But though they have settled their
difficulties and are living again in amity together, and though he,
man-like, has half forgotten that they ever quarreled at all, now that
peace reigns in the house again, _she_ has _not_ forgotten. There still
lingers in her mind the feeling that he never really understood her,
that he never understood her problems and her struggles, and that he
never will. And it seems to me further that, as is usually the case with
wives who consider themselves misunderstood, the fault is partly, but by
no means altogether, hers. He, upon one hand, is inclined to pass the
matter off with a: "There, there! It's all over now. Just be good and
forget it!" while she, in the depths of her heart, retains a little bit
of wistfulness, a little wounded feeling, which causes her to say to
herself: "Thank God our home was not broken up, but--I wish that he
could be a little more considerate, sometimes, in view of all that I
have suffered."
For my part, I am the humble but devoted friend of the family. Having
known him first, having been from boyhood his companion, I may perhaps
have sympathized with him in the beginning. But since I have come to
know her, too, that is no longer so. And I do think I know her--proud,
sensitive, high-strung, generous, captivating beauty that she is!
Moreover, after the fashion of many another "friend of the family," I
have fallen in love with her.
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