When a Man Marries — Reading Notes

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Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958 Project Gutenberg 1999 Not confirmed
Marriage -- Fiction; Quarantine -- Fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 59,837
Reading time 261 min
Text sections 7

Before opening When a Man Marries — Reading Notes, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 59,837 words, 4 hr 21 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 14.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Marriage -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

A first-person narrative of a dinner party quarantined due to smallpox, blending farce and social satire through a male narrator's voice, newspaper clippings, and a plot hinging on a Japanese butler.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

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  • Description quality20 pts
  • Title & short description10 pts
  • Source metadata20 pts
  • Text length15 pts
  • Chapters / structure15 pts
  • EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

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hapter I. AT LEAST I MEANT WELL

When the dreadful thing occurred that night, every one turned on me. The injustice of it hurt me most. They said I got up the dinner, that I asked them to give up other engagements and come, that I promised all kinds of jollification, if they would come; and then when they did come and got in the papers and every one--but ourselves--laughed himself black in the face, they turned on ME! I, who suffered ten times to their one! I shall never forget what Dallas Brown said to me, standing with a coal shovel in one hand and a--well, perhaps it would be better to tell it all in the order it happened.

It began with Jimmy Wilson and a conspiracy, was helped on by a foot-square piece of yellow paper and a Japanese butler, and it enmeshed and mixed up generally ten respectable members of society and a policeman. Incidentally, it involved a pearl collar and a box of soap, which sounds incongruous, doesn’t it?

It is a great misfortune to be stout, especially for a man. Jim was rotund and looked shorter than he really was, and as all the lines of his face, or what should have been lines, were really dimples, his face was about as flexible and full of expression as a pillow in a tight cover. The angrier he got the funnier he looked, and when he was raging, and his neck swelled up over his collar and got red, he was entrancing. And everybody liked him, and borrowed money from him, and laughed at his pictures (he has one in the Hargrave gallery in London now, so people buy them instead), and smoked his cigarettes, and tried to steal his Jap. The whole story hinges on the Jap.

The trouble was, I think, that no one took Jim seriously. His ambition in life was to be taken seriously, but people steadily refused to. His art was a huge joke--except to himself. If he asked people to dinner, every one expected a frolic. When he married Bella Knowles, people chuckled at the wedding, and considered it the wildest prank of Jimmy’s career, although Jim himself seemed to take it awfully hard.

We had all known them both for years. I went to Farmington with Bella, and Anne Brown was her matron of honor when she married Jim. My first winter out, Jimmy had paid me a lot of attention. He painted my portrait in oils and had a studio tea to exhibit it. It was a very nice picture, but it did not look like me, so I stayed away from the exhibition. Jim asked me to. He said he was not a photographer, and that anyhow the rest of my features called for the nose he had given me, and that all the Greuze women have long necks. I have not.

After I had refused Jim twice he met Bella at a camp in the Adirondacks and when he came back he came at once to see me. He seemed to think I would be sorry to lose him, and he blundered over the telling for twenty minutes. Of course, no woman likes to lose a lover, no matter what she may say about it, but Jim had been getting on my nerves for some time, and I was much calmer than he expected me to be.

“If you mean,” I said finally in desperation, “that you and Bella are--are in love, why don’t you say so, Jim? I think you will find that I stand it wonderfully.”

He brightened perceptibly.

“I didn’t know how you would take it, Kit,” he said, “and I hope we will always be bully friends. You are absolutely sure you don’t care a whoop for me?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, and we shook hands on it. Then he began about Bella; it was very tiresome.

Bella is a nice girl, but I had roomed with her at school, and I was under no illusions. When Jim raved about Bella and her banjo, and Bella and her guitar, I had painful moments when I recalled Bella, learning her two songs on each instrument, and the old English ballad she had learned to play on the harp. When he said she was too good for him, I never batted an eye. And I shook hands solemnly across the tea-table again, and wished him happiness--which was sincere enough, but hopeless--and said we had only been playing a game, but that it was time to stop playing. Jim kissed my hand, and it was really very touching.

The story begins with a narrator who insists he meant well, immediately establishing a defensive, self-justifying tone that colors the entire account. The opening chapter sets up a chain of events triggered by a conspiracy, a yellow paper, and a Japanese butler—elements that promise a mix of farce and social entanglement. The narrator’s rueful voice, combined with the promise of a dinner party gone wrong, invites readers into a tale where good intentions lead to chaos.

A Narrator Caught Between Apology and Blame

The narrator’s opening line—“When the dreadful thing occurred that night, every one turned on me”—immediately positions him as both protagonist and scapegoat. This defensive posture recurs throughout the excerpts, as he recounts how others blamed him for the dinner party’s disastrous outcome. His self-description as a stout man who is not taken seriously adds a layer of comic self-deprecation. The narrative voice is chatty and confiding, using phrases like “I shall never forget” and “it would be better to tell it all in the order it happened.” This oral, anecdotal quality suggests a story meant to be heard rather than read, with the narrator shaping events into a personal justification.

The Quarantine as a Stage for Social Comedy

The central predicament—a dinner party quarantined because the Japanese butler developed smallpox—transforms a private home into a pressurized social microcosm. The newspaper clipping included in the text provides an external, mocking perspective on the trapped guests, describing them as “typical society folk, without resources in themselves.” The clipping’s tone contrasts sharply with the narrator’s aggrieved account, creating a layered narrative where the same events are simultaneously farcical and embarrassing. Details like the attempted escape via a board spanning a twelve-foot gap, the firing of a revolver, and the mention of ladies doing their own hair underscore the comedy of manners. The quarantine becomes a device that strips away social pretense, forcing characters into undignified situations.

Recurring Motifs: The Jap, the Soap, and the Pearl Collar

Three objects recur in the excerpts, each carrying symbolic weight. The Japanese butler, referred to as “the Jap,” is the hinge of the plot—his illness causes the quarantine, and his presence is a source of comic tension. The narrator notes that everyone tried to steal Jim’s Jap, hinting at a servant coveted for his exoticism. A box of soap and a pearl collar are mentioned in the opening as incongruous elements that will become involved. These items suggest a collision of domestic hygiene and luxury, reinforcing the story’s blend of the mundane and the extravagant. The soap may also foreshadow the enforced intimacy of quarantine, where personal care becomes a public issue.

Movement Between Indoor Confinement and Outdoor Surveillance

The narrative oscillates between the claustrophobic interior of the quarantined house and the outside world represented by the police, reporters, and the neighboring roof. The attempted escape via a board from the parapet to the next building dramatizes this tension between captivity and freedom. The newspaper account describes the board “wavering uncertainly” and then dropping, a moment of physical comedy that also underscores the characters’ desperation. The presence of officers below and a plain-clothes man on the roof creates a spatial hierarchy: the trapped guests are watched from above and below, their every move scrutinized. This vertical structure—roof, house, street—gives the story a theatrical quality, as if the characters are performing for an unseen audience.

The Use of Embedded Documents

The inclusion of a newspaper article within the narrative is a structural choice that provides an alternative viewpoint. The article’s formal, sensational language contrasts with the narrator’s colloquial voice, creating a dialogue between private experience and public perception. The article refers to the guests as “members of the smart set” and describes their plight with mock sympathy, calling their condition “pitiable” because they lack valets and maids. This external account not only advances the plot but also satirizes the social class of the characters. The narrator’s reaction to the article—reading it “rapidly, furiously”—shows his awareness of how the event is being framed, adding a layer of meta-commentary on storytelling itself.

Readers should pay attention to the narrator’s unreliability: his insistence that he meant well may be a plea for sympathy rather than an accurate account. The embedded newspaper clipping offers a corrective lens, revealing how the same events can be narrated in vastly different tones. The story’s humor depends on the tension between the narrator’s self-justification and the absurdity of the situation. Approach this as a comedy of errors where the joke is often on the teller.

Often, when I shelve that old farce about the quarantined dinner party, with its clipped asides and borrowed newspaper voices, I find myself drifting toward the open plains of Wyoming: A Story of the Outdoor West — Edition Insights. One is all drawing-room chatter and mistaken identity; the other, a vast quiet. Yet both understand the strange, silent companionship of being confined—by walls or by miles—and the stories we tell to pass the time.

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