A penniless widow turned forty—­we are about the same age—­with five children has not much prospect of marrying again, however attractive she may be.  I have told you so repeatedly; but your feminine vanity refuses to believe it.  In each fresh adventure you have seen a possible marriage—­not because you feel specially drawn towards matrimony, but because you are unwilling to leave the course free to younger women.

You have shown yourself in public with your admirers.

Neglecting the most ordinary precautions, you have allowed them to come to your house; in a word, you have unblushingly advertised connections which ought to have been concealed.

And the men you selected?

I do not wish to criticise your choice; but I quite understand why your friends objected and were ashamed on your account.

At first people made the best of the situation, tacitly hoping that the affairs might lead to marriage and that your monetary cares would thus find a satisfactory solution.  But after so many useless attempts this benevolent attitude was abandoned, and scandal grew.

Meanwhile you, Magna, blind to all opinion, continued to follow the same round:  flirtation, sentiment, intimacy, adoration, submission, jealousy, suspicion, suffering, hatred, and contempt.

The more inferior the man of your choice, the more determined you were to invest him with extraordinary qualities.  But as soon as the next one appeared on the scene, you began to judge his predecessor at his true value.

If all this had resulted in your getting the wherewithal to bring up your children in comfort, I should say straight out:  “My dear Magna, pay no attention to what other people say, go your own road.”

But, unfortunately, it is just the reverse; your children suffer.  They are growing up.  Wanda and Ingrid are almost young women.  In a year or two they will be at a marriageable age.  How much longer do you suppose you can keep them in ignorance?  Perhaps they know things already.  I have sometimes surprised a look in Wanda’s eyes which suggested that she saw more than was desirable.

In my opinion it is better for children not to find out these things until they are quite old enough to understand them completely.  But the evil is done, and cannot be undone.  And yet, Magna, the peace of mind of these innocent victims is entirely in your hands.  You can secure it without making the sacrifice that your husband’s family demands of you.

You have no right to let your children grow up in this unwholesome atmosphere; and the atmosphere with which their dear mother surrounds them cannot be described as healthy.

If your character was as strong as your temperament, you would not hesitate to take all the consequences on your own shoulders.  But it is not so.  You would shrink from the hard work involved in emigrating and making yourself a new home abroad; at the same time you would be lowered in your own eyes if you gave your children into the care of others.