“Lately I have not permitted myself to think much about the situation between my husband and myself. I cannot blame him, and I cannot blame myself, and I am trying to keep my peace of mind till my baby is born. I have found myself following half-instinctively the procedure you told me about; I talk to my own subconscious mind, and to the baby--I command them to be well. I whisper to them things that are not so very far from praying; but I don’t think my poor dear mamma would recognize it in its new scientific dress! “But sometimes I can’t help thinking of the child and its future, and then all of a sudden my heart is ready to break with pity for the child’s father! I have the consciousness that I do not love him, and that he has always known it--and that makes me remorseful. But I told him the truth before we married--he promised to be patient with me till I had learned to love him! Now I want to burst into tears and cry aloud, ‘Oh, why did you do it? Why did I let myself be persuaded into this marriage?’ “I tried to have a talk with him last night, after he had decided to go away. I was full of pity, and a desire to help. I said I wanted him to know that no matter how much we might disagree about some things, I meant to learn to live happily with him. We must find some sort of compromise, for the sake of the child, if not for ourselves; we must not let the child suffer. He answered coldly that there would be no need for the child to suffer, the child would have the best the world could afford. I suggested that there might arise some question as to just what the best was; but to that he said nothing. He went on to rebuke my discontent; had he not given me everything a woman could want? he asked. He was too polite to mention money; but he said that I had leisure and entire freedom from care. I was persisting in assuming cares, while he was doing all in his power to prevent it. “And that was as far as we got. I gave up the discussion, for we should only have gone the old round over again. “Douglas has taken up a saying that my cousin brought with him: ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you!’ I think that before he left, Harley had begun to suspect that all was not well between my husband and myself, and he felt it necessary to give me a little friendly counsel. He was tactful, and politely vague, but I understood him--my worldly-wise young cousin. I think that saying of his sums up the philosophy that he would teach to all women--‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you!’” 7. A week or so later Sylvia wrote me that her husband was in New York. And I waited another week, for good measure, and then one morning dropped in for a call upon Claire Lepage. Why did I do it? you ask. I had no definite purpose--only a general opposition to the philosophy of Cousin Harley.