Mistake and Excuse It was four o'clock, and Dolores Wells made a last inspection of the little apartment that she and Dan had lived in for the half year of their marriage. The bathroom was spotless and every bottle was assigned to its place. Their bedroom was neat, no cosmetics piled on the bureau, no clothes crumpled on the chest, and the white bedspread was lying flawless just as it should. The living room was all picked up and dusted. There were no books on the chairs, no records on the couch. A small casserole was on the counter in the kitchen. Dolores promptly put it in the oven and turned the proper knobs to set the right devices so that Dan would have his dinner. She sat down to have a cigarette before leaving. "Won't he be surprised, coming home and finding everything so clean and upright" she thought. With special pride, she thought of the ironing, the scrubbing, the shining, and the cooking she had done so deftly and so efficiently all day. This had been the first time that she had taken such pains with the apartment in a number of weeks. She loved Dan, she supposed, but she was sure that her love for him when they were married was very exaggerated. She also knew that her love was not strong enough to endure a life time with him. "It was a bad mistake," she thought, "My going will be good for him." The ideas that came and came to Dolores were so used, so rehearsed that they took only seconds to run through her mind, but even with the seconds, she was restless and eager to go. She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood, gathering another group of thoughts together, organizing them. She went to the mirror in the bedroom and completed a little last minute primping and inspection of her hair. Satisfied, she went back to the living room where she opened the drawer desk and took out a small sealed envelope which she placed on the refrigerator. She knew that Dan would find it there shortly after he came home. Now, with everything done, she went to the closet and put her coat on, picked up her suitcase from the corner and left the apartment, leaving no sign except the envelope lying flat on the refrigerator and the casserole baking warm in the oven. Her last glance back in the empty apartment held no remorse, no regret. She had never really belonged there and now she had no excuse to stay longer. No excuse at all. Dolores glanced at the row of mail boxes when she pulled the door shut after her. "Mr. and Mrs. Dan Wells," one of them read. She wondered just what Dan would think when he found the note. "He'll walk in and throw his hat and his coat on the corner of the couch and he'll undo his tie and walk into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, and he'll throw his tie on the desk as he goes." The day was cold and Dolores held the bottom of her coat together against the cold Salt Lake wind of late winter. "Then he'll sit around for a few minutes waiting for me to come back from the store or the neighbor's or where ever he thinks women 23