of　happiness　out　of　our　lives。　But　I　was　a　man　divided—she　wanted　me　to　work　too　much　for　her　and　not　enough　for　my　dream。　She　realized　too　late　that　work　was　dignity；　and　the　only　dignity；　and　tried　to　atone　for　it　by　working　herself；　but　it　was　too　late　and　she　broke　and　is　broken　forever。

It　was　too　late　also　for　me　to　recoup　the　damage—I　had　spent　most　of　my　resources；　spirit　and　material；　on　her；　but　I　struggled　on　for　five　years　till　my　health　collapsed；　and　all　I　cared　about　was　drink　and　forgetting。

The　mistake　I　made　was　marrying　her。　We　belonged　to　different　worlds—she　might　have　been　happy　with　a　kind　simple　man　in　a　southern　garden。　She　didn't　have　the　strength　for　the　big　stage—sometimes　she　pretended；　and　pretended　beautifully；　but　she　didn't　have　it。　She　was　soft　when　she　should　have　been　hard；　and　hard　when　she　should　have　been　yielding。　She　never　knew　how　to　use　her　energy—she's　passed　that　failing　on　to　you。

For　a　long　time　I　hated　her　mother　for　giving　her　nothing　in　the　line　of　good　habit—nothing　but　“getting　by”　and　conceit。　I　never　wanted　to　see　again　in　this　world　women　who　were　brought　up　as　idlers。　And　one　of　my　chief　desires　in　life　was　to　keep　you　from　being　that　kind　of　person；　one　who　brings　ruin　to　themselves　and　others。　When　you　began　to　show　disturbing　signs　at　about　fourteen；　I　forted　myself　with　the　idea　that　you　were　too　precocious　socially　and　a　strict　school　would　fix　things。　But　sometimes　I　think　that　idlers　seem