I am held by a vague uneasiness today.  Possibly it ’s because I am not certain as to Jack’s attitude, when he learns through my letter, which is sailing along with me, that I am going to Japan to be as near him as possible.  I hope he will appreciate my thoughtfulness in saving him all the bother of saying no.  Or it might be that my slightly dampened spirits come from the discussion I am still having with myself whether it ’s the part of a dutiful wife to present herself a wiggling sacrifice to science, or whether science should attend to its own business and lead not into temptation the scientifically inclined heads of peaceful households.

You ’ll say the decision of what was best lay with Jack.  Honey, there ’s the error of your mortal mind!  In a question like that my spouse is as one-sided as a Civil War veteran.  Say germ-hunt to Jack and it ’s like dangling a gaudy fly before a hungry carp.

I saw Jack off at the station, and went hack to the little house.  Charity had sent the cook home and with her own hands served all the beloved dainties of my long-ago childhood, trying to coax me into forgetfulness.  As you remember, Mate, dinner has always been the happiest hour of the day in our small domain.  Now?  Well, everything was just the same.  The only difference was Jack.  And the half circle of bare tablecloth opposite me was about as cheerful as a snowy afternoon at the North Pole.  I wandered around the house for awhile, but every time I turned a corner there was a memory waiting to greet me.  Now the merriest of them seemed to be covered with a chilly shadow, and every one was pale and ghostly.  All night I lay awake, playing at the old game of mental solitaire and keeping tryst with the wind which seemed to tap with unseen fingers at my window and sigh,

  “Then let come what come may
  . . . . . . 
  I shall have had my day.”

Is it possible, Mate, that my glorious day, which I thought had barely tipped the hour of noon, is already lengthening into the still shadows of evening?

It was foolish but, for the small comfort I got out of it, I turned on the light and looked inside my wedding-ring.  Time has worn it a bit but the letters which spell “My Lady of the Decoration,” spelled again the old-time thrill into my heart.

What ’s the use of tying your heartstrings around a man, and then have ambition slip the knot and leave you all a-quiver?

Far be it from me to stand in Jack’s way if germ-stalking is necessary to his success.  Just the same, I could have spent profitable moments reading the burial service over every microbe, home-grown and foreign.

Really, Mate, I ’ve conscientiously tried every plan Jack proposed and a few of my own.  It was no use.  That day-after-Christmas feeling promptly suppressed any effort towards contentment.

At first there was a certain exhilaration in catching pace with the gay whirl which for so long had been passed by for homier things.  You will remember there was a time when the pace of that same whirl was never swift enough for me; but my taste for it now was gone, and it was like trying to do a two-step to a funeral march.  For once in my life I knew the real meaning of that poor old worn-to-a-frazzle call of the East, for now the’ dominant note was the call of love.