Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 339: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ANNIS DENHAM’S SUBTERFUGE. BY ALMA CARLTON. The expedient of a lonely woman, who made use of a vivid imagination to trick out a common- place visit with the trappings of social conquest. PeOR a quarter of a century Annis Denham had been waiting. It seemed to her now, when she came to think it over, that her whole life had been one constant looking forward, an ignoring, or perhaps a patient endur- ing of the present for the sake of the future. Yet the years went by, and the realiz- ation seemed as far away as ever. At forty five she was still waiting. She had not had an unhappy life. There had been always that hope, and hope is sometimes as satisfying as real- ity. At least hope never disappoints— the realization sometimes does. Annis Denham had married young, and the cares of life came to her as to other wives and mothers. The ambi- tions of her womanhood were put aside for the duties of every day life. She had not fretted; it was all as it should be, she told herself. She would do her duty now, and the future would bring the desire of her heart. She had talents of a certain order, which in her girlhood had been culti- vated to some extent. They were neg- lected now; but never mind! She was young, and that glorious future was coming! She possessed a sweet and well trained voice, a literary power that had already brought her notice—these would be attended to when the time came, but home and family first! That was her motto, but in living it she had perhaps been over sensitive. It had not occurred to her that there were duties to herself and her own na- ture that she was wrongfully neglect- ing. She denied herself that her loved ones might have all that life could give. Her husband and her sons came to feel that her chief happiness lay in min- istering to their wants, in resting quiet- ly in her home. They turned to her for sympathy and appreciation in all their plans. John Denham was not un- kind. He loved his wife, and if he had thought of her as being unhappy or dis- satished, he would have been sorely grieved, but he never thought. She had food and raiment, a comfortable home; what more could she want? True, she had always worked hard, for money had never been plentiful. She had little social life outside of her home. What should she care for it when home was so restful? John him- self was always glad of a quiet evening at his fireside, but he had to go out more or less. He persuaded himself that it was not pleasure that called him from home so much. He must meet his friends on business, said business often being discussed at a fine dinner, between the acts at the theater, or at the house of some friend, where social pleasures helped to make the duty less tedious. He was rarely seen in public with his wife, and Annis came to feel that he did not care for her society ; that he was perhaps ashamed of the plain, quiet wo- man her monotonous life had made of her. She grew morbid and unhappy, shrinking more and more into herself. There came a time when a neglected talent was taken up with renewed in- terest. Annis began to write again. She had a fuller experience of life, a maturer vision. She felt sure she could say something the world might like to hear. If no more, she must write for the very love of it. COM ElOOO CO