppish about John Allen. He was courteous toward women, and this contrasted well with the familiarity of some young men, whom we both knew. I wanted no unwarrantable interference between him and me. I knew I would do my best for him, but that if anything upset my confidence in him he would find my convictions were strong, and that strong they would remain, despite human affection, or soreness of heart. People do wise things and foolish things for the sake of love, which they would never think of doing at other times.
So I brightened up, and set about my work with a sense of duty. I was happy; yes, a really happy girl once more. I had allowed myself to believe that at last, after my many disappointments, my husband would really come. He did not positively give the name of the steamer by which he was coming, or when he would arrive. I felt a nameless uneasiness, for I had bought over the goodwill of a boarding-house in Pirie-street, and paid £50 for it. Several of the gentlemen already there remained on. My reason for choosing this home was that I felt so full of energy, that the thought of doing nothing, and being a helpless creature, was one that did not suit me. I hoped John would see everything in the same light. To me life in all its aspects was so real. I had no false pride. One can never foretell events, and sometimes all things seem possible. An any rate, it was my own money I used. I never troubled my husband for any support. Perhaps that could not be helped, but I do know that I had not a shilling in the world when John went away. I have no choice but to speak the truth, and I think he will forgive me for doing so after all I have gone through.
One day a business gentleman came to see if I could find room for a young clerk, who was coming to his warehouse in Rundle-street. He asked if I could have the room ready for that night, as the steamboat was hourly expected. When evening came I waited and watched for this young man. My anxiety made life a continual waiting for my husband. Day after day, and night after night, I thought of him. I can scarcely bear to think of that time. I felt that when he arrived he would go to some of his friends, who would tell him my address in Pirie-street. On that eventful night that the young man was to arrive I had gone to bed when a knock came to the door. I opened the door, thinking it was the man for whom the room had been made ready. In came my husband. He was but little changed. I thought him better looking.
I will say nothing about this mad love of mine. John went always straight to his point, whatever it was, and before he was in my room five minutes he told me that his relative had come. It was the one we had quarrelled about in our letters. I never quite knew what I said, but whatever the words were he understood them. I lost all control of myself. All my hopes were quenched in a moment, and the future seemed most terrible to me. I saw everything, and it was not as I hoped it would be. It never dawned on me that his feelings for me could be any different from my own for him.
A PARTING OF WAYS.
The next day I realised how great was the gulf which lay between us. I hated concealment. After a few very unhappy weeks there came the parting of our ways. John said it was all my fault. Truly opinions differ. He told me his love was only boy's love. I don't dispute that, but still it was love, and how was I to know that it would die right away. In vain I tried to keep on as if nothing was the matter. Any hope of being able to bear my burden in silence, in such a place as a boarding-house, was not to be thought of. The rumor spread. I was ill for a time, and suffered a good deal. I knew all joy in life was over for me. I was subject to all kinds of comments as to the real reason why my husband left home. When I got better I knew I would have to face life's duty again. I could not bear my trouble on the spot; I thought to escape from the scene where I had failed so. As my brother had supplied some of the furniture for a consideration, I got him and his wife to come into the house. I thought I would find pain more easily borne if I passed swiftly from place to place, and I advertised for a housekeeper's position. Beyond that, I had no plan just then, but I had a fixed purpose to leave Adelaide. Bitter as had been my experience, now that my husband had left me, perhaps for ever, I nerved myself to the struggle. I resented the blight, which was on me while I was in Adelaide and breathing the same air as they; I had a wish to be free. Something prevented me from giving up altogether, or I might have been led into the depths, and have clouded my life for ever; I loathed the very sight of evil.
I got a reply to my advertisement. It was a request to take charge as housekeeper at the Clarence Hotel in King William-street. I did not have far to go. I had commonsense enough to think that the excitement of hotel life would be a possible relief for my troubles. Still, I used to wend my way to the shipping company in the hope of getting a passage anywhere. I knew I could travel well by sea, and as stewardess—if such a post had been open—I would have gone without delay. The Clarence Hotel was a busy place then. Underground there were large dining-rooms, known as "The Shades," where hundreds came every day. There were very few places for that purpose in the city then. What is now the Tivoli Theatre, was then only "White's" Rooms. The proprietor of the hotel had charge of those "shades," or dining-rooms, which were for the public. I did not have any work to do there, but had only to see that it was carefully managed. I had to deal with the tradespeople and to give out the stores. I was employed there because the landlady was ill. There was no family, except a little adopted girl. There was, however, plenty to do, and existence had to be struggled for. It did seem a rush to get all that was wanted for so many. There were both men and women cooks, and men and women waitresses, with other employes about. Apart from the "Shades" downstairs, we had both public and private dining-rooms upstairs. I saw to the letting of the rooms, and also attended the people who hired the apartments there. For the most part they were either musical or theatrical people.