CHAPTER FOUR
My Daughter, she that heedeth my instructions shall find a man easier to play upon than a pianola.
Behold, she hath but to press the right key, and he shall repeat all his repertoire, even unto the confession of his sins.
Yea, verily, a man rejoiceth in confessions; and nothing delighteth his soul so much as to repent. For, then can he return unto his follies with a clear conscience and renewed enthusiasm.
Go to! Who is so virtuous as an husband that hath but just received a cold bath and his wife’s forgiveness?
Lo, he goeth forth feeling like unto an uncrowned saint.
He is puffed up with righteousness.
Yet, before the night cometh, peradventure, he shall again have wobbled from the straight and narrow way.
How long, then, oh my Daughter, shalt thou encourage men to persecute thee with their “I’m so-sorrys”, and their “Never-agains”? For, verily, verily, every man believeth that a woman’s patience is a thing of India rubber, which will stretch over a multitude of backslidings.
Yea, he hath not a doubt that a broken promise may be glued together with kisses, and a broken heart mended with softsoap.
Confessions are but the soothing syrup wherewith he stilleth his conscience. And his sins would lack much joy if he had not the pleasure of “regretting” them.
But I say unto thee, a woman’s faith is like unto a cobweb which cannot be patched up, once it hath been shattered; and a woman’s heart is not as a rubber ball, which reboundeth after it hath been cast down.
Nay, a bride sobbeth “Harold, tell me all!”
But after ten years, a wife saith, “Do whatsoever thou pleasest, but come not unto me with thy tale of woe. Lo, I am aweary of holding onto Heaven with one hand and onto thee with the other. Therefore go thy ways and let me sleep!”
Verily, verily, in time, doth a man’s penitence pall upon a woman; and his kiss of remorse is more to be dreaded than his sins.
For, once love hath cooled, it may be warmed-over, yet it is flat and tasteless, even as a Monday luncheon.