ight take a Woman's
Club to him, but a husband has been known to laugh this instrument to
scorn.

But supposing he sat down. What then? He might be a gentleman of
irascible, nasty temper, and in walking about my room, I might step on
his feet. These irritable folk have such large feet, at least they are
always in the way, and always being stepped on no matter how careful one
tries to be.

What then?

I decline to contemplate the scene.

Plainly I am better off single.

I walk to my front window, and stretch my arms above my head. There is a
light fall of snow upon the ground. This late snow is trying: in its
season, it is beautiful; but out of season, it breeds a cheerlessness
that emphasises one's loneliness. I look out through the leafless trees
toward the lake, but it is hidden by the whirling, eddying snowflakes. I
see Mr. Thrush hurrying home to his little nest.

"Yes," I say to myself, repeating my last thought with a certain
obstinacy, "yes, I am better off without a husband, and yet I wish I had
one--one would answer, on a pinch--one at a time, at least. A husband is
like a world in that respect; one at a time, is the proper proportion."

"It's far better to have none, unless you learn to cook him." These
words recurred to me, just as I was on the point of taking a life
partner, in a figurative sense.

The woman that deliberates is lost; consequently, as it won't do to
think the matter over, I plunge in.

My spouse is now pacing up and down the room in a rampant manner,
complaining of his dinner, the world in general, and _me_ in particular.

What am I to do?

Charles Reade has written a recipe that applies very well just here. It
is briefly expressed:

"Put yourself in his place."

I could not have done this a few years ago, but now I can. Never, until
I undertook the management of my business affairs--never until I had some
knowledge of business cares and anxieties, the weight of notes falling
due; the charge of business honor to keep; the excited hope of fortunate
prospects; and the depression following hard upon failure and
disappointment--never until I learned all this, did I realize what home
should mean to a man, and how far wide of the mark many women shoot,
when they aim to establish a restful retreat for their husbands.

I have returned to my domicile, after a fatiguing day up town, with a
feeling of exhaustion that lies far deeper than the mere physical
structure--a spent feeling as