past, and be Pauline Chilton once more!  Oh, if I could be free and happy again!  But there is no prospect of that.  I am his wife, as he told me yesterday, and suppose I must drag out a miserable existence.  Yet I will not be trampled on by his family!  His sister spends much of her time with us; reads to Ernest, talks to him about things that she glories in telling me I don’t understand the first word of.  Beulah, I was anxious to study and make myself a companion for him; but, try as I may, Lucy contrives always to fret and thwart me.  Two days ago she nearly drove me beside myself with her sneers and allusions to my great mental inferiority to Ernest (as if I were not often enough painfully reminded of the fact without any of her assistance!).  I know I should not have said it, but I was too angry to think of propriety, and told her that her presence in my home was very disagreeable.  Oh, if you could have seen her insulting smile, as she answered that her ’noble brother needed her, and she felt it a duty to remain with him.’  Beulah, I love my husband; I would do anything on earth to make him happy if we were left to ourselves, but as to submitting to Lucy’s arrogance and sneers, I will not!  Ernest requires me to apologize to his father and sister, and I told him I would not!  I would die first!  He does not love me or he would shield me from such trials.  He thinks his sister is perfection, and I tell you I do absolutely detest her.  Now, Beulah, there is no one else to whom I would mention my unhappiness.  Mother does not suspect it, and never shall, even when she visits me.  Uncle Guy predicted it, and I would not have him know it for the universe.  But I can trust you; I feel that you will sympathize with me, and I want you to counsel me.  Oh, tell me what I ought to do to rid myself of this tormenting sister-in-law and father-in-law, and, I may say, all Ernest’s kin.  Sometimes, when I think of the future, I absolutely shudder; for if matters go on this way much longer I shall learn to hate my husband too.  He knew my disposition before he married me, and has no right to treat me as he does.  If it were only Ernest I could bring myself to ‘obey’ him, for I love him very devotedly; but as to being dictated to by all his relatives, I never will!  Beulah, burn this blurred letter; don’t let anybody know how drearily I am situated.  I am too proud to have my misery published.  To know that people pitied me would kill me.  I never can be happy again, but perhaps you can help me to be less miserable.  Do write to me!  Oh, how I wish you could come to me!  I charge you, Beulah, don’t let Uncle Guy know that I am not happy.  Good-by.  Oh, if ever you marry, be sure your husband has no old-maid sisters and no officious kin!  I am crying so that I can barely see the lines.  Good-by, dear Beulah.”

“Pauline.”