By Philip Wylie
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Additional resources for An April Afternoon
He sighed. "Nope. That's what made me cable Connie not to write. Some important part of her mind must have had a wrong slant on everything. " I felt that his distress had taken possession of his habitual honest judgment. "We're supposed to be modern in our family," I said. "Sophisticated--even a little gaudy. Now we've been hit where we live-and we've found out that we're not quite so worldlywise as we thought. Wife--mother--home--another man--they're more primitive factors than all our fancy polish.
Suppose we tried to keep it quiet, and the first place we saw it was in somebody's column in a New York paper? By telling Martha the truth, I took three-quarters of the wind out of her sails. " John made a very slight motion of his head, as if he understood and agreed with her, but he didn't speak. We weren't ourselves that morning. John least of all. He seemed to have lost his leadership. He was like an animal that had been struck a paralyzing blow. He was conscious of what was going on, but his body and his mind were in a transfixed state.
There were pills to take that night, and I slept like the drunken until noon. Then, when I rang for the maid and she brought coffee to my room, I learned that Virginia was better and wanted to see me, that the doctor had come and gone leaving permission for it, and that Connie was in New York, making emergency purchases of a nature not specified. That startled me, under the circumstances. But Virginia's improvement held my surprise in abeyance. I put on a dressing gown that I once saw in a store in Paris.
An April Afternoon by Philip Wylie