I daresay there
were others, if I took the time to think; but not one of them can I
remember without returning thanks to Providence for having lost her.
What is one to do? There are days in springtime when a young man
ought not to be allowed outside the house. Thank Heaven and
Convention it is not the girls who propose! Few women, who would
choose the right moment to put their hands upon a young man's
shoulders, and, looking into his eyes, ask him to marry them next
week, would receive No for an answer. It is only our shyness that
saves us. A wise friend of mine, who has observed much, would have
all those marrying under five-and-twenty divorced by automatic
effluxion of time at forty, leaving the few who had chosen
satisfactorily to be reunited if they wished: his argument being
that to condemn grown men and women to abide by the choice of
inexperienced boys and girls is unjust and absurd. There were nice
girls I could have fallen in love with. They never occurred to me.
It would seem as if a man had to learn taste in women as in all other
things, namely, by education. Here and there may exist the born
connoisseur. But with most of us our first instincts are towards
vulgarity. It is Barrie, I think, who says that if only there were
silly women enough to go round, good women would never get a look in.
It is certainly remarkable, the number of sweet old maids one meets.
Almost as remarkable as the number of stupid, cross-grained wives.
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