She had cause to be extremely happy, she told herself this morning, and
yet she was puzzled to understand why she was not. Why was she restless
and vaguely ill at ease so often these days?
One matter, indeed, did worry her; but that would right itself in time,
she was sure. She had always pictured herself as directing her husband's
work. She did not plan to step in and demand a share; she knew from
experience with her brother that a woman must prove her usefulness to a
man before he will admit it, and even then he may be silent. She
intended gradually and tactfully to relieve her husband of care
connected with his public life so that, before he realized it, she would
be his guiding spirit and his inspiration. She had dreamed the details
of doing this so long that it seemed already done, and she could imagine
no obstacle to its realization. And yet she found herself today no
nearer her goal than when first she married. Not because Mr. Cresswell
did not share his work, but because, apparently, he had no work, no
duties, no cares. At first, in the dim glories of the honeymoon, this
seemed but part of his delicate courtesy toward her, and it pleased her
despite her thrifty New England nature; but now that they were settled
in Washington, the election over and Congress in session, it really
seemed time for Work and Life to begin in dead earnest, and New England
Mary was dreaming mighty dreams and golden futures.
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