When handsome young Richard Field--he was very handsome and
very young-- announced to our assembled company that if his turn should
really come to tell us a story, the story should be no invention of his fancy,
but a page of truth, a chapter from his own life, in which himself was the
hero and a lovely, innocent girl was the heroine, his wife at once looked
extremely uncomfortable. She changed the reclining position in which she
had been leaning back in her chair, and she sat erect, with a hand closed
upon each arm of the chair.
"Richard," she said. "do you think that it is right of you to tell any one,
even friends, anything that you have never yet confessed to me?"
"Ethel," replied Richard, "although I cannot promise that you will be
entirely proud of my conduct when you have heard this episode of my past,
I do say that there is nothing in it to hurt the trust you have placed in me
since I have been your husband. Only," he added, "I hope that I shall not
have to tell any story at all."
"Oh, yes you will!" we all exclaimed together; and the men looked
eager while the women sighed.